To the good people of the H&F board, where I spend more and more time, I gift you...

...the completely ROUGH, not close to complete, complete draft. complete with many typos.

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Day 1: June 1 Austin, TX to Llano, TX 86 miles

I woke much too early after a sleep deprived night. It was like trying to go to bed on Christmas Eve when you were nine; your mind is racing and won’t allow you to settle into a sedated state. My mind was operating at light speed trying to comprehend spending the next 70 days on the road. I took a quick shower, grabbed my stuff, and loaded my bike onto the back of my parent’s car. With that, we were off. My dad drove from Georgetown to downtown Austin while I dozed in and out of sleep. We found parking and walked over to the tower where my fellow riders their family members, who were clinging to their last moments with loved ones, had already begun to assemble. A few TV stations had shown up to film our departure and were interviewing a few of the riders. I saw Joe G approach in typical fashion he sarcastically proclaimed, “nice shorts.” I chatted with Joe and my parents until it was time to take some group photos on the steps. Flashes were coming from every angle. For the first time of what would become many times over the course of the summer, we felt like celebrities posing for the paparazzi. After the pictures, Chris and Dustin both gave short speeches and then we were on our way for a quick lap around the Capitol entire team before we went our separate ways to Alaska.

On the loop to and around the Capitol, everyone was jovial. “Car Back!” “Gravel Right!” and “Hole Left,” were all being yelled at the top of our lungs as we cut through the cool morning air. We talked and laughed as we made our way around the Capitol and back to the tower to say our final goodbyes to family members. The members of each route lined up and shook each other’s hands bidding each other a, “See you in Alaska.” The whole event looked reminiscent of the opposing teams at the end of a tee ball game.

Afterwards each team gathered on respective sides of the tower and bid a final farewell to family and friends. I ran in to a building to refill water bottles and use a real bathroom one last time before departing. I came out of the building and hugged my parents goodbye. Somehow it came up that I had forgotten my sunglasses and my frame pump, so my parents decided they would delay the goodbye, drive the items to Llano, and meet me there that evening. I was about to depart with twenty people I barely knew. I was about to spend the next two and a half months living in close quarters with people who were complete strangers. It was a very scary, yet exhilarating feeling.

We finally rolled out around 10 a.m. and made our way out of Austin. Kevin Livingston, a former US Postal Team rider, rode with us for the first 20 miles until we got to Bee Caves, which was our first rest stop. Kevin gave us pointers and guided us to the gas station, which served as the first rest stop. Before departing, he posed for some pictures with some of us. After Kevin left, we were truly on our own.

It was still early in the day and we were all full of energy and excited, but the day would quickly bring us back to reality. We fought the hills and the wind of the hill country to a second gas station, which provided our next rest stop of the day. We filled our water bottles, took bathroom breaks, and ate a quick snack before heading back out on the road. It was the third stretch of the day which began to take its toll on us. The sun started to beat down and reminded us that it was boss. As we continued to snake our way through the hill country, the sun continued to heat the asphalt and we quickly began to feel the effect. As the air temperature rose to over one hundred degrees, the road temperature continued to outpace it. People were announcing the readings they were getting from their computers. About the time one rider announced 118 degrees, we decided to pull off the road into some shade for a quick rest. Tommy was starting to feel sick at this point, as were a few other riders. After a few minutes, Dbear pulled up in his truck and we all grabbed cookies and refilled our water bottles.

We got back on the road and quickly started feeling the heat pounding us again. Tommy was feeling better, but we only made it a few miles before he started feeling bad again. My knee was beginning to hurt. It was the first of 70 days, so I was a bit worried about how I would hold up riding day after day. Mile 61 greeted us with a roadside rest stop, some shade, and lunch. All the energy and excitement had been drained away by the orange ball of fire in the sky. When the van showed, Chris jumped out and was gung-ho. He’d been in Austin all day tying up loose ends and was ready to start his ride. He was full of energy and couldn’t understand why we were all so down. Most of us were lounging in the shade with our shirts off trying to re-hydrate and cool off.

Tommy and a couple other riders likely had heat exhaustion and didn’t want to risk heat stroke, so they decided to ride in the van the rest of the way to Llano. We were once again on the road, and Chris was in the group I was riding with. As we were finishing out the last seventeen miles of the day, it finally began to cool off a little as we saw clouds sneaking over the horizon. I was riding behind Chris when he made a sudden jerk and did a superman over his handlebars followed by a flawless tuck and roll. I was far enough behind him that I was able to stop without hitting him. I’m still not sure exactly what caused his crash—the first of our ride—but he escaped unscathed and we pushed on.

As we pedaled our way past the Llano city limits sign, we noticed that the clouds had overtaken the sky above us and rain was beginning to fall. The drops were large and sparse, but I could hear them striking the ground around us. We had less than a half of a mile to the church we were staying at, so it was a sprint to beat the rain. I turned on the street that contained our destination when I felt the first drop hit me. I pedaled harder and just as I brought my bike under the covered walkway at the church, the sky began to open up.

The nice people at the United Methodist Church of Llano invited us into their fellowship hall. My parents had arrived with my forgotten items. They handed them to me and bid me a quick farewell. A group of older male church members had cooked us dinner. It was a wonderful meal of chicken and rice. I don’t know if it was the long day of riding, but they fed me one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten. The chicken literally fell off the bone. With stomachs full, we were informed that even though we had a roof over our heads and bathrooms to use, there were no showers available to us. However, the men told us, the Llano River was but a few blocks away. Re-energized by a meal and the knowledge we had tackled our first ride in almost unbearable heat, we grabbed our towels, put on flip flips, and headed toward the river.

The sun was waning as we walked across the bridge and over the river. Spirits had rebounded and we were once again laughing and joking about bathing in the river. As Dan was joking, he dropped his soap over the side of the bridge and into the water below. We crossed the bridge and made our way up river past the dam to the deeper water. Off came our shirts, although not surprising, the girls chose to clean themselves with their jerseys on. We jumped in the water and bathed as a group. We laughed and swam around while cleaning ourselves off in water that was a muddy brown. Several people took pictures of us in the water, some people holding their clothes over their heads. Each of us eventually made our way out of the water and dried off. As we walked back across the bridge, we stopped to enjoy the last moments of a beautiful sunset.

After we made our way back to the church, we all fought for sinks in the bathroom to brush our teeth and to take care of our final tasks before turning in for the night. I settled into my sleeping bag and talked about music with Dan. Soon afterwards, I rolled over and laid my head down on my makeshift pillow, my stuff sack filled with my hooded sweatshirt, and drifted off to sleep. With a century on the agenda for the next day and 5:30 a.m. coming much earlier than I would like, I needed all the sleep I could get.

Day 2: June 2 Llano, TX to Coleman, TX 117 miles

I was correct in assuming morning would come much too early. 5:15 reared its ugly head, and people began stirring. The gentlemen from the church had been diligently working on our breakfast in the kitchen. We started packing up our sleeping bags and changing clothes when it was announced that breakfast was ready. The good people of United Methodist Church stuffed us with eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, and gravy. I ate until my stomach felt as if it was going to explode. I knew that even though I would hurt for a short time, I would need that extra energy to get me through to lunch. After breakfast, we finished packing up and then cleaned the areas we had used, including sweeping the floor. All our gear was loaded into the trailer and we set off for our first century.

As we left our generous hosts and the church behind, we followed a familiar route, which took us across the bridge we had crossed to bathe in the river the night before. The first 20 miles was very easy. The road was flat and we had the wind at our backs. After the first rest stop, we were greeted by another relatively easy second twenty miles. Mile forty marked our stop for lunch at a roadside rest stop. In another act of generosity, the good people in Llano had sent us off with BBQ sandwiches and chips for lunch. We all crowded around the picnic tables and ravenously grabbed our share of the food that had been provided for us. I devoured two and a half sandwiches and a bag of chips. While eating, we noticed that ants overran the picnic area. We had to either stand up or seek out a seat away from the tables. Proving that I was a mature twenty five-year old, I laid out Doritos and bits of BBQ to drive the ants into frenzy. Once we finished playing with the ants, it was time to clean up and head out on our next leg of the day’s trip.

Upon leaving, I learned a quick and valuable lesson. Even though I might be able to eat copious amounts of food, it’s not the best idea. I ate too much BBQ and felt horrible for a large part of the next twenty miles. My stomach and my knee seemed to have formed an alliance because after a pain-free morning, my knee was killing me after cooling down during lunch. I stopped and popped a couple Alleve to try and ease the pain. Our mile sixty rest stop delivered us to a convenience store in a small town where some of the faster riders met a man that was cycling solo from Texas to Seattle. I did the usual bathroom break and refill of the water bottles, but passed on the snack as my stomach was still reminding me of my gluttonous lunch.

We left the gas station and headed to the edge of town where we took a left onto a country road. After a few miles, some people started questioning the route. When the van caught up, we consulted the map and realized we were headed in the wrong direction. We were headed toward Mexico, which in case you didn’t know, is in the opposite direction of Alaska. So we turned around and retraced our pedal strokes back toward the little town. On the way back to our correct course I flatted for the first time. The middle of day two may not seem like very long to go without a flat, but this was literally my first flat--I didn’t flat on a single training ride. When I changed my tube I realized two things. First, this was the first time I’d changed a flat since I was in middle school, and I didn’t do such a bad job. Secondly, my food had finally digested and I felt great. The alliance formed between my stomach and knee must have caused them both to fall, because I realized that the pain in my knee had subsided some as well.

With the flat fixed I was back in the saddle and putting mileage behind me. The heat was once again beating down on us, and we thought there would be no relief until we reached our destination for the night. Just as I felt as if my tires had actually fused to the asphalt, I saw a little green sign that read “Colorado River.” Lo and behold, it was as if someone was reading our minds and cut a river directly into our paths. We excitedly ran our bikes down the embankment and under the bridge. Helmets, shoes, shirts, and in one case shorts went flying as we scrambled to what we knew would be a fresh, energizing dip in the river. I hopped in the water and prepared for the cool water refresh my overheated body, but when my feet hit the bottom I had to look down to make sure I was actually in the water. I peered down and sure enough, I was standing waist-deep in a nice, warm, muddy Texas river. The brutal heat had warmed the coffee colored water to within what felt like mere degrees of the air temperature. Although, we didn’t get the cool bath we were seeking, if felt good to wash the salt from our skin and to relax in the water.

After the dip in the slow moving 600-mile long hot tub called the Colorado River, we were back on the road. Our damp clothes helped to keep us slightly cooler, and before long we had reached the next rest stop, which had been made in front of an impressive gate entrance to a ranch. With no trees or cover in the area, we had to use a stone wall as a place to relieve ourselves. And, of course, as some of us were doing our business a large truck, containing the owners of the ranch, pulled off the road and in front of the gate. We had a short chat with them, and they told us we could rest in front of their place as long as we needed. No mention was made of us using their entrance as our bathroom.

Following our routine, we were back on the road after the rest stop and putting miles of Texas road behind us. Dan and I chatted about music again. Each pedal stroke brought us closer to dinner and a good night’s rest. We approached a “T” intersection in the road and saw a Dairy Queen sheltering a group of bikes directly in front of us. We pulled up and went inside to find another surprise. Pops had decided to treat us all to ice cream cones. Between the dip in the Colorado and an ice cream cone, we were all feeling good and were in good spirits.

When we hit the final stretch into Coleman my knees had quit hurting, and Dan wanted to sprint. Dan, Chris, Suchin, Ryan and I all took off. We were flying at 35 miles an hour downhill with the wind at our backs. We’d gone a good half mile too far before we realized in our excitement we had blown right by our turn. We reluctantly turned and made a less energized ride back uphill and against the wind to make our turn into town. When we finally reached the turn, we were greeted by a steep hill. After we crested the incline and my computer clicked over to 115 miles, and we found the school we were staying at.

When we arrived at the school gym, we were given a meal of Subway sandwiches, fruit, cookies, and Gatorade. After dinner, Kartik, Dan, and I walked across the street to a gas station. I wanted to buy paper and pen to keep a journal on. While Dan and I were inside doing our shopping, Kartik stayed outside to take a picture when a car full of future UT students (and one future Aggie) saw him and asked if he was with Texas 4000. He told them he was and they told him that they had read about us in the newspaper. Dan and I came out of the gas station and the next thing I know, we were crammed in the back seat of their Explorer getting a tour of thriving metropolis that is called Coleman. We were driven through neighborhoods and shown the cactus farm, the school bus house, the area of the park where people go to "get some," and even a miniature version of the town of Coleman. It was during this tour that I, lacking my camera, decided that I would not part with my camera for the rest of the trip.

The young Coleman residents decided to take us to one of their houses to pick up the copy of the newspaper they had read about us in. As we were driving to the residence, we started to drive up a rather steep hill, which we were informed would be our route out of Coleman the next morning. We were less than thrilled with this news. After we were given the newspaper, we were dropped off back at the high school where I walked in to the soon to be familiar smells of Icy Hot and Ben Gay. I realized it was only 9:20 p.m. and I was completely exhausted! My eyes felt as if I'd spent the entire day swimming in a pool with my eyes open. The day’s ride after lunch was mind over matter. I almost didn't make it because I was feeling so bad, but persistence paid off.

Its only day two but I'm already seeing an early bonds form among the riders, myself included. When we got back, people were scattered throughout the gym talking in small groups. After I completed my nightly routine, I started what would become a custom whenever we arrived at a stop for the night. I was one of the few who didn’t bring a sleeping pad of some sort, so I devised ways to make my sleep more comfortable. When I re-entered the gym after brushing my teeth, I noticed the gym mat that was hung on the wall behind the basketball goal. I inspected the pad and found that it was only secured by Velcro, so I pulled it off the wall to use as my bed for the night. It was very hot in the gym, so I dragged it into the room where we had eaten dinner because it was cooler. As soon as the mat was in place, I immediately had bedmates. Four of us ended up lying in relatively close quarters, but I think all of us were asleep before we even realized our eyes were closed.

Day 3: June 3 Coleman, TX to Sweetwater, TX 87 miles

Those who know me know that I am not a morning person and these earlier mornings were not being nice to me. We were up at 5:30 a.m. once again. My breakfast consisted of a couple donuts and a banana. We packed our stuff up and then gathered in the parking lot to assemble for a couple pictures with one of the Coleman residents who was going to accompany us for the first part of our ride.

We left the school at 7 a.m. and headed toward the hill Dan, Kartik, and I had previewed the night before. As we headed up the hill, it turned out to not be as bad as it first appeared to be, but I was still riding in my granny gear and had to stand up for a short distance. Climbing had yet to become part of the norm. I was enjoying the unseasonably cool 64 degree weather, especially with the 100-plus degree weather we’d experienced on the previous two days. However, there was much talk of rain among the riders, and ominous clouds were looming overhead in the distance. At our first rest stop at a church that had to be misplaced, as there was nothing else in sight, I snapped a couple pictures of the encroaching clouds. The radio in the van announced that there was a fifty percent chance of rain on the day, but looking to the west, I was pretty sure we were going to get the short end of the stick. Before pushing out, everyone grabbed their rain gear just to be safe.

We shoved off and hoped the skies would hold up. When we plateaued over a hill and saw that the whole sky was a dark grey about 5 miles ahead, we decided to pick up the pace to make it to the next town before the storm hit us. We were riding as fast as our legs would allow when the rain started to fall. We were still probably about a mile from Winters. Someone spotted a Baptist Church off a side road so we headed for it and found a breezeway. We huddled cold and wet under the breezeway while the skies opened up and sheets of water fell to the earth, and the ditches began to flood with water. As we waited on the rain to subside we peered out of the breezeway to see ducks swimming down the side of the road. I laughed and snapped a couple pictures of our feathered friends enjoying the summer shower.

The rain finally slowed enough that we decided we should try and find the van, Dbear, or the fast group. We headed back to the highway and into town where we found a small café that would provide cover for our bikes and would give us a place to regroup. With our bikes lined up outside, we figured it would be easy for Sunny or Dbear to spot our location if they were to drive by. Once we got inside the café, the smell of the food was too irresistible and most of use started ordering food. I decided to take a chance on the fajitas knowing that it could be last Mexican food I’d get to eat till I returned to Texas in a couple months.

After the bite to eat, we were able to regroup and head out. We found out that the fast group had waited out the worst part of the storm in the garage of a random house. They shared the garage with a Harley and a couple cats. The rain was still falling pretty steadily, but it was not pouring as it had been when the ducks decided to swim laps around the church. It was only day three, yet we were already seeing some bad weather. I was breaking in my rain gear relatively early, so I could only imagine what the Pacific Northwest was going to throw at us. Little did I know, amazingly, we would not pedal another day in the rain. We rode the next twenty miles in the rain. As we were riding I noticed my shoes were so full of water today that I could feel the water running from heel to toe when I pedaled. Of course I had shoe covers, but neglected to dig them out of my bag, so there I was with a river flowing in each of my shoes.

Finally the rain subsided and the sun was making an attempt to peek its face through the now opaque clouds. As we continued to ride and the temperature continued to rise, I found that there was as much moisture inside my rain jacket as there was on the outside. The heat, sweat, and poor ventilation of my rain jacket were creating a mobile sauna inside the jacket. I wasn’t the only one noticing this phenomenon, so we stopped and stripped off the rain gear.

Tommy and I had been riding with the slow group all day and Tommy wanted to pick up the pace. Ryan took off with us and we were riding at around twenty miles an hour. In what was very much “Contra fashion,” Ryan commented that there was no way we could keep up that pace for the last twenty five miles into Sweetwater. Tommy took that as a challenge and started hammering, and we were averaging around twenty three miles an hour or so. I followed behind, but my knee started hurting and Tommy quickly dropped me. We’d been riding mesas all day. We’d climb, the road would flatten for awhile, then we’d descend, the road would flatten, and then the whole process would repeat. I think the climbing is what contributed to the knee pain. I kept riding the best I could, and when I looked back I realized we had dropped Ryan long ago. The pain continued to increase, and all my Alleve was in the van.

Eventually my knee just wouldn't allow me to continue riding and I made the decision to stop and wait on Dbear or Sunny to come pick me up and I would catch a ride into Sweetwater. This decision was a very hard for me to make because I am very stubborn, but I was done for the day. While I rested Ryan finally caught up, and he, of all people, convinced me to keep riding; it was only 18 more miles to town. As Ryan made a case for my continuing the ride, Dbear pulled up in his truck and provided us with a snack and some water. A short time later, the slow group caught up and I started riding again. My knee was still killing me, but I kept pushing on. I honestly thought tears were going to find a way down my cheeks. Riding in that much pain probably wasn’t the best idea when I still had another sixty-seven days to face, but I kept on riding. Looking around I saw the first of many wind turbans that dictate the west Texas landscape. Just outside Sweetwater Melissa’s tire blew out. Upon inspection, the tube had about a four inch section of rubber missing and her tire was possibly toast as well. She loaded her bike into Dbear’s truck and road the remaining couple miles into town.

My knee barely allowed me to make it into Sweetwater, but nevertheless at the end of the day I rode up to the church. When we arrived, we found that there was a large garage area where we were able to store our bikes and hang our wet clothes to dry. Not only that, but there was a stack of pizzas waiting to be devoured. We were informed that we would be staying with host families. The church had put out the word that we were coming through town, so instead of sleeping on the floor of the church, generous families volunteered to take groups of us into their homes for the night. Tommy, Werckle, Don, and I were assigned to stay with the Battices. Mr. and Mrs. Battice were a retired couple who were apparently always taking people in. They loved to have people stay with them, as they jokingly called their residence a motel. A few weeks before, they had housed a man who was walking cross country to Washington to see his father who he had not seen in over 10 years.

When we arrived at their house, we found out that we would all have beds for the night! After two nights of sleeping on the ground, a bed was going to be heaven. Werckle took what the Battices called “the cave.” It was a bed downstairs in a small basement. There were no windows and the room was almost completely soundproof. Don grabbed a bed in bedroom by himself, and Tommy and I took the two twin beds in one of the back bedrooms. We all showered and then Mrs. Battice took our dirty clothes to launder while Mr. Battice gave us a tour of the house and grounds.

The first stop on the tour was Mr. Battice’s workshop. Mr. Battice must own every type of woodworking and metal machinery ever invented. He also showed us a horse drawn buggy from the early 1900s that he had plans to restore. After we left the workshop, he took us to the side of the house to show up some of Mrs. Battice’s flowerbeds and the huge tank he built to collect rainwater so his wife could water her flowerbeds with. Next to the rainwater tank was an antique gas pump, and next to that were a few buckets filled with rocks. Mr. Battice called us over to the buckets and showed us the secret hidden within. They were not normal rocks, the buckets were filled with hundreds of geodes, all of which he had found on his property. Next Mr. Battice took us back inside and proudly showed off his collection of ancient pottery and framed arrowheads. Again, Mr. Battice found all of these artifacts on his property.

After our tour of the grounds, Tommy, Werckle, Don and I were lounging on the back porch. I looked out into the backyard and saw a pattern of clay colored tiles that outlined a pool. Oh how glorious it would be to relax in a pool after a long day of riding, but much to our chagrin pool was now the largest of Mrs. Battice’s prized flowerbeds. The elderly couple explained that since they had gotten older they had no use for a pool anymore, so they filled it with dirt to turn it into something they could enjoy. It is funny how a difference in age presents a differing opinion of which use of a pool is considered enjoyable.

I finally cleared the fleeting thoughts of a dip in a pool when Mrs. Battice called us in the kitchen and made us ice cream sundaes. She also had some pie and wonderful rice crispy treats for us to dispose of. Their place was far better than any hotel! This was my second night in a row with a shower, and I had a real bed for the first time on the trip. And one of the best things, I wasn’t going to be trying to sleep in a room full of loudly snoring people. I was able to ice down my overworked knees and took a couple more ibuprofen, hoping to lessen or avoid any pain on the next day’s ride to Post. I also realized that my toes had been numb since I got up this morning. I thought part of it was due to the colder weather and my feet being wet or my shoes being on too tight, but now I wasn’t so sure. It was hours later and they were still numb. Only thing I could do was to go to sleep and see how they felt the next day.

Tommy and I chatted for awhile before retiring for the night. I could see a friendship beginning to forge between Tommy and me. Bedtime has become 9 or 10 p.m. now, which is when I use to leave to go out. The sleeping and waking hours were completely foreign to me, yet I knew before long they would become much too familiar.

Day 4: June 4 Sweetwater, TX to Post, TX 83 miles

The Battices fixed us breakfast this morning while we gathered and packed all of our belongings. After we finished breakfast and took some rice crispy treats for the road, we loaded into the Battice’s minivan and were carted back into town to meet up with the rest of the riders at the church. When we arrived at the church, I discovered a surprise when I went to gather my previously wet clothes to pack in my bag. Dbear and Pops had dried and lubed everyone’s bike. I put my clothes in my bag and threw it in the trailer and then went to assemble in front of the church for our group picture. The picture was taken and then the open road was ours for the day.

We left Sweetwater to a wonderful surprise. The west Texas landscape greeted us with miles of flat road and threw in a tailwind as a bonus. I never thought I’d ever say it, but I love West Texas. Ok, well at least my knees do. I made it roughly 70 miles today without any sort of knee problems. With a day off tomorrow and a short ride into Lubbock the following day, I hoped my knees would get some recovery time. My ride for the day was rather uneventful; however, not everyone could say the same.

Between the first and second rest stops, we approached the van, which had been pulled to the side of the road. I knew it was too soon for another rest stop, so I began wondering if there was a problem with the van. When we came around the van, I noticed a large group of riders standing around, many of them looking confused. We realized something was wrong and quickly learned that the group had experienced its first major wreck. Once we stopped, Tommy filled me in on what happened.

The front group was riding in a tight double pace line moving along at around 25 miles per hour. From what they gathered someone had to brake suddenly, which can be disastrous in a tight pace line. Once the spacing was reduced to nothing, Dan’s front wheel rubbed Chris’ back wheel, which caused Chris to run into Tommy which, in turn, caused three more people behind Tommy to fall. There were some bumps, bruises, a cracked helmet, and a little blood, but none of the injuries were too severe. Kartik was literally run over in the melee, and now sported a tire track diagonally across his back. Tommy’s wheel was tacoed, but luckily he was able to borrow Kartik’s rear wheel, which he no longer needed, so he could finish out the day.

The rest of the ride in to Post was pretty uneventful. However, riding today made me realize how much beauty you miss riding in a car. West Texas is commonly known as flat and boring drive, but I saw some very beautiful parts of Texas over the previous couple of days. I know I'll see much greater beauty, but even the in worst parts of this great state, treasures lie hidden. The world is a much different work of art at 16 mph.

We knew we were going to have rooms at a lodge, but I was still pleasantly surprised when we rode into town and found our home for the next two nights. The lodge we had been set up with was located on the main road near the high school. The lodge would provide us with beds, showers, a full kitchen, a TV, and more—amenities that will soon be a thing of the past. In its previous life, the lodge had served as a retirement home. Although the smell was gone, I couldn’t help but to shake thoughts of how many people had died in the room I had just chosen as my quarters for the next two nights. Bhard had already claimed the other bed and had wasted no time catching up on some sleep. I placed my stuff down, and went in search of some ice for my knees. During my hunt for ice, Sunny described some exercises I could to do strengthen my knees. Following a much-appreciated shower, I returned to my room, put my headphones on, and drifted off into unconsciousness.

Once I awoke from my nap, I realized it was time to walk over the high school track for the American Cancer Society’s “Relay for Life.” Relay for Life was started in the mid-1980s when Dr. Gordy Klatt decided he wanted to enhance the income of his local American Cancer Society office. In May 1985, Dr. Klatt spent 24 hours circling a track in Tacoma, Washington. Dr. Klatt traveled more than 83 miles. Throughout the night, friends paid $25 to run or walk 30 minutes with him. He raised $27,000 to fight cancer. While circling the track, he imagined a 24-hour team relay event that could raise more money to fight cancer. Dr. Klatt’s vision became a reality and spread to other locations to become an annual event at locations nationwide.

When we first arrived at the track, all the representatives from ACS were happy to see us. We asked if there was anything we could do to help, and they had to fill balloons. While we were working on the assigned task, one of the volunteers let it be known that there would be a “drag show” later as one of the events of the evening. I started trying to convince Seth to dress up. Somehow it morphed into me and a few others convincing Kartik and Suchin to take part in the drag show. Once they had both committed, the volunteer took them over to the high school drama room to begin the conversion to their female counterparts. The Survivor’s Lap signified the official kick-off to the Post Relay for Life. As a cancer survivor, Chris took part in the survivor’s lap as the rest of us watched and cheered on the inspiring group while they circled the track. Once the survivors finished their lap, the rest of us joined in and began walking around the track.

It was still pretty warm outside, so after a few laps I decided to walk over to a convenience store to pick up some Gatorade. When I got back, it had been decided that we would start walking in small groups and trade off so we could begin eating dinner which was being provided for us at no cost. I made my way over to the food stand and traded my ticket in for a hamburger and chips. I ate dinner under the tent while others tossed around a Frisbee, lounged in the soft grass, and walked around the track. Tommy and I decided that since we had a night off we should see if we could locate a set of dominoes and a few beers for later. It was about this time that the drag show was beginning.

Kartik and Suchin both looked absolutely ridiculous, but once they were lined up next to the other contestants, they fit right in. Each participant was introduced and then they had to prance around and strut their stuff. Once all the competitors were introduced, the winner was chosen by the amount of crowd support each person received. Unfortunately, since there were only 19 of us to cheer for Kartik and Suchin, neither of them had a chance of winning. However, they made everyone laugh, which was the point of the contest anyway.

Once Suchin and Kartik had transformed back into men again, Tommy, Bhard, and I decided to go to the grocery store to find some dominoes and a few beers. Tommy quickly located a set of dominoes as I strolled each aisle looking for beer. I checked the entire store and didn’t see any. I asked Tommy and Ben if they thought we might be in a dry county. The three of us all began a mild panic, so I went to inquire at the register. Before I could even finish my sentence, the cashier said, “Walk down to the light, turn left, and go over the railroad tracks to the county line.” Apparently she had been asked that question before. We purchased the dominoes and began a trek in search of beer.

As soon as we turned the corner, we could see neon lights a ways down the road. The county line lay just beyond the rail road tracks, and then we came upon a drive through beverage barn. Bhard waited outside while Tommy and I entered the store and procured some Keystone.

The three of us started walking back toward the lodge with our purchases. We only made it a couple blocks when an El Camino with a couple of middle-aged African American men pulled up. They asked us if we needed a ride. It would only cost us a beer for each of the men in the cab they told us. Tommy, Bhard, and I all looked at each other and shrugged. We agreed to the barter, jumped in the back of the El Camino, and told them our destination. Once we arrived, we hopped out of the vehicle, paid our debt, and went into the lodge.

After we safely stored our beer in the refrigerator, the three of us headed back out to Relay for Life. When we got out there, many of us shuffled over to the mechanical bull and watched with curiosity. We found out that it would set us each back five dollars if we wanted to take a ride on the bull. Once the first person decided to fork over the cash for a turn, people fell in line to sign up for their turn. Of course I was one of the people who quickly dug a crisp five-dollar bill out their pocket. When my turn came, I climbed aboard the bull and grabbed a hold as the bull started to spin. I don’t know if I made my eight seconds or not, but when I was thrown from the bull I landed on a part of the inflatable cushion that had a large hole in it. The impact of my body forced air out of the cushion and my knee found its way to the hard concrete below. Pain that had vanished earlier in the night came flooding back.

As the ache began to subside somewhat, a candlelight vigil began to honor people who had lost their battle with cancer. During the ceremony, a bagpipe player performed “Amazing Grace.” When I heard the first few notes of the song, memories of Bonfire ‘99 rushed back, and I almost lost it. I walked away from the others to compose myself and to avoid having to answer any questions.

I decided it would be better to head back to the lodge to ice down my knee and give it a little rest, so I grabbed Tommy and Bhard to go play some 42. We sat down at the table and taught Bhard how to play 42 and sipped a few cold beers. My body had little reserve after four days of riding and it showed. Before I even finished the second beer, I could feel the effects. Other riders came back to the lodge and we shared our beer with them. We played dominoes until almost three o’clock before heading off to bed.

Day 5: June 5 Day off in Post, TX

This morning we got to "sleep in." I got up at about 9:30—a time I once thought was early. When I awoke, I found out that members of Texas 4000 had been on the track walking all night long at Relay for Life. At 7 AM, while I was still selfishly sleeping, Paul woke a couple people up to relieve Steve who had been walking all night. When they got to the track they realized that Texas 4000 for Cancer was the only group who was still walking! Texas 4000 represented well by finishing the relay strong at 8 a.m. with several riders and the only team still walking around the track. The final total raised at the Post Relay for Life surpassed $25,000!

I drug myself out of bed and several of us headed to the Post pool. We relaxed by the pool and talked about whatever came to mind. We took turns jumping off the diving board and catching a Frisbee. Tommy and I decided to walk down to a nearby lake that had been dubbed “Lake McNasty” by Skip. We took one look at the water and realized why he chose that particular name. There was a group of ducks lingering around the water. I think the ducks were just as revolted by the water as we were because none of them would venture into the stagnant water. I tossed a rock onto the ground and one of the ducks ran over and gobbled it up thinking it must be bread. Once again, in an effort to prove my maturity, Tommy and I devised a plan to lure the duck back to the pool. We gathered small rocks and sticks and tossed one toward the duck. The duck immediately ran over and scooped up the rock, but quickly spit it out when I realized the rock wasn’t a morsel of food. To test the duck’s intelligence, I took a couple of steps back and tossed another rock. Once again the duck ran forward, scooped it up, spit it out, and looked at me. We repeated this process many times over until the duck was almost to the entrance of the pool. The bird finally realized that it was eating rocks and sticks and turned to walk away in defeat. Seeing the duck head back toward “Lake McNasty,” Tommy and I turned and walked back to the pool in defeat. We relaxed at the pool for a bit longer and then realized it was time to head back to the lodge, so we could go to the Post Trading Days, which is many merchants selling different things, for lunch.

On our way out the people running the pool invited us back to the pool to have a party later that night. Before loading up to go to the Post Trading Days, a few of us sat in the common room of the Lodge and discussed the details of our route. Our route was originally set to end in Juneau, however, because there are no roads in or out of Juneau, the logistics were going to be a bit of a nightmare. Our route would now end in Skagway, and then we would load up in the van and drive to meet the Rocky Route, which finished in Anchorage. We felt that the end of our ride was going to be anticlimactic, so we began exchanging a few ideas of how to change our ride.

Once everyone was ready to go, we wrapped up our discussion, loaded up, and headed to the Post Trading Days, which is somewhat of a big deal in the small town of Post. People from all around, including Lubbock, come in on the weekends to browse and shop. We had a hamburger lunch donated to us, and then meandered around checking out the goods for sale and talked to the locals about the merits of our ride and what it encompassed.

After we left the Old Trading Days, we all had time to lounge around before heading out to the pool. I iced my knees down for a while, while Sunny explained to me the knee-strengthening exercises she had told me about. After Sunny was finished I put on my headphones to relax and lose myself in the world of music while my knees made an attempt at rehabilitation.

Music is an amazing thing. Without even realizing it, the mind attaches memories to albums, songs, or even individual lyrics. If the right music is picked, one can instantly be transported to a favorable time in their past. Memories flood back and recreate themselves in the mind like short films. I like to think of songs as individual journals, which require no writing and an individual has no say in what is included. It is all there--the good times and the bad--music won’t let you forget.

After my venture into the world of music, Tommy and I gathered a couple more people to play some 42 while we waited to head out to the pool. When we got to the pool, some of the other riders were already there. The music was loud and everyone seemed to be having a good time—too good of time. This was our first night off and almost everyone was a little crazy

We set out on our walk back to the lodge sometime around midnight, and we quickly got acquainted with west Texas dust storms. The night was still and the air was cool. Out of nowhere the wind picked up and became a vessel for the grains for sand to relocate. The flying sand felt like thousands of tiny needles *****ing my skin. Several people were literally yelling out loud, and by the time we got back everyone had sand all over them. I found my way back to my room and crawled into bed to steal as much sleep as I could.

Day 6: June 6 Post, TX to Lubbock, TX 42 miles

I woke up a bit groggy and slightly dazed the late night at the pool. The Church of Christ in Post had invited us to their Sunday morning services and was going to provide us with a pot luck lunch afterwards, but because we were leaving directly from the church, we all had to be dressed in our cycling gear.

Once everything and everyone was emptied from the lodge, we rode our bikes over to the church. I found a place to leave my bike outside and then I entered the church. We all sat in a group on side of the sanctuary, which made it easy for the congregation to gather around and fraternize with us. When the sermon started, I began to realize what an odd situation we were in. The topic of the morning’s sermon was lust, and part of the sermon concentrated on young people revealing too much skin and wearing tight clothing. The sermon was in no way directed specifically at us, but here we were sitting in a church wearing spandex shorts.

After the sermon the good people of the Church of Christ fed us a wonderful pot luck lunch which consisted of: brisket, beans, sausage, salad, and many assorted desserts. During lunch, we got a chance to speak with members of the congregation. They asked us not only about the ride, but inquired about our lives, family, school, work, and other questions. I ate until I was completely stuffed. We profusely thanked everyone for the tasty meal and then hit up the bathrooms for the last time before we got on the road.

It is interesting how quickly your stance on things changes when you are thrown into a close-knit, accelerated environment. All my life I had avoided the use of a public bathroom to do my business. If an emergency arrived, I would search for a bathroom with no one else in it to take care of things. There I was on the morning of day six, having a discussion with the guys in the other stalls. It may have been something trivial, but the situation was one of first signs of more important changes to come.

After everyone finished their last-minute visit to the bathroom, we gathered outside the church to take the now familiar group picture in front of the church. We thanks the generous people of Post once again and then set out on our ride to Lubbock.

As we left Post behind, we immediately began to mentally prepare for the difficult ascent that we had been told we would encounter outside of town. For the past two days we had heard about the infamous Cap Rock. According to the locals, it was going to be a horrendous climb once we left town. A short distance from the city limits sign we rode up a short relatively easy ascent, and several of us began making sarcastic jokes about how this simple climb was the almighty Cap Rock. Turned out it was. I was quickly learning to never trust a local's perception of the land.

It was pretty common to inquire of the locals what the landscape on our way out of town would be like. It seemed like it made sense, since they live there. However, they see it from behind the wheel of a car, and the perception of geography is drastically different when your legs are not the engine propelling you across the land. I’d hear a local tell us about how the ride the next day would be flat. Yet magically when we woke up, the flat ride became a journey through mountains. A difficult climb turned out to be a short hill. Twenty miles becomes fifty. I should have learned, yet day after day, I’d continue asking for a glimpse of the future terrain through skewed eyes.

Once we had tackled the “hellacious” Cap rock, a short, flat ride into Lubbock made my knees very happy. I rode with Chris and Pirkle for the first half of the ride and then decided to pick it up a bit and ventured off alone. As the wonderful smells of stockyard’s cow manure were greeting me to Lubbock, I met up with Kartik, Suchin, and Dan.

The Texas Exes had set us up at the Highland Baptist Church in the activities center. I was very pleasantly surprised when I walked through the door. They had two pool tables, air hockey, an arcade with games from the 80’s, a basketball court, a racquetball court, roller skates, and a big screen TV. Shortly after arriving we took showers and then were fed a great spaghetti dinner.

Stomachs full, some of us made a trip out to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things. I was looking for a sleeping pad, but ended up buying beef jerky instead. I purchased my essential items and then headed out to the van to wait for the others. A few riders were already out there and were engaged in conversation with a local cyclist. We told him about our ride and he talked of his racing days. Once the others made their way back to the van, we bid a goodbye to the local and headed back to the church.

Upon returning, I saw that a few of the riders had already crashed for the night and others were gathered around the TV watching the NBA finals. I began scanning the room for a comfortable place to sleep since I had made the wise decision of buying beef jerky, which would not provide comfortable bedding. I saw a couple of old, padded church pews lined up against the wall and quickly claimed one as my bed for the night.

With a bed secured, it was time to jump in the van with the fellow Harry Potter nerds and go to the movie theater. Even with a short day of riding, I found it difficult to keep my attention focused on the movie when I knew precious sleep was on the horizon. After the movie, the return trip to the church was made. Everyone had long since gone to bed, so it was almost pitch black inside the activities center. Luckily, not only did the church pew provide me with a padded surface, it resided near the door, so I had a little light to make my way to my belongings. I rummaged through my stuff and found my toothbrush, and then precariously made my way to and from the bathroom. I slid into my sleeping bag and drifted off to sleep.

Day 7: June 7 Lubbock, TX to Farwell, TX 92 miles

I woke up to the wonderful smell of a home-cooked breakfast. The Texas Exes prepared us a pancake breakfast! As usual, I stuffed myself until it felt as if my stomach would burst. After breakfast, we packed up our stuff, bid a gracious farewell to our hosts, and made our way out of Lubbock. As I was putting Lubbock into my past, I hoped I there would be no return trip to the underwhelming city.

Today’s ride was relatively easy, and I had no knee pain for the first time on a long ride.
I started out riding with the slow group, but I could feel the pace was too slow for me. I wasn’t a strong enough rider to keep up with the fast group, but I could feel that my legs were strengthening and my ability to ride at a faster pace was increasing daily. To pass the time, we were playing word association games as we rode. One rider would name an actor and the person behind him in the pace line would have to name another actor whose name began with the last letter of the previous actors name. We played similar games with bands and songs.

If moving at a slow pace wasn’t bad enough, Ryan was crushing me. While the rest of us would eat snacks, fill our water, and go to the bathroom at the rest stops, Ryan would sit in the van. Just as we would be ready to leave from the rest stop, Ryan would decide he needed to go to the bathroom. His water bottles that had been empty for the past fifteen minutes would suddenly need to be filled. I would be on my bike and start pedaling, and someone would tell me to wait for Ryan. Not only was Ryan delaying us at rest stops, he was riding slow and holding back the group. At one point, Ryan was riding next to me in a double pace line, and he was swerving around on the side of the road to ride through patches of small rock and gravel. During on particular instance of his detour into the patches of gravel, his rear tire clipped a rock and propelled it into my face just under my right eye. I was already frustrated with the guy, and I just about lost it at that point. I yelled at him and told him to keep out of the gravel and just ride.

We stopped in Muleshoe at a gas station to eat lunch, which consisted of the sausage biscuits that had been donated to us before we left. We had been eating these for breakfast and many times lunch almost daily since we left. Our group had made a decision to eat whatever was cheap or donated, no matter how sick of it we got, in an effort to minimize expenses. The less we spent on food, the more money we could donate to the American Cancer Society when the ride was over.

After lunch, we decided to form a middle group, which consisted of Pirkle, Tommy, Suchin, Chris, and me. Up until this point we had almost exclusively only ridden with a fast group and a slow group. With no knee pain, I was hoping for a pretty quick pace with the middle group, but we were riding at a pace that didn’t seem much faster than the slow group.

To alleviate my frustration of the slow pace, I eventually sped up and rode by myself for much of the latter part of the ride. As I rode into Farwell, I passed one of the faster riders who told me the New Mexico border was only about a mile and half ahead in the middle of town, so I headed for the border to see the end of the Lone Star State. I crossed the border and then started heading back to where we were staying. Shortly after turning around I ran into Pirkle and Chris, so I turned around and rode back to the border with them. We took turns posing with the “Welcome to New Mexico” sign. What a magnificent sight it was to see a new state. I had ridden my bike across a large portion of Texas in just seven short days. After snapping a few pictures and exchanging a couple celebratory yells, I turned away from our new friend New Mexico, and we headed back into town to the school where we would be staying for the night.

When we arrived at the school, we found the front group lounging in the shaded grass outside the school. Our contact from the school had not shown up to let us in to the school yet. While lying in the shade barefoot rehashing the day’s ride, the water sprinklers came on to give us an unexpected shower and sent us into a frenzy trying to collect our belongings and relocate. We all gathered shoes that had been cast aside and our bikes and scattered across the street. We had successfully escaped the water that had threatened to soak us, but now the pavement was scorching our exposed feet.

We were finally able to gather that we needed to ride around to the back of the school where a nice comfortable gym floor awaited our slumber. We unloaded our stuff and poured into the school, where we discovered that we had showers, internet access, TV, and the home economics room to cook food in. We were also happy to discover that we could use the field house to do laundry in.

After unloading our stuff, Suchin, Tommy, and I walked over to the field house and started to do some laundry. While waiting on the machines to remove the dirt, sweat, and grease from our clothes, I noticed a stereo sitting on a shelf with a couple of CDs scattered haphazardly around it. I popped in one of the CDs and Van Halen started singing “Jump.” Once Van Halen left the stage, Rage Against the Machine lent us a couple songs. We sang along and joked until our clothes were clean.

Dryer warm clothes in hand, we headed back to the school to relax while dinner was being prepared. A group of us lounged in the library and waited for a turn to use the Internet to email loved ones and catch up on the news. Soon dinner was ready, so we all packed into the Home Economics room. This was the first night we had to cook for ourselves, so a few of the riders whipped up a gourmet meal of Ramen Noodles and grilled cheese sandwiches was consumed while we discussed our newly devised plans of meeting up with the Rockies in the Yukon rather than riding to Skagway.

We had decided to propose to the Rockies to meet up with them in Whitehorse. Our new route would now end our route in Anchorage, as well allowing us to ride into Anchorage will the full 40 riders. We originally were going to drive from Skagway to Anchorage after the ride was over, but if we shifted the driving to the section after Prince George, we could meet up with the Rocky Route and not lose any riding mileage. The new plan meant we would drive slightly over 1000 miles from Prince George to Whitehorse and then ride the last 10 days with the Rockies. We all agreed this would be a better route, especially since we didn’t have any lodging secured along the route to Skagway anyway.

Sunny was worried about our hydration, so we bought a scale in Lubbock. The purpose was to weigh in prior to riding and after riding to see how much water weight we were losing over the course of a right. Immediately we saw how dehydrated we were becoming during the day. Most of us had lost around 5 pounds, and that was during only five or six hours of riding. That meant we should be ingesting at least five more pounds of water, which equated to over a half of a gallon, to make up for it.

After dinner, we all went our separate ways. Some people watched a bootleg copy of Shrek 2, some watched TV, and I headed back to the library to get my Internet fix and send out a few emails. It was starting to get late for me, so I decided it was time to get some sleep. As I was walking down the hall toward the gym, I noticed a stack of large, broken down boxes. Since I still did not have a sleeping pad and I had long since eaten the beef jerky I had bought in lieu of one, I grabbed a stack of the boxes and drug them to the gym. I carefully constructed a pallet of boxes to cushion my body from the hard gym floor, lay down, and closed my eyes.

Day 8: June 8 Farwell, TX to Yeso, NM 100 miles

Packing up a bag has become quite routine. At night I try to take out only what I need so that I can sleep for a few more minutes when morning rolls around. T-shirts are carefully rolled as tightly as possible and stuffed into crevasses, rain gear is packed together in case it needs to be pulled out mid-day, and tennis shoes are tied to the bag via the bag’s handles. I crammed my sleeping bag haphazardly into the stuff sack and then carried my belongings to the trailer where they were carelessly tossed in among the mounds of other bags.

This morning felt slightly different when I mounted my bike and set off for lands unknown. There were multiple reasons for the different feeling. We weren’t just heading out on another ride through the Texas landscape. Just a couple miles after starting our ride, we would cross into a new state. Even though I hadn’t been through any of these particular West Texas towns prior to this ride, something still felt comfortable. Now in a few short minutes, we would be crossing into something completely different. I once lived in New Mexico, and I’d seen much of the state. However, that was long ago, and it wasn’t just New Mexico. It was the fact that I was leaving “home” and would not return for over two months. I guess it was the point where the grandiosity of trip and the undertaking finally sank in.

Another reason this morning felt different was that today was the first time we were riding with the details of the night unknown. Previously, we had secured lodging and usually food for dinner and breakfast. Leaving today, we only knew our destination was Yeso. We didn’t know where we would be staying and we knew for sure that we would be making our own dinner. The unknown couldn’t become a deterrent, as there were many more cities and locations waiting to welcome us.

We set out for the day’s ride and a few short miles after the first pedal stroke, New Mexico welcomed us. We had ridden as a group to the state line, so we stopped for some quick group photos. The first 20 miles were pretty flat and quiet until a few fighter jets buzzed by us at a low altitude before landing at a nearby air force base. We had a flat ride through beautiful rolling desert plains but other than the close look at high tech aircraft, the ride didn’t get interesting until about mile sixty.

We spotted a sign advertising the burial place of the infamous Billy the Kid. Making the detour to the outlaw’s grave would add three and a half miles each way, but we figured we would probably not be in the area ever again. We turned left off the highway and started pedaling toward the museum. A couple miles down the road a huge dog barked and started running toward us. None of us saw the dog before it made any noise, so it took us all by surprise. Luckily, the beast was chained up, so it only made it to the roadside before being jerked back toward the porch it was tethered to. They say everything is bigger in Texas, so this dog must have been transplanted to New Mexico because it was the biggest dog I’d ever seen.

When we pulled up to the museum, we'd been riding for the better part of the day. Exhausted, we dropped ourselves on the wooden bench in front of the museum. Tourists came and went, and we made small talk with a few of the tourists who had stopped to pay a visit to the notorious eternal sleeper. One particularly generous couple donated twenty dollars after speaking with us about our cause. When there is a group of us together and we are all wearing the same jerseys and riding the same bikes it tends to draw people’s attention. We have been asked countless times what we are doing, and once the story begins, people are always very interested.

The people running the museum gave us complimentary admission and told us to feel free to peruse the exhibits and the graveyard. We went into the museum to look at the artifacts, but I think I was spending time inside just to soak up some cool air conditioning. I looked around at all the old newspaper clippings, guns, clothes, and even a stuffed two-headed calf. After I had absorbed a complete history of Billy the Kid, it was time to leave the air conditioning behind and go take a look at the tombstone.

I headed out to the graveyard to peer at The Kid's grave, which was encased in a steel cage. The bars were there to prevent theft of the headstone, which had apparently happened on more than one occasion. I found the cage rather fitting. He was, after all, a criminal, and here he was encased in an eternal jail cell.

After perusing the museum and wandering the graveyard, the van pulled into the parking lot. Lunch! Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chips, a meal fit for a king, or so it seemed. We sat on a picnic table outside in the shade and ate our lunch. Sunny told us that some of the riders had elected to skip the detour to Billy the Kid’s grave and were waiting on us in Fort Sumner.

Once we finished our lunches, we decided to try and find a route that would bring us out farther up Highway 60 instead of taking the route back that we had followed to get to the museum. Also, on the way in, I had spotted a sign that revealed a lake was in the area. A few of us wanted to try another route to see if we could locate the lake and take a swim to cool off. We traversed through a series of country roads that wove through fields of crops. Finally we happened upon the lake.

Joyously we sped toward the lake, ditched our bikes under a large tree, and then ran down to the water’s edge. My expression of joy quickly changed to one of disappointment when I saw the state of the water. Apparently Texas wasn’t the only state that had a Lake McNasty. The lake wasn’t very big, so I took a walk around to see if any area looked a bit more inviting, but I returned to the group without any good news. We hung out in the shade for awhile as a few of us dared each other to jump in the water, but no one would venture into the stagnant brown water.

Dejected, we mounted our bikes and started the journey to Fort Sumner to meet up with the riders who had forgone the detour. We successfully found our way back onto Highway 60 at a position a few miles up the road from where we had exited a few hours earlier and made our way into Fort Sumner. We found the rest of the group lounging outside a gas station, and it was here that we had our first group argument.

We were all exhausted. The temperature was over 100 degrees and the heat was beginning to get to us. The team was divided. Some of the riders wanted to stay in Fort Sumner and hang out until it cooled off, and the rest of us wanted to just keep riding and get the day over with. Everyone was voicing their opinion at the same time, and nothing was being resolved. Someone threw out the idea of some people leaving and the rest staying, but we weren’t sure we could properly support two groups. Chris finally put the issue to rest with a vote. Luckily, for me anyway, more hands were raise for trudging on and finishing out the day.

From Fort Sumner we had around 20 miles to ride to Yeso. Since we still had no idea what would be awaiting us in Yeso, Skip volunteered to drive ahead and check it out. I started out riding with the faster group, but slowly fell behind and found myself riding alone. About twelve miles into the last leg, I ran out of water. Riding alone in the desert meant little chance of getting a refill before reaching my destination for the evening. Just when I thought I was going to shrivel up and blow away, I saw Skip’s Explorer rapidly approaching. The vehicle slowed and Suchin leaned out the window to tell me that we had a place to stay in Yeso. They had talked to some residents of Yeso, who owned all the land as far as you could see, and they granted us access to a community center! This was amazing news. Everything always works out. I asked if they had any extra water I could have, but there was none in the Explorer. Undaunted, I picked up my pace. Even with no water, I was reenergized by the good news of staying at a community center.

As I pedaled into what appeared to be Yeso, I wondered how this place could have a community center. Buildings had been reduced to piles of brick and board. The buildings that remained were boarded up. The only exceptions were small a post office and a few houses scattered in the distance off the road. I saw Skip’s Explorer parked on the corner of the highway and a dirt road, so I turned onto the dirt road and there before me was the community center.

The ramshackle building appeared to not have been used for decades. When I arrived I discovered that I was correct. The building had once served as a community center, but had lain dormant for many years. What was left of the white paint was barely clinging to the tin-roofed wooden building. I carefully leaned my bike against the front porch not wanting to put too much pressure on the building as I was afraid it might crumble before our eyes. I climbed the stairs, walked down the porch, and entered the community center. The floor was covered in years of dirt and dust. The single room was completely void of furniture except an out-of-tune piano. I walked back out and questioned staying in a building which would be condemned if this town actually had a building inspector. I was then informed that we would be camping outside the building on the overgrown lawn among the cacti.

When the remainder of the riders made it in and the van showed up, we unloaded our belongings and began our attempt at setting up tents. This was our first time to use many of the tents, so some groups were having problems. We had to find a flat area and then clear away rocks carefully checking for cactus. We managed to set up our tent rather quickly, as Tommy had used his tent on a pretty regular basis.

While the dinner crew began preparing our feast for the night I wandered around the remains of Yeso. I wandered in and out of barely standing buildings, poked through piles of junk, and checked our rusted out old cars. On my way back to the community center, I saw a couple of riders talking to a Yeso resident. I wandered over to take part in the conversation. The woman had seen us gathering outside the community center and had come out to see what was going on. Apparently we were the most exciting thing Yeso had seen in a number of years. We spoke to her about our cause and she told us about life in Yeso.

Yeso was established in 1906, when the railroad came through the area. It quickly became a trading center for ranchers and the few farmers in the area. The post office began operations in 1909, and is still in operation. When it became clear that the land was not good for farming, and only useful for sheepherding and grazing, many of the original settlers moved away leaving Yeso to become what I discovered when I rode into town.

We wrapped our conversation with the nice woman and headed back over to the community center where a meal of rice, beans, and sausage awaited. I dug in and immediately my stomach was happy. The concoction of carbohydrates and protein tasted divine. Everyone commented on how great the meal was. Later, Skip informed us that the food was actually pretty disgusting, and we probably only liked it because we were so hungry from a long day of riding. Nevertheless, it was the best tasting rice and beans I’d ever eaten.

With stomachs full, some of us went exploring the ruins of Yeso again. I caught a horny toad near the community center. I remember catching them all the time when I was little and living in New Mexico, but many of the riders crowded around gazing curiously at the small reptile as it was the first time they had ever set eyes upon one of the strange creatures. Skip decided he wanted to go snake hunting, grabbed a few of the riders, and took off down the dirt road in his Explorer. A short time later they returned saying they had seen a few rabbits and spotted one snake.

Darkness started to settle in over the ghost town and after staring at the beautiful stars for awhile, it was time to get some sleep. Tommy, Steve, and I all claimed Tommy’s tent along with Dan. It was the beginning of a summer sharing a tent with Tommy and Steve. Eventually Dbear would join us to complete the Casa. On this particular night Dan had joined us and had purchased an air mattress in Lubbock. Instead of sleeping on the hard desert floor with only a thin sleeping bag and the tent floor separating me from the rocks below, I got to share the air mattress with Dan. The community center may not have been what I expected, but I couldn’t complain about getting a comfortable night’s sleep on a soft mattress in the middle of a ghost town.


Day 9: June 9 Yeso, NM to Estancia, NM 100 miles

Mornings in the desert are quite cool, which makes it hard to get up. Despite the comfortable air mattress, I had a horrible night’s sleep. Although the trading days of Yeso were long gone, the trains still paid a visit to what was left of the town every 20 minutes. Between the trains rumbling through the night and the cows that sounded like a dying wookie, sleep was constantly interrupted. I finally forced myself out of my sleeping bag when Dan said he needed to deflate the air mattress. Someone had spotted a water hose behind the post office the night before, so a few of us headed over there to take a primitive shower. The water must have been pumped in straight from the arctic. I decided to just rinse my face off and forgo the full body cleansing. We broke down our tents and ate oatmeal for breakfast—I avoided the grits.

More challenges awaited us today. We were in for the latter half of back-to-back centuries. Very few of us had ever done centuries on consecutive days, and we weren’t sure how our bodies were going to react to that kind of wear. The other challenge was elevation gain. After leaving the hill country around Austin, we had been riding the flat lands of West Texas and Eastern New Mexico for a number of days. Today’s ride would end after gaining an elevation of 1300 feet. At first thought, it didn’t seem that bad, only 13 feet of elevation gain every mile. However, we were still in the middle of flat land as far as the eye could see which meant that the elevation gain would likely be concentrated into and area later in the day.

Once we left Yeso behind and put some mileage behind us we encountered some pretty brutal climbing. We were encountering hills that were as bad as or worse than anything in Austin had offered us during our training. The pancake flat lands of the previous four days had done nothing to prepare our legs for what we were battling. If the climbing wasn’t bad enough, Mother Nature decided to throw a stiff head wind at us as well. The first part of the day was very repetitious. I’d climb a hill fighting a headwind, crest the summit, and then have to pedal downhill against the wind. At one point, we spotted some rain clouds on the horizon and started worrying about running into some bad weather. As we discussed the possibility of getting rained on in the desert, we realized that the rain clouds were mountains! The sight of mountains lifted our spirits a little.

After 35 miles of hills, wind, and burning quads we reached the city of Vaughn where we decided to have lunch outside a convenience store. Tired of peanut butter and honey on old bagels, Pirkle, Tommy, and I decided to spend a little bit of our own cash and headed across the street to Penny’s Diner. I ordered one of Penny’s fine cheeseburgers, which was the perfect lunch to battle the wind and the hills.

Because our lunch took a bit longer than everyone else’s, we left Vaughn just ahead of the last group, and the winds were absolutely crushing. We could only manage 9 to11 miles an hour the rest of the day. We weren’t catching a direct headwind, so at times, we would catch it as a crosswind and it very nearly blew me off my bike a few times. The wind did succeed at blowing a few of us into the gravel and nearly causing us to crash. I could see mountains in the distance ahead and vast salt flats in the desert to my right.

We decreased the distance between our rest stops to try and allow more rest to finish out the day, but at our slow pace, we were losing daylight. We needed to arrive in Estancia by a certain time for dinner, and we weren’t sure we were going to make it. Soon the van passed us, and they had collected the slow group to drive them in. They were far enough back that they weren’t going to make it in time for dinner. If we didn’t hurry, we would be SAGed in as well, and none of us wanted that to happen. Luckily, not too long after the van passed us we made it to Willard, where we turned onto another highway that led us to Estancia.

The turn onto the new highway turned the exhausting headwind into a tailwind, which allowed us to coast along at a swift 22-25 mile per hour pace for the final 11 miles into Estancia. After struggling to keep a pace over ten miles an hour all day, the faster pace felt as if we were speeding along the interstate with the cruise set on 70. We battled the winds and braved hills to get our first peek at mountains, and now we were closing in on finishing the last half of consecutive centuries.

We stayed at the Methodist Church in Estancia. They provided dinner for us by grilling hot dogs, hamburgers, and an assortment of sides and desserts. We had been weighing ourselves after our rides to see how much water weight we had lost during the course of the day. If we lost too much weight, we were dehydrated, and we would increase water intake the next day. Making proper use of the scale, Doug and I decided to have a contest to see who could gain the most weight during dinner.

The contest was set. I knew I would never be the fastest rider, but I thought I had a chance of winning this challenge. I proceeded to ingest 3 hamburgers, 1 regular hot dog, 1 jumbo hot dog, 2 very large handfuls of chips, a plateful of beans, 2 scrumptious brownies, 7 powdered donuts, 5 glasses of tea, and 1 glass of 7 UP. My stomach felt like it was about to rupture, but it was time to weigh ourselves and see if my discomfort was worth it. I stepped on the scale and I had gained a full seven pounds during the course of my gluttonous dinner! Next it was time for Doug to weigh in and see if he could match my feat. Doug only managed a measly three pounds. Victory was mine!

Once everyone had finished dinner, we all took turns using the shower next door. The preacher of the church was kind enough to let us shower at her house. Our shower was timed to three minutes to try and get everyone through and still have a bit of hot water. The three minutes was the best shower of my life and was my first shower in two days since I had elected to not use the hose to wash off in Yeso.

To end the night we decided to have a group meeting to air our grievances and to offer words of encouragement. We sat in a circle and went from person to person allowing each to clear their mind. When my time came around, I asked for people to not make any bonfire jokes, as I had overheard a couple over the past nine days. After that, I offered some advice on how I got through the day.

Before the ride each of us had placed name or two on the top tube of our bike. These were the names of the people each of us were riding in memory of or in honor of. My grandmother, Pat West, who because of a losing battle with breast cancer, I never got to know, was the first name on my bike. The second name on my bike was Lloyd Curington. Lloyd was a former running back for A&M, a big influence on my attending A&M, and a close family friend who lost his battle with brain cancer. I was riding for three other people as well—my uncle who lost a battle with colon cancer, my friend Joanna who beat lymphoma, and my friend’s mother who was currently battling breast cancer.

I told the group that today was simply mind over matter. I wanted to quit so bad, but I just kept pedaling. Each time I thought about quitting, about the pain in my legs, or how tired I was, I glanced down at those names on my bike. No matter what pain I faced on the ride or what fatigue I experienced, nothing compared to what someone faces in a battle with cancer. Those names weren’t just there to serve as a memory of someone or in honor of someone; those names were there to serve as inspiration and motivation.

After the meeting concluded, we all did out nightly chores and laid our weary bodies down to recover from traveling 200 miles in two days.

Day 10: June 10 Estancia, NM to Albuquerque, NM 53 miles

When we started off at an elevation of around 6100 feet when we left Estancia, and Albuquerque lies at around 5,000 feet. Losing 1100 feet of elevation and only riding 53 miles was a welcome undertaking after back-to-back centuries. We left Estancia on a flat road, but once again we were handed a stiff headwind. After about ten miles, we came to a laundry mat where we took a rest stop. A few of us needed an emergency stop after our large meal the previous night, and we also were able to use the deep sinks to fill the water jugs for the van and Dbear’s truck.

After the quick rest stop, we set out on historic Route 66. Initially the road took us through some rolling hills, which quickly transformed to the foothills of the ensuing Sandia Mountains. By mile thirty we were climbing our first mountain pass. Luckily the elevation we started at when we began climbing the pass was high enough that the climb wasn’t too difficult, but of course there was a headwind.

I was beginning to think that it was going to be harder than the previous day, but once we crested the top of the mountain pass, it was downhill all the way into Albuquerque. Even though the distance was pretty short, the group still got pretty spread out. The front group was waiting on the rest of us because we they weren’t sure exactly how to get into Albuquerque. We had taken old Route 66 from Estancia but that turned into I-40, and it is illegal, and not to mention dangerous, to ride a bicycle on the freeway. My group had to stop when we got the roads a bit mixed up, and then I got a flat. The slow group had stopped a number of times to take pictures of the mountains.

When we caught up to the front group, they had climbed up the side of the mountain and were standing on top. The van arrived at the same time we did, so the fast group scampered down, we consulted the map that was in the van, and we forged on. We stopped just inside the Albuquerque city limits sign to wait for the rest of the group because we had decided to ride in as a group since Albuquerque was our first big city. As we were sitting around talking, the picked up and wind blew some of our papers containing contact info. Suchin quickly reacted and tried to rescue them as they blew into a large, menacing cactus. He had a short battle with the cacti and lost. I snapped a few pictures of his bloody, needle-laden hands as the last group arrived at our location. We picked the needles out of Suchin’s hand and then headed on into Albuquerque as a full group of 20 in a double pace line.

We arrived at the Covenant Presbyterian Church on the corner of Candelaria and Moon and quickly populated the much needed showers. After cleaning up, a small group headed to Whole Foods to do some food shopping for the group. When they arrived the store surprised them with a gift card worth $150. The generosity we were seeing from businesses and people was allowing us to save so much money on food expenses. It was amazing how good some of our riders were at stretching money. Feeding 20 hungry riders up to three meals a day and ensuring enough snacks was a feat in itself, but doing it on a budget was pretty incredible.

That evening we had dinner with a local breast cancer support group. They were a nice bunch of 5 or 6 women who met twice a month, but came out that night just for us. They normally meet with women who are currently undergoing treatment. They were very excited and interested in what we were doing and were more than happy to visit with us. I spent the first part of the meal talking college baseball with Skip, but then I was lucky enough to find myself at a table with a lively woman named Kathy.

Kathy was an upbeat breast cancer survivor who used her personality to help women cope with the affliction. “What’s the difference between school and a mastectomy?” she asked us. We all replied we did not know and looked quixotically at the elderly woman. “In school, it’s good to go from a D to an A in one day!” she fired back. Her humor about such a serious subject as a mastectomy initially puzzled me, but as I listened to her talk, I realized that keeping a positive attitude played an important role in beating the disease.

As I listened to Kathy speak about various subjects, I found myself captivated. Kathy used to be a nurse and married a doctor. He would bring home animals (skunks, snakes, etc) to keep as pets. Since he was a doctor, he would perform home surgeries on them, such as removing the scent sac from the skunk, with Kathy assisting. She told us the two of them were married because of a dinosaur bone from the Field Museum in Chicago. He said he wouldn’t marry anyone who wouldn’t go hunting for dinosaur bones with him. I can’t remember the entire story but apparently it had something to do with the two of them and the dinosaur bone.

Kathy also told us the history of Albuquerque. She was a former tour guide in her spare time and knew plenty of the history of the city. She informed us that Albuquerque was illegally founded when New Mexico was still a part of Mexico. At the time, the Mexican government set up certain rules for establishing a township, and Albuquerque did not originally meet them. The city was originally called San Francisco, but when the Mexican Officials discovered that the city only had 10 of the 20 required soldiers and 20 of the required 30 families, they threatened to revoke the city’s status. The city was then renamed to San Francisco de Albuquerque, which satisfied the Mexican Viceroy, as it was now named after him as well, and allowed the city to keep the township.

As Kathy wrapped up her brief history of Albuquerque, I realized we had listened to her talk during dinner and all the way out to her car. As I stood next to her vehicle I began to realize what I missed during the first part of dinner while talking baseball and what I missed back in Post when I decided to play 42 instead of staying out at the Relay for Life. I was missing opportunities to learn from people who had battled cancer and won. Not just about their battles with cancer, but about random facts like the history of Albuquerque. I had been presented opportunities to interact with locals and groups that had made time for us, and I had allowed people and their experiences to pass me by. As I watched Kathy drive away, I decided that I would not allow myself to let these opportunities slip by.

The rest of the night was ours to relax, so I borrowed Tommy’s cell and called my friend Amelia. She was from Austin, but was in New Mexico because her grandfather had just passed away after losing his battle with cancer. She was only about an hour from Albuquerque, so she drove in to meet up with me that evening. I rallied some people and Tommy, Suchin, Ryan, Cookies, Skip, Dbear, Amelia, and I headed out to a local microbrewery called Kelly’s. We all shared a few pitchers of the local brews and talked unwound. Skip and Cookies had to leave early the next morning to drive and catch up with the Rocky Route, so they left and took Dbear with them. The rest of us headed across the street to an upstairs bar that had an outside patio deck.

Amelia and I continued to catch up, and all of us continued to talk and get to know each other. Even though we had ridden over 600 miles together, we had still only been on the road for 10 days, so most of us were still getting to know each other. Tommy and I were talking about cars, and I mentioned my favorite car was a 1963 Corvette Stingray. Tommy said there were no stingrays in 1963 and bet me $20 billion dollars that he was right. I looked him in the eye and told him that there were two things you didn’t bet me about: one was music and the other was corvettes. Amelia backed me, but Tommy wanted solid proof. My goal in life suddenly became proving Tommy wrong. It was getting late and we decided we should head out. We packed into Amelia’s car and went back to the church to get some sleep.


Day 11: June 11 Day off in Albuquerque, NM

I got to sleep in a bit this morning. I was pretty lazy for the entire morning after I woke up, but I figured I deserved it or at least needed it. Around noon, we all grabbed our bikes and set out riding across Albuquerque to the American Cancer Society’s office where we were being provided lunch. As usual, our large numbers on bicycles attracted attention as we glided across the city.

When we got to the ACS headquarters, we were warmly greeted and introduced to the entire staff. Our group was escorted into a room where tables had been arranged into a square pattern. I took my seat and eagerly started eyeing the food that would soon been sitting in front of me. As we ate, the each member of the ACS staff spoke to us and told us how much they appreciated what we were doing. Each member of the Texas 4000 team took a turn to introduce themself and say a little about what our personal reason for riding was. We finished eating, chatted awhile longer with the staff members, and then headed outside to get on our bikes.

We pedaled back toward the church, but a few of us made a detour to a local bike shop. The brutal heat I had already encountered coupled with the seemingly endless desert we would be riding through for the next week or so prompted my search for a sleeveless jersey. Of course, being cheapskate I am, and the limited funds I had for the summer, I was reduced to searching through the sale rack. Sleeveless jerseys aren’t exactly on sale during the heat of the summer, so my search was pretty much fruitless. The only sleeveless jersey I found was a women’s jersey, which would not fit me nor do I think the peach color would have matched my skin tone very well. Since I had decided not to cut my hair all summer, I picked up a headband to keep the hair off my face.

While riding back to the church, I was just staring at the mountains ahead of me. They amazed me. I knew I would see much bigger mountains later in the ride, but the beauty of these small giants was captivating. I wondered if the citizens of Albuquerque grew use to the landscape and took it for granted or if they appreciated this beauty on a daily basis. I guess it is only human nature to become indifferent to one’s surroundings after awhile.

The afternoon was filled with more free time. Tommy was heading to the laundry mat, so I sent some clothes with him to wash while I diligently scoured the Internet for “official” proof of a 1963 Corvette Stingray. Tommy returned later, and I showed him several pictures of the stingray, but he said the proof had to be something official from Chevy since anyone could make something up and put it on the Internet. At this point, I think he knew he was defeated, but wanted to make things more difficult for me. I just wanted my twenty billion dollars.

That evening Texas 4000 was taking a part in two different events. Half of the group stayed at the church to have dinner with the youth group. Texas 4000 gave them a presentation. Kartik and Suchin lead the presentation, and each rider told the youth their personal reasons for doing the ride. The purpose of the presentation was to educate the group on what cancer is, what causes cancer, and some detection methods. The church youth group was kind of shy at first, so they were divided into groups among the riders at different tables during dinner. The youth were very attentive and seemed to learn a lot.

While half of the group gave the presentation to the youth group, the rest of us climbed into the van and headed out to Rio Rancho to take part in a Relay for Life. After speaking with Kathy yesterday, I started to think about what I had missed out on at the relay in Post and decided that it would be good for me to experience another one of these incredible events.

The van was parked in the lot and we wandered down to the main tent to find our contact. Once again, we were given celebrity status. The group of us walked a few laps, and even attempted a lap wheelbarrow style. After completing a few laps, they stopped us and had us go up in front of everyone and introduce ourselves over the PA. Everyone applauded our efforts and us. It was kind of weird sometimes; I didn’t really feel like I was doing anything special or that was anyone special. On the surface, I was just a person riding my bike an insane distance, but to many people we were something special—we were a symbol of hope. The blush from my cheeks faded as we ate a spaghetti dinner and chatted with some of the people who were involved with the event. Although we didn’t stay at the Rio Rancho Relay for Life that long, I was beginning to understand what events like these meant to people and how they served to unite people in the battle against cancer.

I retired to the room in the church I was sleeping in to put some of my thoughts down on paper. It was quite obvious that Tommy and I were quickly becoming closer friends. Me, who went to A&M but didn’t look like it, and Tommy, who went to UT but had all the characteristics of someone who would have gone to A&M. I’d only been gone ten days and I couldn’t even begin to fathom that I was going to be gone another sixty. August was a very long way off. I absolutely loved the trip, but I had no clue what I was going to do when I got back. I had quit my job and had no plan for when I returned. Was it time to start that elusive career? Was I beginning to think I wanted to work for an organization like the American Cancer Society? But what about the career in music? What about the move to New York City I had been talking about for two years? I still had two more months to sort things out and who knew what the future held. Thoughts down on paper, I curled up in my sleeping back and slept.

Day 12: June 12 Albuquerque, NM to Cuba, NM 87 miles

The group rode together out of Albuquerque for the first 10 miles. When we are riding as a full group we look impressive draw a lot of attention. I knew when we descended into Albuquerque that leaving today would involve a bit of climbing. Albuquerque lies in the valley at 5314 feet, and I ended my day sitting at 6905 feet. Luckily, most of the climbs were long and gradual. A few of them got rough at times but nothing debilitating, especially with the absence of the headwind that he greeted us in days past. The scenery was the best thus far. Along the way we rode through Indian Reservations where I saw some old ruins, gorgeous rock formations, gullies, and gorges. The countryside looked like something straight out of a cowboys and Indians movie. In just a few short days, the landscape has changed dramatically. We went from flat deserts, to rolling plains, to mountains.

For lunch I only had a bagel and a bag of chips, which wasn’t nearly enough. No matter how much food I ingest, I seem to be hungry all the time. After lunch Tommy got a pretty big lead on me, so I hammered it the last 20 miles to try and catch him. It was while I was riding solo that I spied ruins hidden among the rocky desert formations. The small adobe ramshackle buildings were scattered around the landscape, virtually invisible to the cars flying by at seventy miles an hour. I eventually was spotted Tommy in the distance and continued the push to catch up. Once I crossed the city limits sign, I figured the catch was lost, but our first destination was an ice cream parlor on the far end of town.

I caught Tommy just as he was pulling up to the shop. The great people at the ice cream parlor served us each one free ice cream cone, which I immediately devoured after sitting down at a table. I was exhausted from the ride and from hammering for the last twenty miles of the ride. Apparently Tommy was exhausted as well, because we both fell asleep at the table. Chris came over and woke us up. I awoke with my face in a pool of my own drool and realized all the other riders had departed, including those who had arrived after us.

After I slyly cleaned the drool off of the table, Tommy and I rode over to the park because there was an anti-violence festival/rally, and the organizers had generously volunteered to feed us. Tommy and I arrived a little early, as some riders had yet to finish the day’s ride and others were running errands around the small town of Cuba. When we arrived, we found Steve and Bhard were there already. Looking around, the four of us spotted a solitary tree up the hill toward the edge of the park and rode up to seek shelter from the heat. The tree seemed very much out of place, but it provided the only natural shade in the entire park. Underneath the tree there was a peculiar looking mound of dirt. The mound was about 6 feet long and looked much like someone had buried a body under the tree. Due to this mound of dirt, we quickly dubbed the small tree “the dead body tree.”

I plopped myself down in the meager shade offered by our small wooded friend. With nothing to do, we quickly reverted to twelve year old boys to occupy out time. The entire area was canvassed with prairie dog holes, so we busied ourselves by yelling at the furry little creatures and filling their homes with rocks. When we weren’t harassing the poor little prairie dogs, we occupied our time by harassing the red ants that inhabited the area.

Once we figured we had wasted enough time we left all the creatures alone and headed back down to the rally to meet up with the rest of the group and eat. My dinner for the evening consisted of a burger, a hot dog, and a small bag of chips. It seemed as though I swallowed my food without even chewing. I honestly felt like I hadn’t even eaten after I downed my dinner. I didn’t know how many calories I was burning a day, but I was definitely operating on a calorie deficit, because there was hardly a second that passed that I didn’t feel hungry.

We stayed at the rally for awhile to help serve the attendees food and mingle with the staff. The purpose of the rally was to speak to the youth of Cuba about gangs and violence and how to avoid those downfalls. The staff told us that these rallies were held in the small towns of New Mexico, because there was an unusually high rate of violence in these rural towns. Soon it was time to go and unload the van at the school we were staying at.

Our lodging for the evening was at the Immaculate Conception Church and School. We unloaded the van in usual fashion and everyone searched through the piles of bags for their belongings. I quickly located my stuff and went into the cafeteria where we were staying. I hastily scanned the room for an optimum sleeping area. I spotted a stack of gym mats in the corner and claimed one. I unfolded it and placed my stuff on top of the mat. I was going to have a comfortable night of sleep.

With bedding secured a few of us headed over to the local grocery store to see about getting some food and supplies. When we walked in, I was blown away. It was the tiniest grocery store I’d ever been in outside of New York City, and the shelves were almost bare. The tiny store probably only got a once a week delivery and we must have hit the tail end. After admiring the store’s dust-covered tape collection that had likely not been moved since the mid-1980s, we picked up a few things and then headed back to the school.

My stomach alerted me that I was still quite hungry, so I rounded up few people and went to the local Mexican food restaurant called El Bruno's. The salsa was quite tasty but the food was a bit pricey. I ordered some quesadillas and filled up on chips and salsa. When we walked into the restaurant, I noticed three mountain bikes resting outside. Sitting a few tables away, were three people who looked like cyclists. We approached the table and found out that they did indeed belong to the bikes outside. They were three Dutch cyclists that were riding off-road from the Mexican Border to the Canadian Border along the Continental Divide with all their gear on their bikes. They told us they averaged about twenty five miles a day, so it was slow trip. During the conversation, we found out that they had planned on camping in a tent that night, so we invited them to stay with us in the school.

We gave them directions to the school and then left the restaurant. When I got back, I took a much needed shower. The Dutch cyclists eventually showed up. We chatted with them about our ride and they elaborated on their ride for awhile. They told us they had cycled in New Zealand, Australia, England, Denmark and numerous other places. They would save up their vacation time and then take a few months off at a time to do these trips. Fatigue began to set in and we all retired for the night, knowing that yet another century awaited us the following day.

Day 13: June 13 Cuba, NM to Farmington, NM 103 miles

We awoke and I slowly roused myself into consciousness. As I packed up my belongings, a familiar but unwelcome scent made its way into my nostrils. I quickly realized that we were once again having sausage biscuits for breakfast. We had been eating these biscuits for breakfast almost every morning, and we had also eaten them for lunch as well as snacks multiple times. When I found out that today was the last day we would have to ingest the breakfast sandwiches, they suddenly tasted much better. The Dutch cyclists graciously ate their fair share of breakfast, and then we all stepped outside to take a group picture before parting ways.

After the group picture, it was time to tackle the day’s ride. Today was a somewhat rough day of riding. The ride marked our fourth century in eleven days of riding. The headwind returned to make our lives difficult and we did quite a bit of climbing. The desert morning felt bitterly cold as we prepared to leave. Steve and Pirkle decided that today was bib day. They both rode only wearing their bibs, which left them shivering for the first few miles of the day’s ride.

Within a couple hours the sun had wiped away any hint of chill in the air, and it was pretty warm. About twelve miles into the ride we had climbed all the way up to around 7300 feet to the Continental Divide. A group of us made a stop to snap a picture at the Continental Divide sign. Steve poured water on the ground by the sign to see if the water would run in both directions but it that didn't work.

We left the Continental Divide behind and dropped below and climbed back over 7000 feet several times. We stopped for lunch at a convenience store that was seemingly out in the middle of nowhere. A bagel with honey was on the menu for lunch. The bagels were a few days old and very dry. We sought refuge from the sun by the gas pumps in the shade when a dog approached us. The poor dog only had one eye and looked to be hungry. Behind the gas pumps were several sheep in a pen, however, one sheep had managed to escape and was terrorizing the poor one-eyed dog. The sheep kept chasing the dog and trying to head-butt it. Finally Doug had enough and took off after the sheep on his bike while “bahing” at the sheep. The wooly creature ran for its life and decided to leave our one-eyed friend alone.

We left the gas station behind hoping that the sheep had learned its lesson. A number of miles down the road Tommy flatted, so I busied myself by playing with ants while he changed his tube. The landscape presented us with a long descent into Bloomington and then a short ride into Farmington. As we were navigating our way through Farmington to our destination for the evening, we came upon Scott Street, so I had to take a picture. Once the picture was taken, we made our way to Connelly Hospitality Home.

The Connelly Hospitality House was built next to the hospital, so families that had members dealing with cancer could live there while their loved ones were undergoing treatment. The place was like a nice hotel. They have to keep everything extremely clean to prevent infections to cancer patients that stay there. I had never encountered a facility such as this, but I thought it was a great idea.

When we all arrived at the hospital, we saw the results of bib day. Both Steve and Pirkle had not applied near enough sunscreen. They were both severely sunburned, and future bib days were officially banned. We went in and met our hosts at the Connelly House, who gave us a tour of the facilities and guided us toward some snacks. We were able to use the internet and watch TV while we relaxed and waited on dinner. While we were relaxing, the local news came out and interviewed several riders. Shortly after the interview a BBQ dinner arrived.

Once dinner concluded we were all assigned to host families in Farmington. Chris, Bhard, and I ended up stayed in a house by ourselves. A recently married couple had two houses and they lived only at one house. Janice and her husband gave us a quick tour of the house and then prayed with us before departing to leave us by ourselves. After the couple left we watched the Lakers-Pistons game and then went to bed. Chris and I shared a queen-size bed, while Bhard opted to spend the night in a lazy boy.

Day 14: June 14 Farmington, NM to Mexican Water, AZ 100 miles

Chris, Bhard, and I were picked up this morning and driven back to the Connelly House, which was our departure location. Before we rode out we went by the Cancer Treatment center to say good-bye to our hosts. We ate some doughnuts and snapped a few quick group pictures and then departed for the day’s ride.

The day marked the end of New Mexico and entrance to our third state in just two short weeks. Because of the high rate of alcoholism among Native Americans, the highways that run through reservations are some of the most dangerous roads in the nation. Much of the day’s ride would place us on a stretch of the most deadly highway in America. We decided to divide into small random groups to attempt to combat the danger. No one was allowed to ride alone, but we also didn’t want the groups of riders to get too large or it could present a problem for cars to pass.

The ride today was a relentless barrage of hill after hill. The desert landscape had turned from brown rocky formations to red sandstone. In Farmington we had been told that we would pass the famous Shiprock on today’s ride. Shiprock is the remainder of a solidified lava core, of a dormant 40 million year old volcanic pinnacle. It is said to look much like a 19th century Clipper Sailing vessel and the locals say when the conditions are right, it appears to be sailing across the horizon. I think the desert either plays tricks on one’s mind, or whoever came up with the scenario was under the influence of substances, because I didn’t think the formation resembled a ship nor could I imagine the large peak “floating” across the horizon.

I was constantly on the lookout for the state line because I wanted to be the first one across in our group. I knew it would be difficult with Steve in our group, because he would easily beat me in a sprint. As we came down a hill, I spotted the sign and took off. By the time Steve saw the sign, I already had a big enough lead that he couldn’t catch me. I got the Arizona State Line but since we were the second group I didn’t really win Arizona.

The previous day we had noticed on the map that we would be riding within eight miles of Four Corners, so we decided to add the eight-mile round trip to the day’s ride in order to steal Colorado from the Rocky Route. When we got to highway 491, we turned north and pedaled the four miles to four corners. Spirits were high when we arrived. We all rode our bikes repeatedly through state after state. We took a few group pictures and then headed over to a series of picnic tables to eat lunch. During lunch, debate found its way into the group again.

We hadn’t been able to get a hold of our contact in Mexican Water, so the officers were attempting to decide if we should cut the day short and stay at Four Corners for the night or blindly ride on to Mexican Water. The group had a problem with making a timely decision, so these debates developed into epic discussions. My original plan was to head another half mile down the road to swim in the river after lunch, but I couldn’t leave due to not knowing what our destination would be. We were all stuck until a resolution could be reached.

After a lengthy debate, and no swimming, it was decided that we would push on to Mexican Water to prevent the following day from being so long. Tommy and I were recruited to ride with the fast group. I was a bit leery because I wasn’t sure I could to keep up with their pace. I had become a stronger rider over the past two weeks, but I didn’t feel confident enough to join the fast group. They reassured me that they would keep the pace down and that I would be fine, so I set out on my first ride with the front group.

My knees were bothering me quite a bit, which made climbing in a pace line with the front group difficult for me. The easiest way I had found to tackle a climb was to pick up a lot speed and allow my momentum to carry me up the incline instead of riding into it at a constant pace. As we were riding a flat stretch I saw an impending climb to the top of a mesa. I pulled out of my place in the pace line and started hammering. Unfortunately for me, my perception was way off and I was a great deal farther from the climb than I thought. I kept pedaling, but the climb didn’t seem to be getting any closer. By the time I actually made it to the incline, my legs were toast and I laboriously inched my way to the crest.

After my solo attempt at the climb, I decided to ignore my knee pain and stay at the back of the pace line for climbs. We encountered quite a bit more climbing before a long descent into Mexican Water. When we arrived, I was utterly beat. Today was originally going to be a long day, but by taking the 8-mile detour to Four Corners, our final mileage total for the day turned out to be yet another century. That marked our second time to ride back-to-back centuries, and brought our total number of centuries ridden up to five. Also, by visiting Four Corners, our total states visited increased to five.

Mexican Water was little more than a restaurant, a laundry mat, and a gas station. We were allowed to set up camp in a vacant area beside the gas station. While setting up camp, a few of the riders made a spaghetti dinner that was quickly devoured. After dinner Tommy and I wandered into the convenience store and bought some extra food. I was still feeling like I was getting enough food.

Werckle rejoined us today and brought good news. When he was heading home to Chicago for a wedding a few days ago, he stopped in Oklahoma City to talk to the Rocky Route and proposed the change to the end of the ride. We had suggested that our route alter the end of our ride so that we would join the Rocky Route for the last nine days in Alaska. The riders on the Rocky Route were ecstatic about the change and agreed to help make it happen.

Day 15: June 15 Mexican Water, AZ to Shonto, AZ 79 miles

The day started early as usual. We were roused at 5 A.M. and dined on oatmeal and grits. When we left today we headed out for the first time with no real idea of where we were going to end up. Previously in Yeso, we didn’t now where we were going to stay, but we at least knew our destination was Yeso. Today we weren’t even sure where we were going to stop.

Breakfast was oatmeal again, which is quite tasty with some brown sugar. Sunny and I got in an argument. I don’t remember what started it, but I got upset because she was being condescending. I know she didn’t mean to do it. I think what really caused the altercation was her being tired of dealing with seventeen smelly, crude guys, and me being cranky from waking early after back-to-back centuries. The situation was defused and we were on our way shortly afterwards.

After an exhausting ride the previous day, I decided to ride with the slow group to give my legs a little bit of a break. At times the pace of the back group was almost ridiculously slow. Suchin and I decided that today was “bad song” day. The two of us were singing as many bad and cheesy songs as we could think of and tried to recruit others for a sing along as we rode. We were mostly singing Sheryl Crow, Celine Dion, Ricky Martin, and “Hakuna Matata.”

The Arizona landscape revealed some gorgeous scenery for us. We stopped for a break at an abandoned gas station and explored the red sandstone rock/cliff formations that rose up behind it. The top ridge of the formation was jagged and almost appeared as teeth jutting up toward the sky. Later in the day, the highway found its way to the bottom of a canyon and I had to slowly climb my way back out. The climb out was easily the single most difficult climb I had encountered thus far on the trip. A busier highway probably would have warranted a bridge, but not this two-lane thoroughfare. Before we turned onto Highway 98, we rode through a breathtaking pass between mesas. It was a seven-mile stretch of red sandstone formations scored by canyons slicing through the earth.

About five miles up Highway 98 we found a place along the roadside at an intersection that we decided to call camp for the night. We began unloading and setting up camp but had barely gotten the tents set up when we had several people stop and ask what we were doing. They were more concerned for our safety than interested in what we were actually doing. We were informed with the high rate of drunk drivers at night we could be risking our lives by camping on the roadside.

The first woman who stopped told us we could camp on her land, so a few riders went with her to check it out. However, her land was a ways down a dirt road, which would have been difficult for us to ride to. While the riders went reconnaissance of the first woman’s offer, a second person stopped and made us an offer. The gentleman happened to be a police officer in a small Navajo town called Shonto. He told us it was four miles off the highway, but we could camp on the football field and would have access to showers, bathrooms, and running water.

We had already assembled our tent and I had changed out of my cycling clothes. I was also beginning to develop some saddle sores, so after we tore down our tents, I grabbed a ride with Dbear to Shonto. When we got to Shonto and saw where we were staying we realized how lucky we were. We had gone from camping on the side of the road to something that seemed like paradise in comparison.

Once we unloaded our gear, people went their separate ways to spend the remainder of the evening. Shonto lies next to a canyon, so several of the riders and gone to see what top speed they could reach riding to the bottom of the canyon. Dbear grabbed his mountain bike from the back of his truck and proceeded to ride around the school grounds. He found a set of stairs he road down several times. Suchin decided to give it a go, but his foot slipped off the pedal and cut his shin. Kartik bandaged him up, but he probably could have used a stitch or two. I wandered through the school still I found a pay phone, but it didn’t work. I took an appreciated shower inside the school and was able to do a bit of laundry as well before retiring for the night.

We had been having trouble with the van for the past couple days so we decided to go ahead and take it on to Page, AZ. Bhard was sick, so he needed to go to Page to see a doctor as well. Tommy volunteered to go to Page along with Sunny to take care of the van and get Bhard to a doctor. They were able to get a discounted room at the Days Inn for the night and Bhard checked out “ok” with the doctor.

Day 16: June 16 Shonto, AZ to Page, AZ 65 miles

As we packed up our stuff to leave, the police officer came out to bid us farewell. We offered our endless thanks for the generosity. As Suchin was stretching in the grass, a dog decided to befriend him. She was being a bit more than friendly actually; we all thought she might have been looking for a little action. As we rode away from Shonto, I think the dog might have been a little disappointed.

Suchin and I decided to continue with the annoying songs, but just picked one for each day. I decided on Celine Dion’s “I’m Your Lady.” Of course, Suchin and I both decided to sing it with a high-pitched voice to make it extra annoying. The slow group seemed to find our singing somewhat humorous, while several of the stronger riders appeared quite annoyed.

The day’s ride was both scenic and boring. The first part of the ride was very scenic. It was a continuation of the red sandstone structures, canyons, and various shrubs. As I rode through the flatter parts, I could hear cicadas screaming in every direction. The sound was almost painful at times.

We stopped for a break at a rock formation beside the road. The natural structure provided us with some rare desert shade. Some of the riders were already sitting on top of the formation when I arrived. I carried my bike once I left the roadway to avoid picking up any of the glass that littered the area. I found a spot to rest my bike and then walked around to the shaded backside of the structure. As I walked farther from the roadway, I realized that the glass fragments got larger and larger. Half-broken bottles plagued the entire area where I wanted to sit, and it quickly became apparent that this particular structure was a popular drinking area during the night hours. I cleared away the large pieces of glass and relaxed in the shade to enjoy a reenergizing snack.

The second half of the ride was rather boring. The land seemed to flatten a bit and there wasn’t much to look at. Our contacts in Page had arranged for us to have a police escort through town, so we were on the lookout for our rendezvous location. As we began the descent into Page, we saw a power plant on the right-hand side of the road, which marked the meeting place. We turned off the road and waited in the parking lot for the rest of the riders and the remainder of the riders.

Once everyone arrived, the group headed back out to the highway and we continued our descent into Page. We normally attracted a lot of attention when we rode as a full group, but with the added police escort, everyone in town seemed to stop what they were doing and stared as we rode by. The escort made us feel like celebrities, so there were smiles on everyone’s enthusiastic faces as we pedaled through town. It was downhill all the way to the Days Inn where we had been set up for the night.

We arrived at the hotel at around 3:30 P.M., rested our bikes outside and poured into the lobby. While waiting to get checked in to our rooms, we all helped ourselves to the complimentary beverages in the lobby. Once we settled in to our rooms, we found out that the local fire department was going to store our bikes for the night. We had arrived early enough that our hosts had provided us with a late lunch of Subway sandwiches and found out that we had been talked about on the local radio station, which is why there were so many people watching us as we rode into town.

Tommy and Sunny told us that they had contacted Capps this morning and they would be driving us a replacement van from Albuquerque. The trip that took us a number of days on bicycle was to be made in the replacement van in six hours. It was also good to see Bhard in good spirits and feeling better.

Our hosts told us we should head down to Lake Powell and go for a swim before dinner. Tommy and Sunny had already been down there since they had been in town since the previous night and both raved about the beauty of the lake. We had a fifteen-passenger van with the back seat removed, so we packed all twenty-two of us into the van to make an uncomfortable trip down to the lake.

When we arrived I was almost speechless. The beauty of Lake Powell was powerful. The Lake was formed when a canyon was dammed. The water, from a distance, appeared to be emerald green, but was crystal clear when I got close to it. The red sandstone we had been seeing in Arizona had given way to a more brownish color. There were sheer brown cliff walls leading down to many parts of the lake. I made my way down to the water and hopped in. There was a rock shelf that extended out into the lake just a few feet below the water. Once I reached the end of the shelf, the lake appeared to be bottomless. The water felt very cool and refreshing after the day’s ride.

Stuart and Hogan had wandered toward the dam and were standing on the edge of the cliff about seventy feet up. Next thing I know, I see them plunging toward the water below. As soon as I saw them jump, I knew I wanted to follow suit. Don, Suchin and I headed over to the same area. Don was the first to go, while Suchin clamored around the rocks to a slightly lower ledge. Suchin got to a point where he couldn’t climb back up, so he had no choice but to jump. Shortly after Suchin hit the water, a boat full of spectators had arrived. I was preparing myself to jump, but I wanted someone to get it on video. I told Pirkle that I would crouch down and ready myself, but as soon as I stood up he should start the video. I took too long to work up the nerve, because as soon as I began to stand someone yelled for me to stop because the cops had shown up. As I looked down at the water, I noticed a police boat had arrived as well.

Defeated, I walked back over to the area everyone was swimming at. Hogan reported that his chest was hurting after the jump, and Suchin said that his tailbone was giving him pain. It was time to head back so we could clean up before dinner. With the police in the area, we didn’t feel that it was a good idea to pack all twenty-two people in the van again, so we divided up. I was in the second group to leave the lake. While walking back up to the parking lot, a sandstorm hit that almost rivaled the one we encountered back in Post.

As we were waiting on the van to come back to pick us up, we read the park rules. While it wasn’t illegal to cliff jump, it was highly discouraged. Someone called “shotgun” before the van arrived and a new debate ensued. First, everyone knows you can’t call “shotgun” until the vehicle is in sight, but Suchin tried to incorporate a new rule. He claimed that unless you followed “shotgun” with “no joust,” someone could call “joust” and overrule your “shotgun” call. A ten-minute debate on the proper rules of calling “shotgun” resulted, while we wanted on the van to return to pick us up. In the end, we decided that Suchin’s rule was dumb, but we would use it anyway.

After we cleaned up at the hotel, we headed over to the Page Elks Lodge for dinner. The local policemen and our hosts joined us for dinner. We were fed a multitude of beef, mashed potatoes, corn, gravy, and rolls. And they had a soda machine. I didn’t really drink many carbonated drinks, but since the ride started, I had craved them all the time. The only reason I could think of was that my blood sugar was constantly low. We ate and mingled with the Page residents and Elks members.

With my stomach aching from the copious amount of food I ingested, we took a tour of the lodge. One the wall were pictures of the former leaders of the Elks Lodge who were called “Exalted Rulers.” As soon as I read the title, I decided that I wanted to become an Exalted Ruler. Doug and I decided that I would become the Exalted Ruler and he would be my second in charge. We would one day rule the Elks lodge.

Upon returning to the hotel, a bunch of us loaded up into Dbear’s truck and headed out to Horseshoe Bend. Tommy had done nothing but talk about how incredible this place was since we rode in that afternoon. We pulled into the sand parking lot and hopped out of the bed of the truck. It was a little bit of a hike over a few sand dunes, but what I saw next was something that words cannot do justice to.

In front of me was a canyon that dropped 2000 feet to the green-colored Colorado River below. We approached at the apex of the horseshoe. The canyon curved away from us in both directions and then turned in opposite directions to form an almost perfect horseshoe shape. Looking over the edge, I could see small dots at the bottom that were buildings of some sort and specks in the river that were boats. I just sat and stared at the surroundings in complete and utter amazement. I finally snapped myself out of a trance and started snapping pictures of the beauty that lay before me. I helped Bhard take some pictures with his SLR camera, and some generous gentlemen even let him use their wide-angle lens to take a few shots.

I attempted to throw a rock into the water below, but no matter how hard I threw the rock never even came close to the water as it fell. Steve yelled into the apex and we could hear the echo traveling in each direction. It was as if the echo was in stereo. The sun began to set and we all just lounged around soaking in the splendor that nature provided for our enjoyment. Horseshoe Bend was easily the most impressive thing I had seen thus far on the trip, and I knew it would be very hard to beat. I remembered seeing the Grand Canyon when I was younger, but I didn’t remember being left as speechless as I did seeing Horseshoes Bend at sunset. I guess I began to appreciate everything a little more because my two legs were the vehicle that brought me to all of these new experiences.

Darkness was quickly approaching, so we reluctantly went back to the truck and drove back to the hotel. On the ride back we decided it would be a good idea to walk to the convenience store next to the hotel and grab a beer to drink while soaking in the hotel’s outdoor hot tub. As I sat in the soothing waters of the hot tub, I reflected on what I had just set my eyes upon. Horseshoe Bend was an unexpected treasure in northern Arizona. What other unsuspected wonders awaited us?

Day 17: June 17 Page, AZ to Kanab, UT 77 miles

On the way out of the Days Inn, we took advantage of the free continental breakfast. We all but finished it off. We had another police escort to lead us out of town, so we gathered outside and readied for the day’s ride. Bhard had acquired some speakers and duct tape. He hooked the speakers to his iPOD and attached them to his handlebars via the duct tape. As we pushed out behind the police escort, Bhard cranked up the tunes and we were rocking on our way out of Page.

Our police escort left us after we crossed the Glenn Canyon Dam, and we were left to pedal our way north to Utah. Once the escort was gone, divisions of riders formed, and I was in a group with Steve, Bhard (and his tunes), and Tommy. There were a lot of climbs and descents. The landscape had begun to change as well. The rock formations had grown into what were becoming mountains, and the earth was scarred with canyons and smaller rock formations. Vegetation was becoming slightly more prevalent as well. The four of us blew right past the “Welcome to Utah” sign, which disappointed me because I didn’t get to take a picture of the sign.

We pulled up to the first rest stop and some of the riders in front of us were still lingering. Once I stopped riding, my knees started to stiffen and began hurting very badly. I asked Dbear if he had any aspirin, and he dug some out. I was complaining a bit about the pain, and Stuart tried to convince me that maybe I needed to call it a day. He said that I might do some serious damage and not be able to ride again. He had a good point, but I’m stubborn, so I just downed four ibuprofens and got back in the saddle.

As we rode on, the groups broke up a bit more and spread out. As usual, Tommy and I ended up riding together for the remainder of the day. As we neared Kanab, the wind picked up and made riding difficult. Tommy and I battled the wind and finally made it into Kanab. We were looking for the Crazy Horse Campground, but we rode through town and did not see it. We decided that we must have missed the entrance, so we turned around and headed a few miles back out of town. We finally realized that we had to have just missed the entrance somewhere in town.

When we reentered town, we still couldn’t find the campground, so Tommy and I decided to stop at a convenience store and pick up a few snacks. We waited outside the store so we could flag down any riders that passed us, and soon enough Kartik and a few others joined us.

We finally figured out that the campground was just a little bit back up the road the way we came in. The couple that owned the Crazy Horse Campground were incredibly nice. They allowed us to stay at the campground for free and provided us with use of the shower house as well. They let us take postcards to write home and even stamped and mailed them for us! I found a nice postcard of a slot canyon in Zion National Park that served well as a Father’s Day card. We had yet to enter the park, but by the time my dad got the card, I would have visited and left the park.

The campground had a pool, arcade games, wireless internet, and even some birds. A white parrot named Pooper quickly became my favorite. He was rather shy, but with a little coercion, he would say, “Hi Pooper.” While exploring all the interesting things inside the campground office, our contact that set up all the wonderful things in Kanab showed up.

We’d been hearing about Cowboy Ted for months. Bhard had found Cowboy Ted and had been in contact with him since long before we left Austin. Cowboy Ted was a cancer survivor who works at tourism department in Kanab and speaks to kids in kindergarten through fourth grade about how to prevent cancer through eating well and using sunscreen. From his presentations he was named Cowboy Ted and the name just stuck. He even had a belt buckle with his name and face on it!

Cowboy Ted and the couple that ran campground barbequed for us. We were provided with barbequed chicken, steak, and all kinds of sides. After we ate, Cowboy Ted taught a few of the riders how to rope. Steve and I found our way back into the office and started playing an airplane fighting game called “Two Fighters.” We played the game many times while everyone checked their email or played Street Fighter 2. We started getting decent at the game and racked up quite a few high scores. And being the mature young adults we were, I chose the name “Poo” and Steve dubbed himself “Ass.”

Darkness had taken over and things started winding down, so we all went back to the campsites and built campfires to make S’Mores. Of course all the ingredients were donated by Cowboy Ted and the nice folks at the campground. As I sat by the fire eating S’Mores, I looked up at the silhouette of the mountain behind the campground and smiled. We couldn’t have made this trip happen without all the incredible help from people like Cowboy Ted and the couple that owned the campground.

Today was our seventh straight day riding, including back-to-back centuries. My body has started to adjust, but more importantly my mind had adjusted. Getting up and riding was not a chore; it was my job. I have no choice. We have a destination for the day, and it didn’t matter what kind of mood I’m in or how I feel. The only way to get there is to get on my bike and pedal. Even if I don’t feel like riding, when the morning air kisses my cheeks as I begin my ride, the beauty of nature quickly changes my mind.

Day 18: June 18 Kanab, AZ to Zion (ZNP), UT 34 miles

We woke up this morning and were treated to donuts by the campground! I stuffed a couple donuts down and then Steve and I, otherwise knows as “Poo” and “Ass,” immediately went to squeeze in a few more games of Two Fighters before we had to depart the campground for our second breakfast. I felt like a hobbit eating “second breakfast,” but it would be a great feeling to have my stomach full before departing. We bid farewell to our overly generous hosts at the Crazy Horse Campground and headed over to meet Cowboy Ted at a local hotel.

When we arrived at the hotel, we were treated to their breakfast bar. I downed a couple more donuts, some cereal, a banana, a bagel, and added couple glasses of orange juice. After finishing off the hearty breakfast, we thanked the good people at the hotel and bid Cowboy Ted a temporary farewell, as we would be seeing him later in the day. In honor of the tasty breakfasts, as we pulled out of the hotel parking lot, I dubbed “Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm” by the Crash Test Dummies as the song of the day.

We were given another police escort out of town, which once again made me feel like a celebrity. Once we put Kanab behind us, the group divided and I was mainly riding with Tommy, but Pirkle rode with us for awhile. We did quite a bit of climbing, but just before we turned toward Zion National Park, we were rewarded with a four mile descent at an eight percent grade. There is little that is more fun than crouching into an aerodynamic position and screaming down a four-mile decline. Tommy took a few videos on our descent.

After the four mile plunge, we came to an intersection near Mount Carmel, and we weren’t sure exactly which way to go. As we were discussing which way to go, Bhard, Paul, and Dan arrived, and among us we figured out which way to go. We took Route 9 and started climbing again. As we climbed I quickly started noticing the amazing scenery to our left. The group pulled off the road and scrambled down among the shrubs and cacti to snap a few pictures of the mountains and valleys that were visible. About 100 feet in front of us the earth dropped down to the valley providing us with a very picturesque view.

The large breakfast I consumed hadn’t stayed with me very long, and we knew lunch awaited us, so we got back on the road. I was leading the pace line after the break, and I quickly caught a glimpse of something moving as my tire cut right through the middle of the object. As I heard Bhard acknowledge that he ran over the object too, I realized that we had both just separated a snake’s front half from its rear half. Our skinny road tires at a high air pressure left the reptile no chance for survival; the tires easily sliced right through the unlucky snake.

A few miles up the road we arrived at the Buffalo Grill. Cowboy Ted had set up a lunch for us and had even driven there to meet us. While we were waiting on the rest of the group to arrive, Paul, Tommy, Pirkle, Steve, Dbear, and I went over to the horse corral. We talked to the cowgirl about how much it cost to ride a horse while petting and feeding the horses. We found out that out of all of us, Tommy was the only one who had never ridden a horse before. Tommy was from a small town in Texas, hunted, fished, and anything else people do in small towns. If I had to pick one person out of all of Texas 4000 that had ridden a horse, it would be Tommy.

Once everyone arrived we went into the restaurant. I sat down at the table and peered at the menu. Of course it was obvious what I had to order. I was at the Buffalo Grill. It must be mandatory to eat a buffalo burger, so that is what I ordered. I was quite glad that the burgers were provided to us free of charge, because at $11.25 they were a bit pricey. However, the buffalo burgers were quite tasty and very filling.

Buffalo burgers polished off, we went out and watched the buffaloes for a while. Then it was back on the bikes to finish the short section of miles that separated us from entering our first national park. When we arrived at the entrance to Zion National Park, we had to shuttle through the tunnel that let into the park. As we waited for the van to arrive, Steve and I began formulating plans to return to Zion and become “wild men.”

We would enter the park and then hike into the wilderness and live off of the land. We planned to find a cave that we would live in, and if things go rough, we could steal food at night from campers. Stories and legends would be told of elusive, wild, men-like creatures that inhabited the wilderness of Zion.

The two of us continued to forge our plans even as we shuttled through the tunnel into the park, but I quickly forgot about our plans and fell silent as we made our way though the tunnel. There were small windows cut through the tunnel and I could see glimpses of the breathtaking scenery that left me speechless. The long descent down into Zion down the switchbacks allowed us an amazing view of the towering cliffs, which sheltered the park from the surrounding areas. I contorted my neck in every way manageable to take in as much of the scenery as possible.

Once we got to our campsite, I found out that some of the riders in the groups behind us got to ride their bikes down the switchbacks. I was a little disappointed at first, but then I realized that I was able to take in much more of the scenery by riding in the van. We then quickly set up the tents like seasoned veterans and then many of us headed out for a short hike up to the Emerald Pools, since we had arrived early in the day.

We hiked all the way up to the upper pool, which was nestled against the edge of a towering cliff. The pools were an emerald green color, which gave them their name. I climbed around on the rocks and took several pictures of the area. The sun was waning, which marked our time to hike back down to camp. On the return trip we encountered a couple mule deer that were carefully balancing themselves on the hillside among the trees.

Upon returning to camp, we all loaded up into the vehicles and went to the lodge where Chris’ parents were staying. Chris’ family had drive to join us at Zion and would meet us in Yosemite and San Francisco as well. The Condits fed us a wonderful meal and provided us with some cold beverages, which were heaven after eight straight days of riding.

Back at camp, we started a campfire and sat around it to relax. I went down to the Visitor’s Center with Tommy to make phone calls. He was trying to call his girlfriend and I was trying to call my dad for Father’s Day. I was unsuccessful in getting a hold of my father, but I did get in contact with one of my friends, and he happened to be hanging out with a bunch of my friends. The one phone call resulted in talking to ten different people. After the phone calls, Tommy and I returned to camp to sleep. Tomorrow will be a wonderful day off.

Day 19: June 19 Day off in Zion (ZNP), UT

After straight eight days of riding, sleeping in would seem to priority, but I decided experiencing as much as possible was my main objective. Tommy and I wore our jerseys for the hike. The extra pockets were good for carrying water bottles and people would inquire about Texas 4000. Tommy, Steve, Pirkle, Bhard, Steve’s brother, and I got up at 6 A.M. to start our hike up to the top of Angel’s Landing. Angel’s Landing’s summit lies at roughly 5000 feet, which was a 1488 feet vertical climb from the trailhead. The climb to the summit was long and lead through a series of switchbacks, which left me winded. I was dumbfounded that I could ride a bicycle from Texas to Utah and still be winded walking uphill.

We had spent an hour and fifteen minutes hiking to and up the switchbacks. Once we tackled the switchbacks we had to hike along a narrow ridge that lead up to the summit. At the point of the ridge, it was only about 3 feet wide. There were heavy chains that were attached to the rock for hikers to hold on to as they traversed their way toward the summit. One false step could result in a fatal fall, as the ridge dropped straight down for almost 1500 feet.

Successfully negotiating the ridge, we stood at the summit. It had taken us nearly two hours to make the ascent. The view from the top was nothing short of astounding. Angel’s Landing provided a 360-degree view of the main part of the park from one of the highest points. From our vantage point, I could see all the mountains giving way to the valley below and the river winding its way through the base of the park.

We sat on the summit and enjoyed the view for quite a while. Our spirits were high as we laughed and joked while soaking in the sights. We ate some snacks and, against park rules, fed the chipmunks that had made the summit their home. It was obvious that we were not the only ones who couldn’t resist feeding the furry little creatures, because they took food right from my hand.

When it was time to go, I had to tear myself away from the beauty. What had taken us two hours to climb only took us roughly 45 minutes to descent. There were long mounds of dirt that extended across the trail at various intervals, which were probably put in place to prevent erosion. We had been running down parts of the trail and someone started jumping off these mounds. Soon, we were all jumping them one after another. Tommy decided to go ahead of us and film the jumping sequences. As we made our second series of jumps, I landed wrong and completely ate it, but I acrobatically tucked, rolled, and recovered from the spill. We crossed over the river and went back to camp to grab some lunch before our next adventure, which would take us into what was called The Narrows.

The Narrows is a very interesting area of Zion. The river runs through a canyon, from wall to wall in most places, that extends 1000-2000 feet overhead. When hiking through the narrows, one is literally hiking in the shallow water of the river. The rocks in the riverbed are very slick and hiking can be treacherous for ankles.

We decided to forgo the tram ride to the mouth of the canyon and walked there instead. The water was quite cold on initial entry, but the canyon was simply amazing. I would get use to the scenery of the canyon bottom while hiking, and then I could turn my head skyward, which would put everything back into perspective. The towering cliffs that rose on either side of me suddenly dwarfed me. Water trickled down some of the less steep cliff walls, which formed small, beautiful waterfalls.

At one point, we came to a fork in the canyon. To our right was a smaller side canyon that we decided to explore in lieu of venturing farther down the main canyon. We worked our way a long distance down the smaller canyon over and past three waterfalls when we reached an impasse. The canyon narrowed and the water got much deeper leading up to a six-foot waterfall. There was a fallen tree that was leaning on an upper ledge that appeared to give access to the top of the waterfall.

Steve and I decided to see if climbing the log and forging on was possible. Steve went first and decided to jump off the ledge. I ended up working my way around and to the top of the waterfall. We decided to turn back, so I jumped off the front of the waterfall into water cold enough to take my breath away. The water was probably about ten feet deep at this narrow point. I swam back to the group and we started hiking back toward the main canyon.


On our retreat we couldn’t climb down the sides of the canyon walls at the waterfalls due to our wet shoes, so we had to jump off of them. The water wasn’t as deep in these places, and I landed wrong at one of smaller waterfalls and impacted my knee. It was hurting pretty bad for awhile, but began to subside. On the way back, we ran into Hogan and then made it back into the main canyon shortly after where we ran into Bhard and Don. We turned right and hiked up the main canyon for about another hour.

Eventually we had to turn around and go back down stream. Walking with the current was much easier and made our return trip much faster. We elected to take the tram back instead of walking and on the trip back, I met a family from Anchorage. I got their contact information planned to contact them when we get closer to Alaska.

When we got back to the campsite, everything was gone. We weren’t sure what happened, but apparently our campsite had been moved. We finally found where the new campsite was and arrived just in time for dinner. Mrs. Condit had made us gumbo for dinner. I ate heartily, called my dad, and then passed out after a very vigorous day off.


Day 20: June 20 Zion (ZNP), UT to Veyo, UT 73 miles

This morning was kicked off by yet another meal of oatmeal and grits. I was sad to leave behind Zion behind, but I had no choice. Suchin and I decided that the annoying song of the day was none other than Ricky Martin’s “La Vida Loca.” My legs felt like Jell-O due to all the hiking that I’d done the previous day, so I decided to ride with the slow group.

Once we left Zion National Park, we had a long, gradual descent into Hurricane. As we were approaching the city, Suchin and I spotted a sign for 24-cent ice cream sandwiches, so of course we had to stop. We stopped at the convenience store, and bought all of their remaining ice cream sandwiches. Suchin picked up the tab, which amounted to a couple of dollars. After lingering in the air-conditioning as long as possible, we retreated outside to eat our ice cream bars.

Back on the road, we continued pedaling toward St. George, which had been designated as our lunch stop. At one point I looked ahead and saw the road we were on went under an overpass. When we got to the overpass, we realized that the road we were on ended and merged with the highway that was now above us. A problem was upon us. The new highway was an Interstate, and bicycles are not allowed on Interstate Highways.

Luckily it was only a short ride into town, so we jumped on the interstate and road quickly toward St. George. Not more than a quarter of a mile after merging onto the freeway, I heard the dreaded noise from my back tire. Dbear was following close behind, so instead of trying to fix a flat on the busy interstate, I just threw my bike in the back of his truck and he drove me roughly a mile to gas station where we were stopped for lunch.

I decided to wait until after I had eaten to change my flat. I quickly devoured my 2 peanut butter sandwiches and then went into the convenience store on a search for more food. I decided to be brave and risk future intestinal problems as I purchased a hot dog with cheese. Also included was a king size Snickers bar. Steve and Tommy decided to split an oversized, dangerously named burrito simply called “The Bomb.” As they were eating it, we all were joking about how “The Bomb” was going to hit them later that night. I changed out the tube in my back tire and we pushed out.

After we wrapped up lunch, some people headed to the hospital to address some nagging injuries, since we would not see another larger city until we got into central California. Suchin’s shin injuries appeared to have become infected, and a couple other people had things that needed attending to.

We made our turn to the north and left town. Immediately outside town we began to climb. I noticed that there was a bike path on the other side of the highway, and figured that the bike path would be easier to ride on than the shoulder. The first chance we got, we crossed the highway and entered the bike path.

I quickly found out that my logic was incorrect. The bike path was ridiculously harder than the road. The hills were much steeper on the bike path, and at one point I lost all of my momentum when I incorrectly changed gears while climbing one of the hills. With momentum lost, I almost fell over and had to get off my bike and walk to the top of the short, but very steep hill. While walking my bike up the hill, I passed Meg, who was struggling to pedal up the incline.

We jumped back on the road as soon as we could cross back over to the shoulder. Shortly after gaining access to the highway we came upon the van and the next rest stop. I put down my bike and realized that “The Bomb” had gone off. Tommy and Steve were both lying in the trailer with stomach pains from eating the volatile burrito. I found a spot in the trailer and curled up for a short nap before I got back on the bike.

As soon as I started riding again, I found myself fighting another battle against the hills of western Utah. As I was pedaling through the countryside, I looked around and saw what appeared to be lava rock on both sides of the road. Much of the rock appeared to have a blackish, scorched appearance. I turned my head to the right and slight skyward and finally realized that the hill I had been circumventing was a volcano! This excited me, as I had never seen a volcano before. I kept looking back up at it. It wasn’t too terribly high, so I thought about climbing to the top. I just wanted to peer into the cone, but I decided I should just keep riding since I was solo.

I kept riding, while carefully inspecting each hill or small mountain looking for more volcanoes. I coasted down a hill and was pleasantly surprised to see a Veyo city limits sign. I still thought I had twelve more miles to ride. I double-checked my mileage for the day, and I had indeed arrived twelve miles sooner than we had planned for the day.

Veyo is a very small town. There were no stop lights and it appeared as though the highway and one side street appeared to be the extent of their road system. There was a small gas station/grocery store in a tiny shopping center that also contained a laundry mat. There were a few houses down the side street, but that appeared to be the entire town.

Our hosts for the night were Bishop Thurgood and the members of the local Mormon church that was at the end of what looked to be the only side street in town. For dinner we were fed chili and scones, which were called Navajo Tacos. The church people also donated special hydrating drink mix to us. I mentioned to someone at dinner that I thought I had seen an active volcano on the ride in, and I was informed that there were thirty active volcanoes within a mile of the town!

The hospital crew had arrived in town and most of the ailments had been treated. Suchin found out that his cuts were in fact infected, and the likely cause was his hiking through the water in the Narrows of Zion. I laughed and gave him a hard time about being injury prone, but I knew that cuts on my shin wouldn’t have kept me out of the Narrows either. Suchin was also told that he probably could have used a stitch or two, but it was too late now.

After dinner our attention was called and we turned to see a small, happy girl standing on a table. The little girl’s name was Megan and she was almost four years old. We were told that Megan had been diagnosed with cancer at the age of one and a half. Her father had donated a kidney, the church had prayed and donated money, and through modern medicine she was standing before us three years later. Stories like Megan’s were the reason we were riding, and stories like hers are the ones that need to be retold.

Some of the riders were sent to host families, while the rest of us stayed in an empty house next to the church that the church owned. I was in the group that stayed next door to the church. After claiming our sleeping spots and putting our stuff down, we went to the small shopping center that contained the gas station and laundry mat so we could do a little bit of laundry, and grab some snacks. A couple of the guys ordered a pizza from the gas station, so I successfully bartered for a slice of pizza. After washing our clothes we went back to the house and called showers, watched The Nutty Professor II, ate candy, drank cokes, and listened to some music before turning in for the night. The days of possible desolation in Nevada start tomorrow.

Day 21: June 21 Veyo, UT to Caliente, NV 91 miles

The great people in Veyo made us breakfast and then we were on our way. The day’s ride couldn’t have started any worse. We were climbing against an insanely strong headwind as we wound our way through the Dixie Forest. The scenery was probably quite beautiful, but I hardly noticed as I was really struggling to continue moving forward. It took me an hour and eight minutes to travel the first ten miles, but we finally made a turn onto a new highway and caught a tailwind.

With the wind at our backs, we cruised along swiftly toward the Nevada State Line. The road was flat and straight seeming to lead straight into the mountains. Although the road was foreshadowing what was to come in the next few days, our road today took a slight turn to the left and led us through the desert and around the mountains. Nearing the state line, Tommy and I kicked it into high gear to ensure no one would catch us from behind. The two of us decided to cross the state line at the same time.

The van was parked just beyond the border of Nevada, which marked our stop for lunch. I snapped a picture of the state line and we sat along side the road to eat our lunch and celebrate entering our sixth state, including the short stint in Colorado at Four Corners. There was about 20 yards between the “leaving Utah” sign and the “Welcome to Nevada” sign that we dubbed “Utada,” so we ate our peanut butter sandwiches and joked about our business plans for Utada.

The end of our ride couldn’t have ended more opposite from the way the day started. We were treated with almost 40 miles of varying degrees of downhill to end the ride. As we neared Caliente, Tommy and I were riding single file on the narrow highway, when an eighteen wheeler flew by us. The driver didn’t even bother to move over in the lane, so he was literally inches from us when he passed. The force of the air as he passed almost knocked us both over.

When we arrived in Caliente, the guys in the fast group had already secured a place to stay. They stopped in at the local clinic/hospital to ask about a place to camp and to their astonishment the people working there said they were expecting us. We were going to be allowed to camp in a park in the middle of town. The only thing we could figure is that they had us confused with the John Hopkins cyclists who also came through Caliente later in the summer. Nevertheless we had a place to stay.

We were also given free entry into the public pool where there were showers we could make use of. Once the rest of the riders arrived, we went to the pool and swam for awhile. The cool water felt wonderful on my overused leg muscles. After the swim, I went into the locker room to shower, but quickly found out there was no hot water. The cold water literally took my breath away. I decided to just rinse the chlorine off and not bother with a full shower since the water was so cold.

We gathered outside the pool near a picnic table and got ready to ride to the park when I realized I had a flat. I threw my bike in the back of Dbear’s truck and we all headed to the park that was available to us. When we got to the park, we found that there was a picnic area complete with a barbeque pit.

In Veyo, Bishop Thurgood gave us the name of a Mormon Preacher in Caliente to contact. We were able to get in touch with him and he completely surprised us by donating a lot of food for us to cook for dinner including hamburger meat, vegetables and even charcoal. Stuart cooked up some great hamburgers and vegetables.

While dinner was being prepared, I took the time to do some bike maintenance. Dbear and Steve taught me how to remove my cogs and chain so that they could take their much needed bath in degreaser. I cleaned up the rest of my bike and adjusted my brakes, so that I could stop a little better while descending mountains.

After dinner and the bike maintenance, a few of us made a trip to a local convenience store to pick up a few things. While wandering the store, I found a “Sheriff’s Kit” on the toy rack. It contained a plastic gun, knife, and a sheriff badge. Part of my duties for Texas 4000 was to ensure we didn’t leave anything behind when we left in the mornings, and to especially make sure we didn’t leave any trash. It was very important for us to leave the places we stayed in the same or better condition than when we arrived. I decided to pick up the toy kit and dub myself the “Trash Police.” I could threaten people with the gun and knife, and if anyone questioned me, I’d just show them my badge.

I went back to the park and we moved our tent to ensure that we wouldn’t get soaked if the automatic sprinklers turned on in the middle of the night. There were no bathrooms at the park, so I went behind a tree and took care of business before settling into my sleeping bag.

Day 22: June 22 Caliente, NV to Rachel, NV 84 miles

We go up this morning and broke down our tents and downed yet another breakfast that consisted of oatmeal. We went to a local restaurant to use their bathroom facilities since we had none in the park. I broke out the sheriff’s badge and plastic gun to deal with people leaving behind litter. We finished packing up and road over to the convenience store to fill up our water bottles, and then we set off toward Rachel.

Upon leaving Caliente, we started climbing. The climb stretched to a full ten miles before we reached the apex and zoomed downhill. The long drop brought me up to speeds between forty and forty-five miles an hour. As we neared the end of the descent, I spotted a large grove of trees that looked very peculiar standing in the middle of the desert. When we reached the desert woodland, we found out we were about to turn on to the Extraterrestrial Highway. The highway, which took us to Rachel, was the closest highway to Area 51.

The fastest group of riders was already lounging in the shade of the trees when we arrived. They told us that a cop had come by and told them that the van had broken down a number of miles back, so we decided to all wait for the group to catch up. The cop also told us of a natural spring that was just across the road. The sign read “Keep Out,” but he told us to ignore it because the owner didn’t care. We ate some snacks and waited on the slower riders to catch up, and then we all ventured past the “Keep Out” sign.

I walked through the high grass and before me was an oasis. There was a natural spring which formed two pools divided by an earthen damn and connected by a drainage pipe. The water was crystal clear and I could see small fish and crawfish inhabiting the desert abnormality. Shoes, socks, and jerseys came off and riders went clamoring into the water. I immediately forgot about the intense desert heat when I felt the cool water against my skin. We all lounged in the water for as long as we could before it was time to push on. The van finally showed up, and it turned out the problem was overheating.

After we left our sanctuary, we were immediately reminded of the heat and difficult riding of Nevada with a twelve mile climb. Shortly after the climb, we stopped for lunch. After lunch we rode for roughly fifteen miles on ruler straight road as we discussed Area 51 and where the random unmarked dirt roads led. We took a quick stop, and Suchin realized he needed to go poop. Problem was, we were in a valley in the middle of the desert, so there was nowhere for him to leave plain sight. He found a small spot behind a rock, but he was far from hidden from sight. We all made fun of him as he did his business and then we got back on our bikes and road on.

As we began our final climb before Rachel, we came upon a large, dead cow in the middle of the road. One thing that is different from other states is that Nevada is free range. There are no fences on the sides of the roads, so cattle wander freely across the highways. This particular beast must have walked out in front of an unfortunate vehicle. Once we passed the cow, we encountered a two mile climb and then a nice descent into Rachel.

Rachel was nothing more than a gas station, a restaurant, and a small collection of buildings. We thought we had nothing secured for the night, but when we arrived outside the Little A'Le'Inn, we found out that we had food, a place to camp, and showers at our disposal. We had no idea how they knew to expect us; the only thing we could think of was that Chris’ mom had called ahead for us. The Little A'Le'Inn was providing us dinner, showers, and they were allowing us to camp in a vacant field next to the building.

Tommy and I made our way over to the lone gas station in the small settlement of Rachel to pick up some snacks. When we entered the store, I was a bit taken back. I thought the grocery store in Cuba was tiny, but this small establishment served as both the gas station and grocery store. The store consisted of a single double-sided row of shelves, a cooler for milk and other perishables, and wooden shelves lining the exterior walls. Behind the counter sat an elderly woman who told us she owned the store. She informed us that the station received gas replenishment but once a week, and that she made a trip to Las Vegas once a week to purchase the goods she sold in her store, as there were no deliveries other than gas provided to Rachel.

We quickly erected the familiar tent village and then packed inside the small dining area of the A'Le'Inn. We were instructed to grab a plate and go into the kitchen to get our meal of beef stew, rice, and cornbread. When we entered the kitchen we were introduced to the cook—a man by the name of Boot.

Boot had sun-aged skin and a pony tail of brown hair. He wore a trucker’s hat, aviator sunglasses, an old t-shirt, and cut-off shorts. Boot greeted us warmly and spoke with us as we ate our dinner. I quickly gathered that Boot was the local conspiracy theorist and fed off all the attention little Rachel received by being the closest city to Area 51.

After dinner we went back outside to gather our things and head for the showers. When we walked out of the restaurant, we realized that the wind had picked up and was blowing our tents at will. One tent suffered a broken tent pole. Tommy, Steve, Dbear, and I grabbed all the water five-gallon jugs and placed them in the corners of our tent to prevent it from blowing away.

With the tent secured, we went in search of the showers. It turned out that the Ale’ Inn consisted of several trailer homes that functioned as the inn’s rooms. We were given access to one of the rooms to shower in. With twenty people, we had to keep our shower time to a minimum, but it felt good to wash a few days worth of sweat and dust off of my road weary body.

Once I got cleaned up, a group of us went back into the restaurant to have a drink and mingle with the locals. Not many Rachel residents were out, so Texas 4000 pretty much had the place to ourselves. I sat at the counter and ordered a beer. As I sat drinking, Boot came over and struck up a conversation.

He told me about how the United States faked the original moon landing. Boot theorized that at the time we were not capable of penetrating certain layers of the atmosphere. He admitted that he thought that man had been on the moon since, but that the original landing was bogus. He then shifted to talking about Area 51, and showed us a couple of binders that contained pictures of different aircraft the government had tested in the area. Boot said that people come from all over the world to try and catch a glimpse of the military's latest planes that sometimes fly overhead.

We wrapped up our discussion with Boot and took a look at all the pictures that were on the wall of the establishment. Darkness was settling in over Rachel, so we all finished our card games and walked outside into the desert air. I peered up at the clear sky and stared at the stars for a bit before retiring for the night.

I was finding great satisfaction in speaking with the people I met along the way. I found it very intriguing to learn about life in places such as Rachel. Places where the nearest grocery store is more than an hour drive. The people are genuine and lead simple lives. They don’t worry about traffic, crowds, or being late for appointments. Although a rural, almost disconnected, life isn’t for everyone, when I step back and look at their day-to-day lives, these small town people have much that I am envious of.

Day 23: June 23 Rachel, NV to Tonopah, NV 114 miles

Getting up this morning was very difficult. I did not want to crawl out of my sleeping bag and expose myself to the cold morning air. Once I finally rose from my cocoon, I was treated to another morning of oatmeal. We were out of brown sugar or anything even remotely sweet, so we were stuck with the taste of plain oatmeal. As tired of peanut butter as I was, I took a scoop and mixed it into my oatmeal to attempt to concoct something that resembled a decent tasting meal. Peanut butter only succeeded in making the oatmeal thicker and harder to swallow. In no way did adding peanut butter to oatmeal improve the taste.

Someone found an envelope tucked under the windshield wiper of the van. Inside the envelope was a letter from Boot and five one-dollar bills. Boot had written a letter to us praising for what we were doing. He wrote about how we were an inspiration and drew parallels to the volunteer work he did with disabled people. The letter was very touching a proved that although to most people Boot might be a strange conspiracy theorist, he was a genuine and caring man.

While waiting to leave on the day’s ride, Boots and his dog, Toots, came out to bid us farewell. I had another very interesting conversation with Boot. He told me of his JFK theory. According to Boot, the assassination was a collaboration among the CIA, Lyndon B. Johnson, The Federal Reserve, and the mafia. They each had something to gain from Kennedy’s demise and played a part in the killing. Boot further explained that there were four separate gunmen. They were all on radio counting down, “three, two, one, fire” to ensure simultaneous shots.

The conversation soon turned back to Rachel and its proximity to Area 51. Boot told us that he had been to several of the gates that marked the entrance to the secret base, which were all guarded by armed soldiers. Boot pointed to a peak off in the distance and told us that the government had cameras and microphones mounted on the peak that you could see with binoculars. The purpose of the cameras was to watch all the activity in the tiny town and ensure the security of the famous base.

Boot also told us how he ended up in Rachel. He was originally a transient of sorts and was originally headed from California to Phoenix to find construction work. He stopped in Rachel and took the job as the cook at the Little Ale’ Inn. Boot decided that he liked the little town and decided to stay.

We randomized the groups today. The purpose was to allow some of the newer riders to continue to learn from veterans, to facilitate socializing among the different levels of riders, and just to mix things up a bit. I got in a great group—Paul, Werckle, Pirkle, Melissa, and B-hard. We were the first group to leave Rachel.

Taunting us since we stopped in Rachel was the mountain range to the west of Rachel. The road continued directly toward the range and I could see the road rise directly up the mass of rock not veering left or right. I knew we faced a century today, and the daunting task of climbing straight over the mountain range didn’t ease my dismay of such a long ride through the heat of the desert.

Our group left Rachel in good spirits despite the daunting task that lay before us. As we rode toward the giant mass of rock that stood before us, it seemed as though I was riding a stationary bike. I pedaled and pedaled yet the range never seemed to get any closer. Suddenly the mountain was before me and we were climbing for what seemed like forever. Paul and I were leading our small double pace line. Paul and I discussed religion, the CIA, and technology to pass the time as we climbed.

After the long climb, I was looking forward to the easy descent, but we were treated with a headwind that forced us to pedal downhill. Once we descended back to the flat valley floor the road made one of its few bends of the day, and we were staring twenty miles ahead at the next mountain range where the road simply went straight over just like what we had just overtaken.

The road was desolate, flat, and straight. I hadn’t seen a car since we had departed Rachel. With the road belonging only to us, we started having fun with the day’s ride. We formed a triple and quadruple pace line. We rode six abreast taking up the entire road. We rode single-file, weaving back and forth between the lanes. At one point we stopped and Pirkle laid down in the middle of the road to pose for a picture showing the desolation we were riding through.

We made the ascent up the next set of mountains. I looked ahead and the road traveled in a straight line for what appeared to be miles. I followed the asphalt trail with my eyes and before the road could meet the horizon, it rose and soared to the top of yet another mountain. All day when we’d reach a summit, I could see the road stretch for miles to the next ascent. The distance covering the valleys was very deceptive. I would ride for what felt like forever and the mountains still stood at a distance. It was as if the mountains were taunting us.

To pass the time in the valleys we played word association games and then took turns telling jokes. Eventually the jokes gave way to a sing-a-long, which was highlighted by a group rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” The six of us were riding through the barren Nevada desert singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the top of our lungs, complete with head-banging session a la “Wayne’s World.”

Originally the day’s ride was supposed to be a short sixty mile jaunt to a place called Warm Springs. However, we never found any contacts in Warm Springs but were able to find lodging in Tonopah, which was an additional forty miles away, giving us another century. At mile sixty when we arrived in Warm Springs, we were all glad we were riding an additional forty miles. The only thing in Warm Springs was a couple abandoned buildings and a natural hot spring. The area called Warm Spring wasn’t even named very aptly because the water was well beyond warm, and was in fact, quite hot.

Leaving Warm Springs, we began to climb and shortly after, we passed a sign that curiously read “Toiyabe National Forest.” I looked again to make sure I read the “National Forest” part correctly, and it did indeed claim “Forest.” We were in the middle of the desert and I had not seen a tree since the natural springs we swam in while riding toward Rachel. We rode through the national forest for several miles and I never once spotted a tree.

Despite the heat, the headwind on descents, and the long distance, our group kept high spirits all day. Most of the day we were the recipients of cloud cover, which somewhat quelled the heat. We somehow got on the subject of pizza, and I decided that pizza would be a delicious conclusion to the day. I made up a ridiculous song about a pizza buffet and before long we were all singing along and adding lines.

We had completed four mountain passes and were working our way up the fifth singing about the pizza buffet when we saw a sign that had an arrow pointing straight ahead to Tonopah and an arrow pointing to the right to Austin. We had to stop and take a picture with the sign. We all gave our best confused look in front of the sign. As we were about to leave Paul dropped his bike into the granny gear and began pushing the cadence as fast as he could. Watching him pedal as fast as his legs would move and inch along the road was hilarious to see, so Pirkle got it on video.

A few miles later, we reached to top of what we thought was the last mountain pass before descending into Tonopah, but to our surprise, the city was nestled among the mountains at the top of the climb. As we turned the corner and entered town, everyone’s eyes were on the lookout for a pizza place. My song had made us all obsessed with finding a pizza buffet. We passed a Best Western and Bhard and Paul stopped to go in and ask if there was a pizza buffet in town. I stopped with them, while the rest of the group road on to find the church we were staying at.

The woman at the front desk informed Bhard that there was no place in town that had a pizza buffet. Bhard thanked her and turned to leave when she stopped him. Apparently the combination of the cycling gear and “Texas 4000” caught her eye and she inquired what it was all about. Bhard quickly filled her in on our cause, and she told him to wait as she picked up the phone. The woman who was working the front desk was the daughter of the owner of the hotel. She had picked up the phone to call her mother. When she got off the phone, she informed Bhard that the Best Western would be donating ten pizzas; all we had to do was to tell her what to order and wait for them to show up. Bhard came back outside to tell Paul and I to come in and wait with him.

The three of us sat in the lobby and waited. All of a sudden, Bhard tells us he’s going to McDonald’s and darts out the door without waiting for a response. Paul and I kind of look at each other and chuckled while shaking our heads. Just then an older man walked through the door from the stairway, and that is when I had my encounter with Jake.

Joke was an older man, probably in his sixties. He was thin and wore a tee-shirt and jeans. He was wearing a trucker’s hat backwards and strapped around his head, resting on his forehead was a pair of “Scott” ski goggles. In his left hand he had a bottle of water, and in his right was a banana. Jake made his way over to me and peered down at me.

In a high-pitched voice, Jake asked, “Ya know whut you need?”

I smiled and responded, “what’s that?”

“A ‘coon skin cayup,” Jake quickly responded.

I knew better than to look over at Paul, because we would both probably burst out laughing. “Sure,” Jake continued, “ya juhst take ya BB gun and shoot tha cat, and then ya skin it, and ya make a hat out of it. You from Texas?”

With a big smile on my face, I looked up at Jake and confirmed that I was indeed from Texas. When he got his authentication he kept on, “When ya get back ta Texas, you can sell them and make a lot uh money. You like money doncha?”

I told Jake that I liked money and he continued, “once ya skin the cat, ya put rabbit fur on tha insahd. It’ll keep ya head warm in the wintah.”

And with that, my short conversation with Jake was over. He moved back toward the front desk where a couple was checking in. He strategically positioned himself next to me and started, “Ya know whut you need? A ‘coon skin cayup.” The woman at the front desk politely asked Jake to let the couple finished checking in, and Jake retreated and stood quietly with his water bottle and banana.

We decided to go wait outside so we could flag down the van to let them know we needed to get ten pizzas. Bhard returned tell us he had walked in to McDonald’s and talked to the manager and the manager decided to donate twenty-two cheeseburgers to Texas 4000. We just needed to return in a little while to pick them up. We had gone from having to prepare our own meal to having a meal of pizza and hamburgers donated thanks to the generosity of some of the residents of Tonopah. When the van showed up, we went back inside to profusely thank the woman who was working the front desk of the Best Western. Bhard, Paul, and I then road on through the town to find the church we were staying at for the night.

We were welcomed into the Mormon Church in Tonopah. Some of the members of the church stopped by to talk to us and to ask some questions about Texas 4000 and our cause and of course we were happy to share with them. The food arrived but didn’t last long with ravenous cyclists who had just put 117 miles behind them. After dinner, we took out all our trash and we were treated to a gorgeous desert sunset.

Day 24: June 24 Tonopah, NV to Benton, Ca 89 miles

The race was on and California was the goal. The team had been looking forward to today for weeks. For all of us, California marked a major accomplishment on our ride. California marked the western edge of the contiguous United States, the Pacific Ocean, and ultimately marked our turn northward to Alaska.

About half of the team had decided to race for the California border with the other half content to arrive at their own pace. I decided to stay back in the second group, because I didn’t think I could do sixty miles, at a fast pace, without stopping. Because we had two such distinct groups, we needed to ensure that everyone was supported for the ride, so we decided Dbear would support the racers and Sunny and the van would support the rest, including anyone who might opt out of the race after the start.

When we left Tonopah, we were treated to roughly a forty mile descent to the base of a valley. It was at this point I had begun to second-guess my choice to not race. I knew I wouldn’t have won, but with a forty mile descent, I could have tried to hang for the last sixty miles to the border. At the forty mile mark, we found ourselves in the ruins of Coaldale. It didn’t appear that the town consisted of much to begin with, but the casino/gas station had burned to the ground and all the other building had long since been abandoned. I walked around among the derelict cars and ramshackle buildings noting the contrast between the ruins and the snow-capped Sierra Nevadas that provided the backdrop to the scattered debris that once constituted a small Nevada town.

I got back on my bike and a few miles out of Coaldale, we turned off the major highway on to a smaller thoroughfare and I started to feel the excitement of California welling up inside. As we began climbing into the mountains, I realized that that was the point I would have been dropped from the race and felt at ease with my decision to stay back. In Tonopah, we had been told that the California border was roughly sixty miles, so I was eagerly counting down as the mile markers continually decreased toward mile zero. The road brought us between two mountain ridges and we were climbing and descending.

I finally saw mile marker one and I accelerated. California was but a mile away. The excitement was more than I could handle. I was envisioning a party atmosphere as the racers welcomed the rest of us to the state of California. I’d cross the line and then congratulate the winner of the race.

As I turned the corner to mile zero and the California state line, I saw no other riders. I saw no “Welcome to California” sign. All I saw was mile marker fourteen and just beyond that a hill I had to climb. I was crushed. I felt like a six year old who had just received the toy of his dreams only to watch moments later as his big brother stomped it into a million pieces. I slowly climbed the hill and saw the van sitting a number of yards farther down the road.

I rode to the van perplexed at what had happened to the state line. When I arrived, Suchin was there. He had fallen off the race and had been riding without support for quite awhile. I learned that the border was actually seventy four miles from Tonopah. A few of the racers knew but didn’t spread the word hoping that to pace themselves for seventy-four miles and overtake the others who would pace themselves for sixty miles.

I set back out defeated, with the knowledge that I had another fourteen miles to ride before I would cross the border. Shortly after leaving the van behind, I began climbing. As the climb continued, I peered at one of the signs meant for traffic traveling in the opposite direction. The sign indicated that I was riding up a seven percent grade. The long climb took us through Montgomery Pass.

I finally reached the top of the pass, and I could see my final descent to the California border stretching out in front of me. Towering to my left at just over 13,000 feet was the snow-capped Montgomery Peak. I once again felt the excitement of California rising up as I prepared for an easy, fast plunge to the border. I wasn’t sure if it was Nevada trying to hang on to me or California trying to deny me entry, but a fierce headwind hit me as I attempted the descent. I was forced to pedal downhill all the way to the border.

When I arrived my excitement was high, but the racers’ exhilaration had long since passed. They had been waiting on the rest of us to arrive for well over an hour. I learned that Stuart had won the race to the border. Once everyone arrived, we took a group picture with the “Welcome to California” sign and then made a decision to ride six miles to Benton, which would be our stop for the night.

When we arrived in Benton, we stopped in at the gas station to inquire about camping in the park. We were granted permission to camp, and the gas station decided to donate hamburgers dinners for the entire team. The generosity we encountered in small towns was amazing. So many people offered us help on the spot without so much as a second thought.

It was Steve’s twenty-first birthday, so we decided he needed to do Edward Forty Hands with two bottles of Mickey’s. He finished them both, ate his hamburger, and was passed out within forty five minutes. After a seventy-four mile race, I hadn’t even expected him to last forty five minutes.

With Steve passed out, several of us returned to the store to use the pay phone to call friends and family to announce that we had arrived in California. I went inside and bought a beer to celebrate my arrival in California. Several of us sat outside the gas station talking while waiting for a turn to use the pay phone. Later Suchin, Tommy, and I played 42 until it was too dark to see, while Skip chased rabbits around the park.

Day 25: June 25 Benton, Ca to Mammoth Lakes, CA 46 miles

I woke up and was moving a little slow this morning, but not nearly as slow as Steve after his drinking challenge from the night before. Some of us wanted to grab breakfast from the place that had donated our meals the night before and some wanted to get started with the day's ride. We decided to split into two groups. I was in the group that decided to get a good breakfast. While the other group was on their way to Mammoth lakes, I was eating pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

As I was finishing my breakfast, Paul approached me with a proposition. Paul wanted me to leave with him and Bhard as soon as I finished eating to try and catch up the front group. I was very hesitant. I wasn't sure that I could keep up with the two of them, and we also weren't sure we would have any support unless we were successful in catching the group that had left early. I glanced around the room while pondering and realized that if I didn't leave with Paul and Bhard, I would have no choice as to my pace, as those who remained all belonged to the slower group.

The ride out of Benton was pretty rough. We started climbing almost immediately. Some of the climbs were steeper than anything I had previously ridden. On one particular climb, Paul and I both had to take a quick break because our legs were burning so bad. I felt better that Paul had to take a break as well, because leaving I thought I was going to be the weak link holding the three of us back. The day's ride was definitely providing the most difficult climbing we had experienced to date. I was weaving back and forth on the empty road in an attempt to create mini switchbacks that would ease the difficulty of the climb.

The desert shrubs had given way to large evergreen trees. Someone mentioned they could use a snack, and somehow we turned that into an entire conversation about Bigfoot emerging from the trees to bring us snacks and water. We finished a long, somewhat gradual climb and were about to make a turn to a much more difficult climb when Dbear drove around the corner. He was setting up the rest stop for the riders behind us, and luckily he found us. We were able to refill water and eat a couple Pop-Tarts to refuel before tackling the nine percent grade that was awaiting us.

After the rest stop, we slowly made our way up the steep incline. We rounded the corner at the top of the climb and started descending when we spotted a beautiful sight. There before us stood a grand range of snow-capped Sierra peaks. Although we were racing to catch the front group, we paused long enough to snap a couple pictures, and then we were off again.

We continued down the descent, and then the road leveled off before taking us up a short ascent. Just as we started on the ascent, we caught sight of the van. We knew the van was trailing the slower riders of the front group, so we were almost there. Bhard took off leaving Paul and I to battle up another ascent. Just as Paul and I tackled the climb, we turned and gave each other a high five to celebrate our accomplishment, and then we both fell silent at the scenery that lay before our eyes.

There before us was a beautiful lake reflecting snow covered mountains. The lake was in a lush, green meadow and mirrored the towering, snow-capped mountains that provided the backdrop to complete the living post card that was in front of us. I was almost speechless at the scenery, as it was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen in my life.

Once Paul and I snapped out of our trance caused by nature’s beauty, we realized we still had about a quarter of a mile to erase before we would be caught up with the group. We cruised down the short descent to level off at the meadow level and then caught the front group. The highway skirted around about half of the lake. As I rode, I couldn’t help but to stare at the lake and the reflection of the mountains.

Once we left the lake behind, we began our last leg into Mammoth Lakes which was all climbing. We joined up with a busier highway and then climbed into the small resort town. When we arrived at the lodge, we had just finished our toughest day of climbing to date.

Since Mammoth Lakes is a ski town, we were lucky and got the majority of a seasonal lodge donated for the night. We all had beds and showers. Stacy was our contact and she arranged everything for us. After we checked in at the lodge, we headed to a shopping center to do some laundry and grab some food. Bhard secured about a hundred free burger coupons from Carl’s Jr. We went to the local bike shop to look around and while we were there, the second group finally rolled into town. I was glad I had left with Bhard and Paul, as the second group came in a full two and a half hours after we had arrived in Mammoth Lakes.

On the way back from the bike shop, we stopped at the public library to use the internet. The nice people at the counter asked us about Texas 4000 and ended up making a donation! We returned to the lodge to a wonderful meal of pizza, which totally hit the spot. After our stomachs were full, I dared Paul to snort a line of parmesan cheese. I convinced him much too easily. He cut up a line of cheese, rolled up a dollar and snorted it. Then he went back and finished off what he missed. As soon as he was done, I began my efforts to get him to snort a line of crushed red pepper, but my attempt was futile.

After stuffing ourselves full of pizza, we went to a local coffee shop for a meet and greet with some of the locals. I ended up talking with Emily, who I had previously met at the lodge, most of the time. She worked for Stacy. We talked about travel, different towns, Texas, school, and all other topics. When we were leaving the coffee shop, I asked her where a good place to go hang out at would be and she told me where to go.

We returned to the lodge and rounded up a crew to go to a bar to play 42. Suchin, Tommy, Dbear, Cookies, and I went to a bar that was owned by Stacy’s husband. We ordered a pitcher and Stacy’s husband informed us that it was on the house. I went to the jukebox, which was full of great CDs, to play a few tunes. When we decided to get a second pitcher, we ran into a couple from Vancouver. We talked to them about our ride, and they ended up paying for our second pitcher.

While we were playing 42, a guy approached us and asked if he could sit with us and talk. We gladly welcomed him and told him to pull up a chair. His name was Doug and he was a local road biker in a city full of mountain bikers. He asked us which way we were going in the morning and a smile broke out on his face when we told him that Yosemite was our destination. Doug told us about Tioga Pass. It is a 12-mile climb with a 3,000-foot elevation change. He made it sound like a tough climb, but he said that if you turned around and descended speeds of 60 mile an hour were easily attainable! We invited Doug ride with us in the morning, and he gladly accepted.

Most of the group decided to go back to the lodge to get some sleep before attempting to tackle Tioga, but Suchin and I decided to experience the nightlife in Mammoth Lakes. We found a bar/dance club and entered. The place was pretty empty, so we didn’t stay very long. We heard people talking and music, so we followed the sounds to find another bar that was fairly packed. We and started to mingle with the locals, who most turned out to not be locals. The weather was nice, so we decided we should go hang out on the patio for a bit. Suchin walked directly into a glass window that extended from the floor to the ceiling. He thought it was an open door and tried to walk outside. We left the bar and walked back to the lodge at about 1:30 A.M. where I promptly fell asleep.

Day 26: June 26 Mammoth Lakes, CA to Tuolumne Meadows (YNP), CA 48 miles

I was moving a little slow due to the lack of sleep after going out the night before. My eyes were stinging as I packed up all my stuff. Once all our things were loaded into the trailer, we mounted our bikes and went to Petra’s for breakfast. I relished eating a good breakfast that did not consist of oatmeal.

Doug arrived and we bid farewell to our hosts and then set out. Doug led us on a shortcut out of town, which shaved six miles off of our ride. The shortcut guided us out of town via the scenic route, which served as a fire evacuation route for the city. We started up a short climb and I quickly realized that I was toast. The combination of lack of sleep and the hard ride I had done to get to Mammoth Lakes was taking its toll. I struggled up the hill as I watched the riders easily pull away from me.

Once I made it up to the top of the climb, I was treated to a six-mile descent through a pine forest before being spit out on the highway. I rode solo until I eventually caught up with Pirkle. The front group had left us behind and we were well in front of the back group, so we were pretty much on our own for the time being. We weren’t sure where the first rest stop was, so we were both looking around for it.

At the thirty-mile mark was the turn to Tioga Pass and at the corner sat a Mobile Station. Pirkle and I both assumed that this must have been the first rest stop and that the front group had already been here and left. We pulled into to gas station and went in to fill our water bottles and use the restroom.

We left the gas station and began our ascent up the vaunted Tioga Pass. We were embarking on a twelve-mile ride at an average grade of nine percent. As we started climbing, we were moving pretty slow. We made it a couple miles when Skip passed us and pulled off the road and waved us down. He informed us that we had missed the first rest stop that was at mile twenty and that we were ahead of everyone. My eyes widened and a smile erupted from my face as I looked over at Pirkle. We were both thinking the same thing: we were going to take Tioga!

We excitedly headed out and pedaled as fast as our legs would take us up the monster ascent. Pirkle began having trouble, so we took a short break. We headed out again and made it about another half mile before Pirkle needed another break. I was sticking with him because we decided to take Tioga together. After a few breaks, Pirkle told me to just go. He said one of us should take Tioga and he didn’t think he could keep up the pace. We knew the riders behind us had to be closing in, as they were stronger climbers and faster riders.

Pirkle wished me good luck as I set out on to capture the near 10,000-foot apex of the pass. I thanked him and started pedaling. I kicked my pace up to around eight miles an hour as I felt my quads burning. When I looked ahead of me, all I could see was the road winding its way toward the sky. I had to ignore the pain in my legs and just keep pedaling to keep ahead of the strong riders that were inevitably closing in on me with every pedal stroke.

I began to really struggle with the climb. I’d become a stronger rider and a stronger climber, but Tioga was testing my limits. We had ascents that had covered similar distances, but nothing this steep. My legs were burning and my lungs were hurting as I gasped for air. I was straining to squeeze every ounce of energy to continue my climb, but I was quickly fading. My mental energy was also fading, and I was becoming unsure of accomplishing the feat I had set out to do. As I was struggling around a corner, a motorcyclist passed on his way down the pass. As he looked over at me and saw the signs of struggle on my face, he slowed down and clapped for me.

A smile found its way back onto my face, and I think I might have gotten some dust in my eyes because they seemed to water a bit. The simple wave energized me and I found it much easier to continue the brutal ascent. My legs pumped harder, and my speed increased. I looked around and realized the scenery surrounding me had shifted to a visual that was nothing less than picturesque. The mountains were snowcapped, streams braided their way through fertile verdant grass, and small lakes reflected the panoramas. I wanted to stop and soak in the unbelievable nature that was unfolding before me, but if I stopped I would probably be overtaken by the unseen encroaching riders.

I spotted a signed that informed me I was only one mile from the park entrance, so I forged on quickening my pace. The road angle of the road began to flatten a bit, which eased my final ascent. I glanced back over my shoulder and still saw no sign of another rider. I rounded the corner and caught sight of a line of cars. As I approached the cars, the “Welcome to Yosemite Park” sign came into view, and I knew Tioga belonged to me. I sprinted to the signed, jumped off my bike, and ran up to slap the sign that read, "Elevation 9,945 feet. This pass is the highest automobile pass in the state of California." After I claimed my victory, I took a couple pictures of the sign to prove my accomplishment. I sat down for a couple of minutes to let everything soak in, and then decided to ride back down a little way to a small car park to wait on the van.

On my way back down, I passed Stuart and told him he was only about a half mile from the top. I stopped at the car park and waited, while several riders passed and made their way toward the gate. The van arrived as did a few riders, so I took the chance to ride back down a little ways and take some pictures of the beauty I rode by on my way to the gate. I rode about a mile back down the pass and took pictures of the mountains, snow, lakes, and streams. After I got my pictures of the scenery, I rode back up to the lunch stop where more riders had gathered.

Doug, Paul, and I wandered over to a large patch of snow. Although we had previously seen snow on the mountaintops, this was the first snow we were able to physically touch. I had to eat some snow just because, and Paul laid down on it while Doug made snowballs. Once we were done carousing in the snow, we returned to the group and downed lunch before Doug (the guest) decided to head back to Mammoth Lakes. Those of us that had finished our climb took a picture with Doug and then bid him farewell.

After the last of the group arrived and ate, we organized for our ride into the park. Because of heavy traffic entering Yosemite, the park rangers requested that we ride the next 8 miles through the park and into the campgrounds in groups of two since the road was so narrow. Tommy and I rode into the park together. As we made the descent into the park, I was awestruck. I’d never seen any landscape like what was before me. As beautiful as the surroundings were going up Tioga Pass, they couldn’t even compare to what I was now riding by. As I looked to each side, my eyes were treated to thick green shrubs sprouting forth from lush green grass. Breaking up the green floor were small, clear, winding streams that seemed to wander aimlessly among all the flourishing vegetation. To add to the storybook scenery, deer were meandering through many of these meadows, drinking from the streams.

Tommy and I waited as the rest of the group all met at the entrance to the campground. We checked in and found our assigned campsites and began to set up camp. Immediately we were swarmed with mosquitoes. Tommy, Steve, and I quickly set up our tent and then headed out to gather fire wood. We had to wander amongst the trees in a field across the road, as our campsite area had been picked clean of loose wood. Steve and I made a futile attempt lift some mammoth-size logs, but succeeded only in failing. The three of us gathered as much wood as we could carry and then went back to camp to start a fire to drive away the little winged pests. Once back at camp, we started a fire, and then ate a wonderful dinner Chris’ mom had prepared. Chris’ parents and brothers had come to Yosemite to meet up with us. While Chris’ mom generously sterilized everyone’s water bottles with boiling water we talked and played some 42. Since this was our first real day in bear country, we made sure to lock all our “smellables” in the bear boxes before going to sleep.


Day 27: June 27 Day Off, to Yosemite (YNP), CA 57 miles

We woke up early once again had breakfast. Today was a scheduled day off, but riders had the choice to ride the 57 miles instead of shuttling across the park. The majority of us decided to shuttle, so we can actually have some time to explore. A few of the riders, including Skip, the documentarian, decided to make the ride. Since Skip is a tall guy, Tommy let him borrow his bike for the ride. After the small group of riders set out, we packed up and began our shuttle across the park. I rode with Dbear, which meant I wasn’t tightly packed in the van with the other riders.

I quickly fell asleep to the sounds of Dbear’s audio obsession—Avril Lavigne. I dozed in and out of consciousness as we made the slow drive through the park. We made several stops at rather scenic places. I woke up long enough to take in the beautiful scenery—view of a canyon with a river at the bottom—before wandering back to the truck and passing out again. As I dozed in and out of consciousness, I noticed an area where the hillsides were scarred with the charred remains of the forest. The burned trees were a reminder of how fragile the beauty around me was.

We reached the valley where Yosemite Village was, but it took what seemed like forever to find our campground, but when we arrived, we found it was almost mosquito free. The campsite was at the end of a dirt road that was a bit isolated. Reminding us that we were secluded was a sign reading: "Caution. Bear encounters frequent in this area." We talked to the camp host and he said that we were in a volunteer site, which is not occupied very often so bears are often passing through. We didn't mind because there weren’t any other campers even remotely close to us and the campsite we were in was huge. It felt like we were the only people in the park.

After settling in and setting up camp, Suchin, Pirkle, Cookies, Meg, Melissa, Tommy, Bhard, and I headed out to hike up to the top of Yosemite Falls. As I walked across the valley, I stared in bewilderment at the assortment of waterfalls, cliffs, Half Dome, and the rest of the amazing surroundings. We made our way to the trailhead and began the 3.5 mile ascent to the famous waterfall. The hike up to the base was quite long, but the views along the way were awe-inspiring. There was one area where we were able to make our way out on to some large boulders and look out over the entire valley. Once we reached the base of the falls, we took a few group pictures and left the girls behind as they decided not to hike all the way to the apex.

The hike to the top was not quite as long, but was steeper than the first part of the hike. Once we crested, the path brought us around to a point upstream before the river fell 2,425 feet to the valley below. We explored the area while snapping pictures before creeping our way toward the edge of the fall. We sat at the edge of the water and enjoyed our surroundings. I dipped my feet into the cool water, while Tommy made a phone call to brag to his dad.

Cookies, Suchin, Bhard, and I decided to continue our hike up to Yosemite Point. As we left the cold, clear water behind, we quickly lost the trail and had to clamor up a large rock face before relocating the trail on larger flat area. When I finally took in my surroundings, I realized that from my vantage point I had one of the best views of Half Dome in the entire park.

I quickly spotted a point several hundred feet up that consisted of a rocky outcrop and immediately started working my way up to it. Bhard and Cookies followed. Once I reached the point, I crawled out to the extreme edge of the rocky protrusion. Once I made it to the edge, I slowly stood up as a smile broke out on my face. I was standing at one of the highest points in the entire park looking out of God's great beauty that spilt out from beneath my feet.

I reluctantly retreated from my roost on what felt like the top of the world and we headed back down toward the valley. We found Tommy and the group began to descend. Suchin, hiking in his cycling shoes, and I were hiking a little slower, so we quickly became isolated and descended together. Suchin and I had a great discussion about differences between our respective schools, ideals on life, and careers.

When Suchin and I returned to the campsite, everyone was at the edge the woods pointing and talking. I quickly found out that a bear had made its way into our campsite and had been in the area for almost two hours. I peered into the trees and saw the large, black creature tearing bark off of the trees and breaking up fallen trees looking for a snack. As he continued his task, we snapped pictures and took video. Steve decided to name him J.J. After a little while the bear wandered off into the woods and disappeared. We thought he had decided to move along until some of the riders went to sit and a picnic table and spotted our furry friend napping at the edge of our camp.

Everyone ate supper and watched the bear nap, until he woke up and decided to explore more of the area. He kept making his way closer to our campsite until he was about fifteen yards away. We started acting big and making a lot of noise, and he lazily retreated into the forest. A couple of the riders went to the camp host to inform them who in turn called the ranger's station, and they told us to just let them know if he came back.

After the excitement of the bear died down, several of us went to the store and bought snacks and stuff for s’mores. After ate dinner, we started a fire and roasted marshmallows while talking about our visitor. As the night grew older, we cleaned up everything and locked up anything that smelled in the bear boxes in case J.J. decided to make a return visit.

Day 28: June 28 Yosemite Village (YNP), CA to Merced, CA 94 miles

Another ninety-plus mile day required yet another early start. We found out that the descent out of Yosemite was on a winding, two-lane road, so we paired up and spaced out to make the ride out safer. I was paired with Steve. Initially, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep up, but the ride out was fun. It was a great descent where I was carving the road at forty-plus miles an hour. The wind caused my eyes to water, while I crouched in tight to my bike and accelerated. There was a nice steep decline before we met up with the Merced River. The road and the river paralleled each other slicing through the bottom of a canyon. The shallow, swift water flowed over rock that was millions of years old. The sides of the canyon, which were covered with patches of tall, brown grasses rose out of the water toward the sky.

Steve and I were gliding along the road enjoying the scenery when a gentleman who was stopped alongside the road flagged us down. He had seen the riders and was curious about what Texas 4000 was. As we spoke with him, several other riders caught up and stopped. We talked about our cause and he told us about life in the area around Yosemite. He worked in the park and his wife work at a school nearby. The gentleman told us that our route was downhill all the way in to Merced.

We bid the gentleman farewell and continued on our course alongside the river. As I continued riding downhill next to the water, I imagined following the waterway all the way in to town. Just as I was imagining riding into Merced, the road abruptly turned left away from the river. We began climbing. And when climbing begat more climbing, I once again realized I should never listen to a local non-cyclist's take on geography.

As the climbing continued I realized I could not stay with Steve, and I didn't want him to slow down for me. I told him to go on, and I started riding alone. The terrain was as hard to conquer mentally as it was physically. I cursed each time I turned a corner only to see another climb or when I crested a false summit to see the road continue to rise before me. The climbing continued through a series of small towns until mile fifty when I came upon the van where several other riders were resting.

I set my bike down and climbed in the van for some food and a rest break. After a bit of time to rejuvenate and some fresh water, I set out riding with Tommy and Suchin. Luckily, mile fifty marked the end of our climbing and we soon descended out of the mountains into a vast valley. Just as I was smiling at the thought of a flat ride into Merced, I felt the heat. The valley was covered in tall, dry, golden grass that was reflecting the heat, which was suffocating. The quick change from the cool mountain air to the arid, scorching air of the valley was difficult to adjust to. The sunlight reflecting off the grasses also caused my eyes to hurt.

We stopped at a pistachio grove for a break in the shade. Dbear was there with more water and snacks. Hesitantly removing ourselves from the shade, we pushed on. Shortly after leaving the grove behind, Suchin got a flat, but we had no pump. Suchin told us there was no reason for us to wait with him, so Tommy and I left him behind and continued our pursuit of Merced. Tommy and I rode about another 10 miles and then I got a flat. With no pump, I told Tommy to go on and I’d worry about it when the next group caught up to me.

As I waited, I went ahead and removed my tire and tube. As I was in finishing the change Paul, Seth, Werckle, and Kartik approached. I was surprised to see this group, as they were all ahead of me earlier in the day. They had made a stop at a winery and had a few samples. A few samples combined with a long ride and low alcohol tolerance from being on the road made for some happy cyclists. The group supplied me with a tube and a pump. As we were about to start riding again, Werckle accidentally tried to put on my helmet. The only problem was he was still wearing his. We all had a good laugh, and then headed toward Merced.

When I arrived at the church in town, I found out Tommy got a flat on the edge of town as well. We were spending the night at the church, but several members had volunteered to take groups of use to their homes to shower. Ryan, Paul, Werckle, Steve, and I went to Ralph Stevenson’s house. Mr. Stevenson told us that his wife had passed away from cancer in February, so he appreciated what we were doing. Mr. Stevenson lived alone in a large house, which was surrounded by all kinds of landscaping and fruit-bearing plants, including grapes. He made his own wine and opened a couple bottles to let us do a wine tasting. I had three very small glasses of wine and I could feel a buzz. Someone asked him what he was doing in his retirement and he said "taking care of itinerant cyclists."

After we all showered, we returned to the church and had dinner. During dinner I spoke with women from the local ACS chapter about Relay for Life and Texas 4000. Once dinner was winding down, Texas 4000 had a presentation for the church members and in turn the members treated us to ice cream. At the completion of the presentation, we told church members there was a table in the back containing rider's helmets they could sign. Along the way, a collection of names had made its way onto our helmets. The names, which were in memory of someone who had lost their battle with cancer or in honor of someone currently battling cancer, came from the people we met. We encouraged the church members to place names on the helmets, and the helmets were quickly painted with names. We continued to chat with the remaining church members when one lady volunteered to take our laundry home with her to wash it. We were taken aback by this offer, but quickly accepted the proposal.

After the rest of the church members dispersed, some of us decided to make a trip across town to Wal-Mart. On the way, a train was blocking the road, so we followed some traffic going on a side street assuming the occupants of the car knew a way around the blockage. We soon found ourselves staring at a dead end. What was peculiar is that there was a stop sign where the pavement ended. Beyond the pavement was an embankment and row of trees. The stop sign befuddled me. Tommy then had to manage what I dubbed a "million point turnaround." We finally got to Wal-Mart with about 10 minutes to spare before they closed. I went in search of a CD, but they did not have it. Dejected, I followed the group back to the van and we went back to the church. After returning, I found my sleeping bag and straight to sleep.

Day 29: June 29 Merced, CA to Gilroy, CA 84 miles

I woke up to a hot, windy morning, which foreshadowed what awaited me. As we pulled out, the hot California sun was already baking my skin as I rode across the vast valley. Our ride wound us through long roads through luscious farmlands, which passed countless roadside fruit stands. In the distance behind us, I could still see shadows of the mountains we had left behind the previous day.

As the ride continued, the wind slowly picked up. As we approached the intersection of I-5, it felt like I was riding into a hurricane. Greeting us was a large sign that read “Caution: High Winds.” We stopped to snap some pictures of the sign as we laughed. The wind was absolutely crushing, but the only thing we could do was to try and find humor in the situation. The road ahead skirted San Luis Reservoir, and as we approached the body of water the wind picked up even more. As the wind would gust, I was finding it hard to keep my balance on my bike.

As we slowly drudged on, I began to notice how much garbage littered the highway. However, it wasn’t normal highway litter. There were the usual cigarette butts, bottles, cans, papers, and other such mundane items, but there was an immeasurable amount of very random objects. I felt as though I was meandering through a Wal-Mart clearance aisle. As I continued to struggle against the wind, I spied a Barbie leg (which later ended up hanging from Dbear’s rearview mirror), several hubcaps, a car suspension, a complete toilet, an entire truck bed liner, a stuffed Eeyore head which had been separated from its body, a car bumper, an air mattress, enough clothes to fill a large Goodwill Store, and countless other items which elude my memory. Admiring the random items took my mind off the struggle against the wind, until we reached the next rest stop.

We pulled off into the somewhat large dirt area that was situated around a small tree. Parked in the dirt lot next to the small tree seeking shade from the brutal sun was a rust-colored car that appeared to have long since been abandoned. The deserted vehicle was the piece de resistance of the highway shopping mall. We took some time to recharge and give our legs a break from the wind. Dbear went to inspect the lonely car and decided to take the license plate as a souvenir.

We reluctantly pushed on to battle the heat and wind once again. Shortly after leaving Dbear and the abandoned car behind, we started to round a bend next to a guardrail. Just on the other side of the metal barrier the earth fell away for close to a hundred feet. The wind was gusting from left to right, threatening to blow us all over the edge. Tommy, Pirkle, and I were stable enough to cautiously continue on our bikes around the bend, but Mandy was having trouble. Mandy weighed much less than the three of us, and she was being blown all over the place. She decided to walk her bike around the bend and eventually told us to just ride on and she would join up with one of the slower groups.

After leaving Mandy behind, we found ourselves among some large hills that helped to break up the wind a bit. With the hills were some nice descents. As we were nearing the bottom of one of the descents, we came upon Skip’s Explorer parked on the side of the road. Inside Skip and his assistant had decided to grab a midday nap. Tommy, Pirkle, and I decided it was time for them to wake up, so we coordinated an effort to yell and bang on the windows to scare them. We counted off and stared banging on the windows, but much to our chagrin, they just groggily awoke and looked at us like we were stupid.

After our failed attempt, we continued descending toward Gilroy. As we approached the smell of garlic became more and more noticeable. I had learned the previous day that Gilroy was the garlic capital of the world. Along with the smells of garlic came more fruit stands and multi-colored fields of flowers. I stopped to take a few pictures of one of the flower farms, and then Tommy and I searched for a fruit stand to buy a fresh snack. We had apparently neared town and there were no more fruit stands, so we just made our way across town to find the First Baptist Church where we were staying.

We looked around, but seemed to be the only ones there. We began to wonder if we were at the wrong place, but then we talked to someone who told us that the others had gone out in search of food. I seized the opportunity to make a quick phone call to my mom to wish her a happy birthday before more riders showed up.

When Suchin arrived, he had a new injury. This time it was on his face. Doug told me that he and Suchin were soaring down one of the hills when he looked over and realized Suchin was no longer beside him. Doug looked back and saw Suchin sprawled out on the asphalt. Suchin had been riding while looking off to the distance and didn’t see a wheel-sized grate in the road in front of him. His front wheel found its way into the grate stopping the bikes forward motion, but Suchin’s motion continued until is face broke his fall. Luckily, Suchin received only minor damage, but he was missing skin above his upper lip and nose. Since he was ok, we all got a good laugh.

When the van arrived, we learned that Maui Tacos had donated food for us, so we loaded up in the van and prepared to feast. When we got to Maui Tacos, I learned that B-Hard, upon arriving in Gilroy, immediately seek food for the group. He began speaking of Chili's generosity in Austin, so their group strolled in and quickly was offered three party platters. Knowing the party platters would not even begin to satiate the ravenous Texas 4000 riders, they headed to Maui Tacos, where they got more food donated. I ate a few tacos and then we shuttled back to the church where platters from Chili’s had arrived. The ravenous team of riders quickly cleared the platters.

After the feast, showers, and a change of clothes, I got skip to take me (and several others) to Best Buy, where I was finally able to buy the “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” Soundtrack. After my purchase, we returned to the church to get some much-needed sleep. I dosed off quickly, but woke in the middle of the night hearing something about people having to go to the hospital.

Day 30: June 30 Gilroy, CA to San Francisco (Hayward), CA 80 miles

I woke this morning to find out that I did, in fact, hear correctly that there was a trip to the hospital last night. Bhard and Doug were both rushed the hospital in the middle of the night with apparent food poisoning. They both woke up vomiting violently. Their food poisoning worried us all, not only for their well-being, but because we had all eaten the same food the previous evening.

We loaded all our belongings into the van and prepared for our first urban ride. The route from Gilroy to Hayward would guide us through eighty miles of traffic, stoplights, buildings, and pedestrians. We pushed off as one large group, but Tommy, Werckle, Anna (Werckle’s friend) and I were quickly separated when I flatted just a few miles from the church. The rest of the group rode on while our small group stayed back while I changed my tube.

With the new tube in place, we began our course to Hayward. The road was flat, and the wind was at our backs pushing us toward our destination. The only thing slowing us down was the intermittent stoplights. We rode past an endless sea of concrete building which after awhile almost seemed indistinguishable. We decided to take a rest stop at a gas station, and while we were there I was able to ogle a mid-1960s Corvette Stingray while downing a few snacks.

A few miles later, as we were making our way under and overpass a pedestrian yelled at us, “Where y’all going?”

We responded in unison, “Alaska!”

He yelled back at us, “Alaska? You ain’t going ta no Alaska!”

We laughed at what would quickly become on of the catch phrases of the trip as we continued riding through the cityscape. As we approached the intersection where we’d make our turn toward Hayward, I spied a Carl’s Jr. It was just about lunchtime and I had a stack of the free burger coupons Bhard had secured in Mammoth Lakes in my saddlebag. I have little problem convincing the others to stop for a tasty burger.

After lunch we continued our ride and found Skip waiting on us just outside the Hayward city limits. He directed us to the turn where Chris’ dad would lead us to our abode for the night. The turn led us directly up a steep hill. We hadn’t seen more than 10 feet of elevation change all day and now we were struggling to pedal up an abruptly steep hill. I told myself that all I had to do was make it around the corner and I’d be home free, but once I turned the corner, I saw that our route continued skyward. The rest of the ride to Chris’ aunt’s house was uphill, but I managed.

Once inside the house, everyone quickly claimed sleeping spots throughout the house and then started calling place in line for the shower. The city was under water rationing, so I had to shower very quickly. A reporter came over to interview several riders for a story in the local paper. We sat and talked with her for a bit about the ride so far. As soon the interview was over, I gathered people to head into San Francisco. The group was having dinner at Fisherman’s Grotto courtesy of Kartik’s mom and an additional donation from the restaurant later that evening, but a small group rallied and wanted to head in to San Francisco early to find a happy hour spot before dinner.

Suchin, Tommy, Paul, Stuart, Cookies, and I loaded up in Skip’s Explorer and headed over the bridge to the city. On the way in, Cookies ran a stoplight and then blew through the toll bridge without paying. Once we made it into San Francisco, we sought out some parking in a garage and found a little bar that had a happy hour. The Yankees were playing the Red Sox on TV, the drinks were cheap, and we pretty much had the place to ourselves. We had a couple drinks, played some pool, and relaxed.

We weren’t sure exactly how to get to Fisherman’s Grotto from our current location, so I asked the owner of the bar how to get to Fisherman’s Warf. In a thick Asian accent he responded response, “You go up mountain. Back down. Then up mountain again. Then back down and turn left. Fisherman’s Warf right there.”

We began our hike up the “mountain,” which was really just one of San Francisco’s many hills, and quickly found ourselves in the middle of Chinatown. The group wandered in and out of shops looking through the cheaply made products and bootleg videos.

I ordered the Mahi Mahi once we arrived at Fisherman’s Grotto. After dinner, Suchin, Tommy, Cookies and I headed for a night in San Francisco. As we were wandering around aimlessly trying to find a bar, we heard a bunch of girls talking loud and laughing. Their window was open so we yelled at them to come to the window.

When a couple of them leaned out the second story window, we asked them where a good bar was. We had previously been discussing who the third amigo was from the movie “The Three Amigos,” so we asked them if they could look it up for us online. We ended up chatting with for through the window for a bit. At first they didn’t believe that we were riding from Texas to Alaska, but we got them to look up the Texas 4000 website to prove it. We attempted to get them to come out with us, but they decline our offer.

As I walked around San Francisco, I found myself in amazement that I had ridden my bike to the west coast. We continued walking and as we passed a coffee shop, we got some interesting looks from girls at the table by the window. We walked back by and one of the girls flashed a “hook ‘em” at us. I was a bit disgusted as any good Ag should be, but it quickly faded as we went in to talk to a table of attractive girls.

Once we got inside the coffee shop we found out that one of the girls had gone to UT. They were in town for a nursing conference. A couple of us were wearing “Texas 4000” shirts, which is how she picked us out. While we were speaking with the girls, a group of girls at a table behind me struck up a conversation, so I pulled up a chair and began talking to the new group of girls. One of them happened to be from New York City, so I chatted with her about the city before inviting them to join us. They readily accepted my invitation and we were off with our new friends to explore the bars of San Francisco.

We went to a few different bars and clubs while sharing stories about our summer on the road. The night grew late, so we made the decision to head back to Hayward to get some sleep. Suchin and I fell asleep on each other in the back of the Explorer. I found my way to a chair in the living room and curled up to get some sleep.

Day 31: July 1 Day off in San Francisco, CA

I awoke a bit groggy from the previous night’s events, but quickly recovered with the excitement of spending another day in San Francisco. Steve wanted to stay back and do some work on his bike, but we used the power of persuasion to coerce him into the van and on to San Francisco. On the way in to the city, we dropped Ryan off at the airport. He had decided to not continue with the ride, and San Francisco marked his departure point. After bidding Ryan farewell, Tommy found parking by Fisherman’s Warf and then we walked to Chinatown in search of lunch.

All the restaurants appeared the same, so we headed into an establishment called Grand Palace that boasted Dim Sum, which is a meal consisting of many choices that are carted out to your table. Tommy and I decided to pass on the Dim Sum, so we sat at a table next to the larger group. Splitting and order of General Tso’s and some rice saved both of us some cash and registered much cheaper than the Dim Sum.

After, we finished our meal, the group split up a little and Tommy and I walked around Chinatown perusing through the shops full of cheap electronics and bootleg videos. Once we tired of looking at knock-off products we made our way back to Fisherman’s Warf to take some pictures of Alcatraz and other area tourist magnets.

While wandering around snapping pictures of anything remotely picturesque or famous, Tommy and I burned off our lunch and realized both of us were feeling hungry. We spotted an In & Out Burger and quickly agreed it would suffice for our next meal. Stomachs once again full, we continued our photo excursion of San Francisco, including a sighting of James Avery (Uncle Phil from The Fresh Prince). Cameras teeming with pictures Paul, Tommy, and I climbed into the van and made our way back to Hayward. The rest of the group had decided to use the BART to get back to the house.

When we arrived back at the house, we found out that the food poisoning that Bhard and Doug had might not be food poisoning. Sometime after lunch Steve started feeling sick. Shortly afterwards, Sunny was feeling down. While the sick were writhing downstairs, I ate some BBQ while attempting to thrust thoughts of sickness to the back of my mind. Almost immediately after dinner, disaster struck again. Don soon joined Steve in the bathroom as they took turns vomiting.

The weather outside was mild and comfortable. I found a lounging chair on the back patio, which I laid flat to use as my bed for the night. I placed my sleeping bag onto the chair and listened to music while writing in my journal before drifting off to sleep. At some point in the early hours of the morning, I was startled to consciousness by the sound of the sliding glass door being torn open. Before I could discern what was happening, I heard the gut-wrenching sounds emitting from the silhouette leaning over the railing of the back porch. As everything final came into focus, I realized that Stuart was the next victim of the enemy that was ravaging our team.

Day 32: July 2 San Francisco, CA to Bodega Bay, CA 70 miles “Tour de Werckle”

I woke on the back porch on a chilly Hayward morning wondering if Stuart was the only victim who was claimed during the night. I quickly learned that Chris and Doug’s little brother Forrest had also succumbed to what we now believed was a stomach virus. Our ride for the day was to begin in Golden Gate Park, so we had to shuttle in to San Francisco before we could begin the voyage to Bodega Bay. We packed up all our gear into the vehicles to prepare for the shuttle to the park. It had been decided to leave all the sick riders behind to rest and to return to pick them up the following day.

We finally got everything loaded up and started driving, but shortly after pushing off Suchin, who was driving the van, ran over a curb and blew out one of the tires on the trailer. Sunny hadn’t taken the spare to be fixed, which was also flat, so they had to take the tire off and take somewhere to be fixed. Meanwhile the rest of us waited in the van. I seized the opportunity and took a nap. I woke to the news that the tire was fixed and we would be on our way soon.

We finally made it into San Francisco, called and met up with Skip, and then proceeded to Golden Gate Park. When we arrived, we had to wait on Dbear who was out running a couple of errands. While we were waiting on Dbear, someone realized that we were missing Dan. Dan’s parents had come out to San Francisco to see him and he stayed with them in their hotel the previous night. Luckily, someone realized he wasn’t there or we might have left without him. We were normally very conscious about making sure everyone was present, but with all the sick people out, we had lost count of riders.

A little over four weeks on the road and I there stood in the shadows of the Golden Gate Bridge. Though we had been in the San Francisco area for a couple days, this was different. This was San Francisco. This was a huge milestone. Our turn north toward Alaska was standing before me. I grabbed my bike and carried it toward the bay. I walked out to where the sand met the sea and dipped both of my tires in the water. The bay must contain some magical properties, because as the water touched my tires, I felt energized.

There were two routes for the day. One was a costal route, while the other was a more inland route. Since we would be following the coast for the next eleven days I decided to go with the inland route, which Werckle was going to lead. Dan arrived at around 11, which is when the coastal route set out. Dbear decided to ride across the Golden Gate Bridge and then provide support in his truck for the inland route.

The inland route consisted of Tommy, Dbear, Pirkle, Werckle, Melissa, Megan, and me. We set out to cross the Golden Gate Bridge, but before we started across, we ran into a Japanese cyclist who was on a bike packed with gear. A couple of us talked to him, and in very poor English he told us that he was riding solo from San Francisco to Alaska. We tried to communicate more with him, but the language barrier was too thick to penetrate. Werckle dubbed him “Talkie Japanese,” because that is what it sounded like he was telling us when we asked his name. We were pretty sure he was attempting to tell us that he only spoke Japanese, but he was nicknamed nonetheless. We wished him good luck on his journey and began our ride across the bridge.

The ride across the bridge was slowed by the immeasurable amount of tourists milling around. As we gradually made our way across the landmark, I looked back over my shoulder to steal fleeting glances of San Francisco. My mind was still having a difficult time grasping the reality of having ridden my bike to San Francisco and the current ride over the Golden Gate Bridge. An enduring smile plastered on my face, I cruised across the pedestrian walkway and away from the city.

Once we made it across the bridge, Werckle led us to up a rather steep incline to the Marin Headlands, which was to provide a scenic lookout of the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco. After laboriously creeping up the hill to the lookout, I was treated to an opaque canvas of the north tower of the bridge protruding through the fog. I snapped a quick picture of the fog because I refused to leave empty-handed after laboring up the hill for a picture opportunity.

After the letdown at the Marin Headlands, we descended back to the base of the bridge and moved on toward Sausalito. As we rode through the quaint town nestled on the north side of the bay the excitement of the morning began to wear off, and we started discussing our now noticeable hunger. We decided to stop at a small diner called the Lighthouse Café for lunch. At lunch we realized two things. First, Dbear’s truck had followed the coastal route and he was stuck riding for the entire day. Secondly, it was already 1 p.m. and we had only ridden seven short miles.

I ordered a large stack of pancakes to celebrate reaching the west coast. While eating my lunch, I noticed a small tray filled with jelly packets. I quickly scooped them all up and put them in the back of my jersey. The fruit spreads would turn the next few days of plain peanut butter sandwiches into gourmet meals. Over lunch Werckle told us of the ride that awaited us, as he had ridden from Vancouver to San Diego the previous summer.

Once we left the Lighthouse Café behind, we started the day of randomness, otherwise known as “Tour de Werckle.” We were following the exact route, in reverse, Werckle had taken the previous year, but he was somehow recalling every twist and turn from memory! Out of Sausalito, we followed a bike path next to the highway, but that soon gave way to a bike route that snaked its way through a maze of neighborhoods. Eventually the route through the neighborhoods led us to a dead end street that gave way to another bike path. The bike path eventually spit us out onto the road and then into more neighborhoods.

Werckle summoned turn after turn from the depths of his remarkable memory, and we eventually came upon a lemonade stand run by some local kids. We had no choice but to stop and savor the refreshing, sugary, fluid. As we talked to the kids about our ride their mom approached and we chatted with her as well. The kids were thrilled when we asked to take a picture with them. We gave them the Texas 4000 website and told them to track our progress online. After compliments on the lemonade, we were once again on our way.

Recharged by the shot of lemony goodness, we found ourselves winding through more neighborhoods and roads before entering Samuel P. Taylor State Park. We rode through leaf-covered bike paths, weaving around the occasional park visitor, before we were discharged onto a park road where I caught my first glimpse of the incredible redwoods. We found the van waiting alongside a swift river cutting through the groves of colossal trees. As I sat next to the van looking at my surroundings, I feebly attempted to absorb the vastness of everything encompassing me.

Following our short break, we continued a short way up the road before going through the official park entrance and on to yet another leaf-covered bike trail. The trail ultimately led us to another highway, which intersected Highway 1, where we ran into Talkie Japanese again. We offered a hello in passing and continued toward our destination since the sun was quickly converging with the horizon.

A few miles onto Highway 1 found the group split up, and Tommy and I were riding together. As the sun disappeared, the temperature quickly dropped and the wind rapidly picked up. Tommy and I increased our pace trying to reach Bodega Bay, since we were ill prepared for the dropping temperatures. By the time Highway 1 met up with the coast, we were riding through weather very comparable to a Texas winter.

Tommy and I found our way to Sand Dunes Park in Bodega Bay and regrouped with the coastal about 9 p.m., which had arrived at the campground earlier in the evening. Since the sand dunes partially blocked the now intense winds, we set up our tents as close to them as possible. As few of the guys began preparing dinner, I decided to take a walk through the dunes to get my first look at the Pacific Ocean.

I made my way through the dunes and onto the beach just after sunset. I just stared at the ocean in complete bewilderment. What an amazing feeling. I had ridden my bike to the Pacific Ocean. Earlier in the day, I had felt the excitement in San Francisco, but gazing at the waves roll onto the beach made my previous feelings seem false. This was it. I could ride no farther west. I was amazed at my feat. I was amazed at the accomplishment of the team. And while I attempted to grasp what we had accomplished, I knew I had much more to look forward to in the coming days.

Just before dinner was ready Paul and I returned to the beach and shared some of our thoughts on what we were feeling. We both seemed to have trouble grasping the right words to describe just what it all meant. Paul and I rejoined the group to eat dinner in the dark and then everyone crawled into their sleeping bags. For the first time on the trip, I didn’t have to search for something to pad my body for the night. Ryan left behind his sleeping pad when he flew back to Texas, and I quickly laid claim to it.

I quickly fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. For the second night in a row, I was rudely awakened. This time I was roused by the sound of the tent flap being rapidly open, instead of the sound of a sliding glass door opening. Regardless, the sound that followed was the same violent, painful sound of someone’s stomach turning itself inside out. There was nothing I could do, so I just rolled over and went back to sleep praying I would not be the next victim.

Day 33: July 3 Bodega Bay, CA to Point Arena, CA 60 miles

When Tommy woke me just after sunrise, I was confused. In the middle of the night, through my sleep stained eyes, I swore it was Tommy who had contracted the virus. I quickly realized it was Paul who was sick. I wasn’t use to Paul being in our tent. With so many sick, we only needed a few tents, so Paul had slept in our tent.

Paul was determined to not let the bug keep him out of the saddle. He was very visibly and severely suffering from the effects of the virus, but nevertheless, he packed up his belongings and dressed for the ride. We were all attempting to convince him that he should not ride in his condition, but he refused to budge. After getting dressed, he sat on a picnic table to wait for the ride to begin. We all finished packing up, but by the time we were about to leave, even Paul realized he couldn’t ride. He wouldn’t admit it, but at that point he was lying on the table in obvious pain.

The van, sans trailer, had already left to go back to Hayward to pick up the rest of the sick people. The van had to come back to pick up the trailer, so Paul could be picked up then. We left Paul alone at the park with a tent and his sleeping bag. I’m not even sure if he realized we had left him, as he had already crawled back into his sleeping back without even bothering to take off his riding clothes.

When we left Bodega Bay we were down to eight healthy riders. The past couple days, I felt like I was on death row. It seemed as if contracting the virus was inevitable. I felt so helpless knowing that at any time, I could be next. I had been around the sick people, but the previous night Tommy and I had shared a tent with Paul. We were both pretty worried that we had a higher chance of being hit. Living in such close quarters, sharing so many different things, and the fact that it was almost impossible to sanitize everything, it was no wonder the virus was ripping through the team like a wrecking ball.

Shortly after we shoved off, I started feeling sick. I’m still not sure if I was actually sick or if it was all in my head after thinking about the virus so much, but I refused to get sick. After the sickness, injuries, and mechanical problems, Pirkle and I were the only ones who had not missed a day of riding. Steve had gone down the day before, and I refused to go down. My goal was to ride the entire distance without missing any riding. I just kept telling myself over and over that I was not going to get sick. Perhaps it was just in my head or perhaps it was the riding, but the feeling eventually passed and I was able to enjoy a day of great riding.

We were riding along the coast on Highway 1, but at first we had no view of the ocean. The road was relatively flat until we reached Myer’s Grade. Myer’s Grade was a series of long, steep, sweeping switchbacks that transported us up a few hundred feet. Once I reached the top, I noticed that we had climbed above the fog, and I looked to my left, I saw an infinite ocean. However, it wasn’t an ocean of water but of fog. The fog hung over the water covering it like a thick blanket of gray snow. Protruding through the fog from time to time were large rock formations that had to be at least a hundred feet high. I tried to imagine what the oceanscape would look like if I could peel away the thick layer of fog. Eventually the sun began to burn off some of the fog, and I could see the ocean and rocks below. Tommy and I stopped to take some pictures of our first glimpses of the rocky Northern California coast.

As Tommy and I were riding along the stunningly gorgeous coast, we found that every few miles there was an inlet where the water had forced the rocks and cliffs to recede away from the rest of the coastline. Instead of bridging these small gaps, the road horseshoed around them. As we would approach an inlet, the road would turn sharply to the right and downward to the apex of the inlet where it would make a sharp 180-degree turn upwards and out toward the ocean. As an added bonus, when the road turned away from the ocean, towering redwoods surrounded it. Tommy and I looked forward to these little detours, as they made for fun riding. We would crouch down into an aerodynamic position and fly down and around the corners. The speed we picked up on the descent was normally enough to carry us uphill and spit us back out on the coast.

After riding through a series of the inlets, a couple in a car sped past Tommy and I. A few minutes later just past the zenith of one of the inlets, the couple was set up snapping pictures of us as we carved the corners. We were never able to find out whom the photographers were or why they were taking our pictures, but Tommy and I both wanted to see the pictures.

Later as we discussed the photographers, we entered one of the coves. As we descended away from the coast, I was busy talking and did not pay attention to my speed or the sharpness of the turn. As I turned back to my left toward the ocean, I realized I was headed for a potential disaster. I was quickly approaching the small dirt cliff, which marked the edge of the road. I couldn’t slow down too fast, because Tommy was right behind me and I didn’t want him to run into me. I leaned in and turned away from the wall bracing myself for impact. As I made the turn, my handlebars and right pedal scraped against the dirt precipice, barely escaping a crash that would have taken Tommy and I both out.

As we neared Point Arena the wind began to pick up. I noticed that the pastures were separated by single row of redwoods the served as a barrier against the wind. As soon as I rode past the point where the line of redwoods met the road, the wind would hit me like a wall making riding very difficult until we closed in on the next row of the gargantuan trees.

We finally made it into Point Arena and found the Point Arena Methodist Church, which was generously hosting us for dinner. The sick riders had been transported in and were already waiting in the church—most were passed out in the pews. When I arrived at the church, I learned that Chris' mom, brother, cousin, and grandmother came down with the stomach virus after we left Hayward. The members of the church had barbecued for us. We had a nice spread of hamburgers, chicken, and plenty of sides and fixings.

As dinner was winding down the group did a presentation, and Chris asked me if I would contribute. It was the first time on the ride that I was going to speak in front of a group, and I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to talk about. I started talking about my grandmother, my uncle, and a close family friend, Lloyd Curington, who had all lost their battles with cancer. I spoke of my friend Joanna who had beaten Lymphoma, and of my friend Katrina whose mother was currently battling breast cancer.

As I spoke in front of the church group, I realized for the first time what the personal reason I was riding for was. When I started the trip, I was riding to contribute in the fight against cancer. I was still riding for that fight, but I now realized what my role in that fight was. When cancer took my uncle, it robbed my aunt of a husband and robbed my cousins of a father. When cancer took Lloyd, it robbed his family and his friends. When cancer took my grandmother when I was young, it robbed me of a chance to ever know her. I told the small group of people in the church that I was riding so that one day hopefully someone would be given the chance to know their grandmother since I was never given the chance to know mine.

After dinner and the presentation, the group was divided up and taken to host homes. Tommy, Pirkle, Werckle, and I went to stay with a couple that lived on 16 acres outside of town in the redwoods. The couple had built their home from the redwood trees that were cleared from their property, and they had the trees milled on-site. The couple generated their own electricity via solar power and used generators as a backup. They also used well water. They were almost completely off the grid.

Pirkle and Werckle stayed in the house, while Tommy and I decided to stay in the guest cabin. The wife told us that the guest cabin was the only building on their property when they bought it. She informed us that prior to the couple buying the property the land was used to grow marijuana. The little shack Tommy and I were staying in was had formerly functioned as the grower’s cabin. The couple decided to keep the small building as a guesthouse and added a bathroom onto it. However, you had to go outside and walk around the cabin to enter the bathroom from a through door. She also told us that when she started planting her flowerbeds after the construction of the house, marijuana would sprout up almost immediately. The little shack had no air conditioning or heat, but there was free long distance, so Tommy and I both made a few phone calls. I was able to take my first shower since our first day in San Francisco. After phone calls and showers, Tommy and I quickly fell asleep on the pullout couch.

Day 34: July 4 Point Arena, CA to Mendocino, CA 59 miles

Tommy, Pirkle, Werkcle, and I were treated to a wonderful breakfast before being driven back to the Methodist church. The church members who saw us off told us that there would be a fourth of July parade in Mendocino, so we were anxious to get on the road.

The day’s ride was almost identical to the ride from Bodega Bay to Point Arena, with nothing really special to report on. Tommy and I made it into Mendocino and made a quick ride through the town to see what was going on. The streets were packed with people.

After our quick jaunt through town, Tommy and I retreated back to the highway, where we ran into Pops. He told us he’d drive us back into town after we got to the campsite and changed, so we quickly rode the few miles out of town to the Russian Gulch campground. The campsite was nestled in among the trees on an area of land that jutted out towards the water. To looking back toward the road and to the left, I could see the bridge we had ridden over just before turning into the campground. The bridge was an iron structure. The bottom arched up on each side from the base of the beach to the road surface of the bridge.

Tommy and I quickly assembled the tent and changed clothes. Once we were set up, Pops drove us into town and dropped us off. Tommy and I were able to catch the end of the parade. We watched floats and trucks full of hippies make their way through the streets as everyone watching the parade cheered them on. The sidewalks were so packed with people that it was hard for us to make our way through the small town. We met up with Steve and a few others and then decided to go on a search for food. We walked around until we wandered into the Meat Market, where we bought some sandwiches that we took back to the patio of a pizza place. Outside the pizza place, there were a group of teenagers smoking pot who were arguing about who looked old enough to go into the store to buy beer.

We wandered over to the baseball field where the festivities included a concert. The stage was over home plate, so we found a nice spot in the outfield to try to enjoy the music, which was less than listenable. Everyone at the concert was drinking and having a good time. I also quickly noticed that the teenagers arguing over beer weren't the only ones smoking pot. There were people smoking everywhere I tried to ignore the band and people watch. We then headed back toward the downtown area and ran into Suchin.
The streets had emptied quite a bit, so we strolled around the town for a little while. Before we headed back to the campsite, we picked up a six-pack of beer and caught a ride back to the campsite for dinner and a meeting.

After the quick team meeting and a hot dog dinner, I went out to a rocky outcrop to watch the sunset. I walked around on the rocks and watched the waves roll in, as the sun got closer to dipping itself into the vast ocean. The sky slowly changed to a golden hue as I sat with some of my teammates and gazed reflectively at the horizon. I was at the end of the world and my legs had carried me there. A feeling of elation took over as the orange ball of fire disappeared below the water. I didn’t see a single firework on the 4th of July, but watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean was easily the best 4th of July I will probably ever experience.

On the way back to the campsite from the sunset, Suchin and I had a discussion about how this trip was inspiring and renewing our faith in humanity. We were currently in our sixth state of the trip and the outpouring of support and generosity of the people we had met along the way was nothing short of intoxicating. We had people feed us, give us places to stay, and donate money like it was an every day occurrence for twenty cyclists to be seeking such things. I was simply in awe every day at the sincere generosity that still exists in the world.

Back at the campground, I wandered up to the parking lot and sat talking with Tommy and Dbear. Tommy was cleaning out the trailer and Dbear was doing some bike maintenance. I played DJ changing CDs out while we all enjoyed the cool night air. Eventually it became to dark for any of us to do anything productive, so we decided to retire to the tent to collect some sleep. As I settled into my sleeping bag, I reflected on a memorable and meaningful Fourth of July.

Day 35: July 5 Mendocino, CA to Richardson’s Grove, CA 63 miles

Another early morning found us methodically tearing down our tents and packing our belongings to continue our trip up the California coast. As we set out on the day’s ride, The Golden State treated us with a tailwind to push us northward. The cool mornings had necessitated the use of arm and leg warmers for the early parts of the day.

We wound our way up the now familiar terrain of the coast for a number of miles before we found ourselves turning inland and climbing. The group began to spread out as we twisted our way up the skyward path that meandered through redwood forests. My pace slowed as I continued to climb through the trees until it was just Werckle and I making the unhurried journey to the crest of the ascent.

Riding in the through secluded stretches of nature tends to bring out introspective conversation. Werckle and I began talking about what life meant to each of us and how that affected our outlook on a career. I had finished my Masters degree, but didn’t feel like I wanted to pursue the career path that my degree had laid out in front of me. Werckle was the oldest of our riders and had previously been in the working world, but had returned to school for a graduate degree. We both talked about how we felt that we should pursue what would ultimately make us happy instead of following the path that society expected us to.

Once the climbing came to an end, we were treated to a great winding descent. Because of the number and angle of the turns on the drop, we were actually passing the cars that had previously overtaken us on the laborious climb. Winding my way effortlessly down the road crouched down carving a path in the hill made the exertion of climbing worth every struggled pedal stroke. When the angle of the land flattened, the road spit us out into a small clearing where I saw Dbear’s truck parked at the side of the road, signaling our next rest stop.

Werckle and I pulled over to join Chris, Bhard, and several others who were already relaxing and enjoying a snack. I refilled my water and ate some food while we all smiled and talked about the great descent we’d just ridden. After the rest stop, I watched as the redwoods surrounding me seemed to grow bigger and bigger before my eyes. I even saw several signs for trees that people could drive their cars through. When I arrived at the next rest stop, I learned that one of the drive-through trees, the Chandler Tree, was down a side road about a quarter of a mile.

Bhard and I jumped on our bikes and headed toward what I imagined to be a freakishly large tree. The people at the gate allowed us free entry into the park, and Bhard and I carefully avoided potholes as we navigated the poorly maintained dirt road. When we turned the corner, I saw a large tree in the middle of a dirt parking lot. The tree had a hole in it large enough for a regular-sized car to squeeze through. Although the tree was exactly what was advertised, I couldn’t help but to feel a bit under whelmed. I had imagined a tree large enough to allow passing semis to rumble through with room to spare, while the Chandler Tree was not much bigger than many of the surrounding redwoods. Nevertheless, Bhard and I each took a turn riding our bikes through the gaping hole in the tree, while the other took pictures.

Bhard and I left the Chandler Tree behind and returned to the convenience store that marked the corner where we had turned off our route to peer at the monolith. Several other riders were wandering through the aisles of the store looking for mid-ride treats. I grabbed a badly needed stick of deodorant—I had run out the day before—and picked up a pack of Starburst before going back outside to lounge on the benches.

Bhard and I decided to push on and head toward the campground before the others were ready to ride. There was a nice ride with a tailwind pushing us along when we happened upon a decision to make. Before we left, Chris told the group that there were two routes to the campground. One was along the highway and the other was slightly longer but was scenic route which snaked its way through the hills and trees. Bhard and I decided to take the scenic route because we figured that given the choice, most would choose to take the route with less traffic and more eye appeal.

Not too long after we turned onto the scenic route, I got a flat. I had a spare tube, but neither Bhard nor myself a pump. Thinking that the riders behind us would have chosen the scenic route as well, we sat down on the side of the road to wait on the next group of riders. As time passed, Bhard and I both ended up lying down in the grass beside the warm asphalt and eventually dozed off. After waking from a short nap, we decided that none of the other riders had chosen the scenic route and that Bhard should ride to the camp and find someone to come back and bring me a pump.

I waited for what seemed like forever and then decided to start walking toward the highway. As I was walking, I started to feel a pain on the front of each shin. I stopped several times to wait for the van or riders, but as I got restless, I hobbled on. After walking a couple miles I came to the highway, but I wasn’t sure exactly where to go, and I didn’t want to miss whoever was coming back to help. Also, my shins were killing me, so I sat and waited under the overpass for ensuing help.

Eventually Bhard and Tommy drove up in the van with a pump and offered to give me a ride back. It was only a few miles to camp, but I declined as I felt like it would cheat my streak of riding every day. I had already changed out my tube, so I aired up my tire and rode to the campground. By the time I got to the campground, my shins were hurting unbearably.

I climbed the small hill on my bike and found our campsites before limping into the site. I was the last one into camp due to my delay from the flat, so everyone else had already gone swimming to rinse off in the river. I felt pretty disgusting after not showering the previous day, so I knew I had to venture the quarter of a mile to the river to rinse off. No one would go back down with me, so I limped and sulked slowly down to the water. I rinsed off in the river, and the cool water eased my aching shins for a short time.

I slowly hobbled back to the campsite, where a feast of hot dogs was being cooked. I quickly downed a couple hot dogs and some beans. A few people were headed back towards a small town to use the pay phone, so I decided to tag along. We stopped at a gas station that had a pay phone. I bought some beef jerky and sat outside talking with everyone while people took turns on the pay phone. After the phone calls, it was back to camp and into our tents for a night of sleep.

Day 36: July 6 Miranda, CA to Eureka, CA 57 miles

Today we rode through the Avenue of the Giants, a thirty-one mile scenic route that winds through a forest the largest trees in the world. I’d been looking forward to seeing these trees since I was a little kid. I use to read books and look at the pictures of the colossal trees. The pictures showed roads going through tunnels in the trees (larger than the Chandler Tree) and tree stumps used as dance floors. I had dreamed about one day seeing them. I was giddy as I set out on my bike for the day’s ride.

We rode on the shoulder of the highway for the morning part of our ride. The landscape was rather hilly, but the rises in elevation didn’t faze me as I pedaled toward the Giants. As we came over one ridge, I spotted a cyclist whose bike was loaded down with gear. As we approached the cyclist, I realized we were once again passing “Talkie Japanese.” I greeted him as I passed by, and a few miles farther up the road we took the exit for the Avenue of the Giants.

Just after our exit from the highway, we found a town that was nothing more than a few buildings where we stopped to refill water and eat a few refreshments. After the rest stop, Tommy and I headed into the thick forest to follow the Avenue of the Giants. It was simply incredible. The trees weren’t quite as large as my over-inflated imagination thought they’d be, but they were still all quite impressive. On each side of the road were trees large enough to dwarf even a large grain silos. The trees stretched skyward and blocked out much of the sunlight, so the light was dim and the air was somewhat colder than it had been on the highway earlier. The undergrowth consisted mostly of ferns and a few other small shrub-type plants. I kept looking into the forest expecting to see a speederbike chase, as the forest looked exactly like it was taken from “Return of the Jedi.”

When we reached Founder’s Grove, we stopped for lunch. We ate lunch in the parking lot and then ventured over to see the Founder’s Tree, which sprung out of the ground just beyond the parking lot. The Founder’s Tree, which at 346 feet tall, is one of the tallest trees in the world. Craning my neck upward, I couldn’t even see where the tree ended. The trunk disappeared into a sea of branches and leaves. I had Tommy take a couple of pictures in front of the gigantic tree to keep a memory of just how large the trees were.

After I finished admiring the towering Founder’s Tree, it was time to take a short walk through the woods and see the former heavyweight champion of the redwoods. The Dyerville Giant, until it fell on March 24, 1991, was larger, taller, and older than any other tree. Guess to be 1600 years old, it was at least 362 feet tall, which is the equivalent of a thirty-story building. This mammoth was also seventeen feet in diameter and fifty-two feet in circumference.

When I first noticed the Dyerville Giant, it appeared to be sleeping on the forest floor. The downed tree stretched endlessly to the right and to the left the remains of the attached root system towered above. Even lying on its side, the tree was three times my height. I walked around to peer at the base of the tree which once would have been underground to find Doug crouched in the center of structure. He was dwarfed by the gnarled mass of wood that radiated out in each direction.

As we were standing in awe of the massive remains of the former king of trees, a park ranger told us about the events that led to the tree’s collapse. During the rainy season the soil becomes saturated with water, which can cause trees to fall because their root systems extend outward but not very deep into the earth. A large tree fell a week earlier and hit a second tree causing it to lean. A week later the leaning tree fell, hitting the Dyerville Giant, which caused it to fall as well. No one was around to see the tree fall, but a park neighbor, who lives a mile away, reported hearing a large crash and thought it was a train wreck.

A few riders napped and relaxed around the Dyerville Giant under the canopy of the remaining massive trees. Steve and I decided to ride on and finish out the day. Riding after lunch seemed easy and quick because the scenery was so gorgeous and distracting. We eventually concluded the ride through the Avenue of the Giants and were discharged back out on the highway.

Steve and I caught up to another group of riders and as we passed, we picked up Paul. The three of us rode in toward Eureka. A few miles outside of town, we spotted the College of the Redwoods off the right. The road that led to the college was on the other side of a canal and the entrance to the road was a ways up the road. We found a small wooden bridge across the canal, so we carried our bikes across the canal and then rode the short distance uphill to the college.

When we arrived, we found out that we had dorm rooms to stay in. Since it was summer, the dorms were empty, so we had the entire dorm at our disposal. After claiming our beds, many of us gathered in the community room to watch highlights from the Tour de France. The college also allowed us to use the computers in the library until they closed, so I had the luxury of checking my email twice in the same day. We were also given use of the residence hall office, which had a stove, to prepare a dinner of Ramen Noodles.

After dinner, a group of people went into Eureka to see a movie. Doug, Steve, Melissa, Meg, and I went in to town to cash in some more of the Carl’s Jr. coupons for free burgers to cleanse the taste of Ramen Noodles from our mouths. Don and Melissa decided to go to taco bell instead, so after the rest of us got our burgers at Carl’s Jr. we wandered over to Taco Bell. I think fatigue had taken over our brains because Doug, Meg, and I all decided to walk in and loudly laugh as bogusly as possible for as long as possible. Everyone in the restaurant looked at us like we were crazy, which at that point, we probably were.

When we returned to the dorm, a surprise awaited me. Tommy had picked up the team’s mail and there was a package for me from Claudia West. Claudia had previously made a donation to Texas 4000 through me before we left, but I had never met her. Claudia was one of the countless people who had received word of our trip via email, and she had felt compelled to contribute. She had sent met some snacks and a t-shirt. The unexpected package meant a great deal to me. Claudia’s generosity did not end with a simple monetary donation. Taking time out of her day to assemble and mail a package let me know that she was still supporting me—and the team—while I was on the road.

Day 37: July 7 Eureka, CA to Redwood (RNF), CA 57 miles

Several people decided they wanted to stop in Eureka at a bike shop to pick up a few things. Tommy and I had no reason to stop, so we took off before everyone else. I was right behind Tommy when we flew down the hill leaving the college, but he quickly dropped me because he thought I was stopping in Eureka. As I watched Tommy pull away, I decided to slow down to my own pace, as we would all be meeting up in Arcata anyway. Pops was taking a job at Humboldt State University in the fall and had requested us to stop and take a group picture in front of the school’s sign.

As I cruised north out of Eureka, the road was flat and the wind was at my back, which made for a quick pace. I floated along taking in what scenery I could, but there wasn’t much to look at. Before I knew it I had arrived in Arcata and exited for Humboldt State University. I quickly found the sign where we were supposed to meet but saw no sign of Tommy. I figured I couldn’t be too far ahead of the other riders, so I sat down on the sidewalk to wait. About twenty-five minutes later, Pirkle, Paul, and Doug arrived, but they quickly departed to go find some food. At the time I wasn’t hungry, but soon after they left I began to regret staying behind.

I waited about another hour before anyone else showed up. As soon as the group arrived, I told them I was going to find some snacks to hold me off till lunch. I jumped on my bike and rode over the highway and a few blocks into town to find a gas station where I picked up a bag of chips and a drink. I rode back to the meeting place to devour my newly purchased food and then lounged in the grass with the other riders who had arrived. After some waiting, Hogan, Bhard, and I went decided to ride to the library to check our email. I spent about ten minutes on the computer when Seth came in to round us up for the group shot.

We rode our bikes back down to the sign, took the group shot, and got back on the road. I left with Paul and Steve, and just outside of town, we once again passed “Talkie Japanese.” A few miles later a small group of riders passed us. When they passed, Paul bid Steve and I farewell and jumped onto the back of their pace line. The wind had shifted and was now blowing directly at us. Luckily, before leaving the College of the Redwoods, Werckle and told us about Patrick’s Point Road.

Patrick’s Point Road was a two-lane side road that ran parallel to the main highway. Steve and I decided to take the side road to get away from the traffic, but once we started down the detour, we realized that the tree cover was also blocking the wind that was wreaking havoc on Highway 101. Steve and I made good time riding on Patrick’s Point Road, but when we rejoined the highway, we realized that the van had placed the lunch stop on the section of Highway 101 that we bypassed. Unbeknownst to us, Steve and I were now about eighteen miles ahead of everyone. A few miles after rejoining the highway, we found a small gravel driveway to stop at where we shared what food we had and drank some water.

After our makeshift rest stop, the road climbed and re-entered the forests, which allowed for wind-free cycling and much better scenery. After about ten miles of riding, we came into a small town where we found a gas station to use the bathroom. The main building at the gas station was a large all-wooden building, which was filled with souvenirs. Roaming freely on the oversized, lush lawn out front was a large herd of elk. We made use of the facilities and wandered aimlessly around the cavernous wooden building before exiting and offering farewell to the languid elk.

Steve and I set off and found that we were very near to Redwood National Forest, where our campground was located. Steve flatted a couple miles from the park, so we huddled on the narrow shoulder next to a rock all while he fixed the annoyance. We rode a short distance to the entrance of the campsite arriving just as the van did, which had showed up early to check us in. Steve and I raced to the van and ravenously tore the doors open searching for sandwiches left over from lunch. We each grabbed all the remaining peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, each of us devouring a sandwich on the bike ride to the campsite. Steve and I arrived at the cluster of campsites and claimed a large corner site. We discarded our bikes and then sat on the table to dispose of the leftover sandwiches.

Steve and I lounged around the campsite for nearly two hours before any of our teammates arrived. Once all the riders were in from the day’s ride, everyone set up and the dinner crew started cooking. Dinner consisted of corn, mashed potatoes with meat, and beans.

After dinner, I went with Tommy and Dbear to a gas station to pick up some drinks. We then all went out to the campfire by the outdoor amphitheater to hang out. We ended up playing a game where we made fun of imitated/made fun of someone else and you had to guess who the person was imitating. It was a lot of fun. Afterwards we came back and went to sleep.

Day 38: July 8 Day off in Redwood (RNF), CA

Catching a couple extra hours of sleep on a day off was my sole ambition on my day off. By the time I roused and began my day, many of the other riders had already loaded into the van and left to go see a movie in a nearby town.

Tommy, Steve, Dbear, and I decided to just stay at our campsite and do some much needed bike cleaning. I removed my chain, disassembled my cassette, and gave my bike a very thorough cleaning. Once the group came back from the movie, I was able to locate some super glue to attach my police badge I had bought in Caliente where my front reflector once was.

After another dinner prepared on a portable gas stove, a group of us went to the small theater for the campfire where the park rangers were giving a presentation to children and families that were camping in the park. We had been asked to contribute a short presentation for the attendees. We gathered into a few rows toward the back and listened as the rangers educated the kids about the outdoors.

During the presentation, the rangers asked for volunteers for a skit. Normally, the entire cast of the skit consists of kids, but when the call for volunteers was made, my hand shot up. Steve, Mandy, and I joined a group of kids on stage. The cluster of us was cast to play the part of mosquitoes. Our task was to make a “buzzing” sound on cue, which I was able to do with perfection.

After the presentation, we made the short trek through the dark back to camp where Dbear and Tommy were making a futile attempt to start a campfire. Luckily Chris’ Eagle Scout skills came through and he saved the fire. We sat around the fire talking for a while and then crawled into our tents, which were nestled among the giant trees.

Day 39: July 9 Redwood (RNF), CA to Brookings, OR 81 miles

I was slow to rise, which was pretty normal for me, but I packed my stuff up quickly before breakfast. A little past mid-way through the ride we were going to cross into our eighth state, so there was another race for the border. The state line was situated fifty-four miles from out campsite in Redwood National Forest. There was some debate among the race participants as to whether the race would cover the full distance or would start at a point closer to the state line.

Seth made the decision when he took head start on the rest of group by sneaking out before breakfast when no one was watching. In the middle of breakfast, Stuart realized Seth was gone and made a frantic dash to gather his things and leave. Hogan was in on the prank, so he had hid Stuart’s helmet, which was found somewhat quickly. When Stuart grabbed his bike, he realized his seat and seat post were both missing from his bike, because Hogan had removed and hidden them as well.

Once Stuart’s bike was again in one piece, he took off with Bhard pulling him. The chase was on. Seth had about a twenty-minute head start, so Stuart had a lot of time to make up. After a long sprint, Stuart was able to catch Seth about four miles from the border and squeaked out a narrow victory, giving Stuart claim to the second state line in a row.

Those of us not involved in the chase took our time finishing up our oatmeal with raisins and peaches for breakfast and packing all our stuff into the trailer before leaving the Golden State behind to enter the Beaver State. We rode a number of miles before happening upon Klamath, California and the trees of mystery. I cannot recall what exactly was mysterious about the trees, but I do recall a huge Paul Bunyan and an anatomically correct Babe the Blue Ox.

Somewhere hidden, perhaps among the mysterious trees, was the voice of Mr. Bunyan. Visitors to the wayside attraction could have a conversation with the giant. As Suchin bantered back and forth with Paul Bunyan, Chris decided to embrace the Babe’s manliness. Of course we all giggled like schoolgirls.

Eventually we left behind the tall tale duo and wound our way through the last of the thinning redwoods. We had a nice, steep drop into Crescent City. I passed a couple cars as I flew down the hill into town. Our lunch stop was at McDonald’s. We all had a couple cheeseburgers and an ice cream cone, which was generously donated. A grocery store also donated some sushi, which made many of the riders quite happy. I like to stay away from any meat that is not cooked. Also, harvested from the grocery store was a birthday cake. Today was Suchin’s birthday, so we all sang him “Happy Birthday” on the porch at McDonald’s.

Tommy and I were riding together when we reached the state line. Dbear gave us the news of Stuart foiling Seth’s plan. Tommy and I walked across the highway to the “Welcome to Oregon” sign to search for Werckle’s signature on the signpost. He had left his marking the summer before riding south to San Diego. We were unaware that he didn’t sign his full name, so we were unable to find the signature. Tommy and I both left our mark with a Sharpie. I quickly scribbled “Scott TX4K ’04” on the wooden post and Tommy wrote something similar.

Another twenty-seven miles delivered us to Brookings, where we were to participate in our third “Relay for Life,” which coincidentally took place on the day of our arrival. We set up our tents and camped on the football field with about 300 other participants. The organizers of Relay for Life provided us with food and hot chocolate, and bestowed us with the task of judging the competition for the best campsite.

After setting up our tents and changing clothes, we settled into the stands to devour the food we had been provided, while watching the activities unfolding on the track and football field. On the track, dancing to some upbeat, somewhat modern music was a dance team. But this was not your ordinary dance team. This particular dance team consisted of five middle-aged women and one gentleman who appeared to be slightly past middle-aged. All the dancers were wearing hot pink t-shirts complimented by either black pants or a short or long skirt. The older gentleman, to my dismay, was one of the pants wearers. The troupe performed a series of choreographed dance moves, including some Saturday Night Fever disco moves, as we all s******ed like Beavis and Butthead.

After dinner was the official start of the relay events, where we were introduced to the crowd. Standing on the track in front of the crowd, we were able to proudly announce that we had met our fundraising goal—being able to write a check to the American Cancer Society for $100,000. We received a standing ovation, and I don’t think there was a single team member who didn’t have a smile on their face or in their heart. We had many goals for Texas 4000, but one of our main goals had been reached without even finishing our ride.

Signaling the start of the relay was the survivors’ lap where a man reminded me, once again, why we were cycling cross country. He was an elderly gentleman who walked very slowly with the assistance of a cane. Yet when he embarked upon his survivor lap at Relay for Life, he showed the true meaning of persistence. Normally, the elderly survivors that have trouble walking will start the lap and soon retire, but not this particular gentleman. Without reserve, he walked the entire lap, finishing proudly in 15 minutes.

I met him at four different places along the track to cheer him on. I found myself fighting back tears as I walked along side him the last 75 yards. We participated in multiple Relays for Life during the summer, but I never saw a feat that equaled this man's determination. He was truly a survivor.

The encroaching darkness signaled time for us to do our duty as the judges of the best campsite contest. Each Relay for Life team had a theme for their campsite, so a group of us walked around and mingled with the team members while looking at their creative output. We ended up deciding that the winner was a Shrek-themed camp. Of course, I’m sure that the attractive girl in a skin-tight cat outfit dressed as Puss in Boots did not sway our decision in the slightest.

We decided to keep someone from the team on the track all night, so we signed up for shift. Each shift would consist of two riders walking for an hour. The two riders would then notify the next duo, or rather wake them up. I ended up getting stuck with the three to four a.m. walking shift alongside Kartik. I knew I was going to be up pretty much all night, as I had told Suchin I would stay up with him to watch a movie we had rented in town earlier.

While those of us acting as judges were ogling Puss in Boots, another group had been busy constructing our baton we would carry all night. A wooden baton had been tied to two bike tires and a seat had been attached. The contraption was a bit wobbly, and with darkness settling in, it was decided that the team would just use a seat attached to a seat post as our baton.

I settled into the tent where Suchin had set up his laptop. A few of us gathered around to watch “The Last Samurai.” I was having a hard time staying away, but just as I drifted off to sleep, I was shaken back to consciousness. It was 3 A.M. I groggily stumbled over to the concession stand and ordered a ¾ hot chocolate, ¼ coffee and then Kartik and I began our saunter in the dark.

After a few laps, I felt a rumbling rip through my abdomen. Unfortunately, it wasn’t hunger pangs striking. My eyes immediately went from half closed to wide open, as panic struck. We were nearing the bathrooms, but I had been in there earlier and there was no stall surrounding the toilet. Normally, this wouldn’t be of much concern at 3:15 in the morning, but I was at an event where people were encouraged to be awake at this hour. My first though was the pitch black port-a-potties on the other side of the track. However, the fuse had been lit, and the fuse was short. Very short.

I told Kartik I would catch up with him soon and dart toward the bathroom. Much to my consternation, there were several people occupying the bathroom. I had no choice but to take care of business, and hope that I would not have to make a return visit. I had never been sitting in a bathroom and wishing I was in a port-a-potty instead. My hopes were soon dashed, as I had to make a couple return visits. It was as if my body could sense I was as far away from the solitary confines of port-a-potty and would immediately attempt to expunge its waste in an effort to gain retribution for the hell I had been putting it through for the past 39 days.

Kartik and I finished our hour of walking, and I returned to my sleeping bag to seize a much-earned few hours of sleep. The team was successful in relaying through the entire night and ended up walking 169 laps, which equated to roughly 42 miles!

Day 40: July 10 Brookings, OR to Bandon, OR 83 miles

After much too little sleep, I was awakened to start another day of riding. With red eyes, I groggily packed up my belongings and helped Tommy tear down the tent. I suffered through what was a normal morning routine. With the van once again packed, we were once again ready to get on the road, but as part of the closing ceremony for Relay for Life, we rode a victory lap around the track to supportive cheers from the crowd. Once the lap was completed, we exited the stadium and headed toward Highway 101 to the fading sound of the ovation.

After several hundred pedal strokes, my blood began to flow and my body felt more awake, although I was fatigued from the lack of sleep. The fog was already beginning to clear as we rejoined the coast and began riding northward. As the air cleared of fog, the shoreline revealed coastline that became more and more gorgeous. Huge rock formations sprung forth from the vast ocean, while piles driftwood freckled the brown, sandy beaches.

The highway snaked along mimicking the coastline’s curves, drops, and climbs. I robotically continued pedaling, too tired to soak in the surroundings until we reached a scenic overlook, which marked our first rest stop. The majority of the team was at the stop, which was obvious from the numerous bikes leaning against the guard rail. The overlook was perched at the top of a cliff surveying the pacific and the coastline to the south. After a quick snack, fatigue from a near sleepless night took grasp of the team.

Inside the van Steve was already asleep leaning against one of the seats. I sat down on the ground Indian-style to gaze out at the ocean. I placed my hands on my face and my elbows on my legs precariously balancing my head. Before I knew what happened, slumber swept over me. Not too far away, Tommy, Dan, and Stuart had all nestled themselves against guard rail posts, resting their heads against their hands with their elbows wedged into the curve of the metal railing. The four of us slept for an excess of an hour on the side of the highway.

When I awoke, lying on the ground with my arm over my face, Dan and Stuart were gone. Tommy had just left the rest stop. A few other riders were still milling around the rest stop. I rubbed my eyes to adjust to the daylight. While I slept, the fog cleared off and the air temperature had warmed. I was able to finally gather my bearings and stumbled to my bike. I shook off the sleep and mounted my bike to continue to Bandon.

I rode much of the rest of the day by myself. As I neared the small town of Bandon, the highway turned slightly away from the coast and back into the wooded areas, which occupied the areas inland. Several people had stopped at a small store a few miles outside of town, so I pulled off and wandered into the small wooden building.

The store contained hundreds of jams, jellies, honeys, cheeses, salsas, and other such products. If you could dream up a type of jam, the store probably made it. Along one of the exterior walls was a cutaway of a live beehive. The hive was behind a sheet of thick plastic, but we were able to watch the bees as they worked diligently at making honey. A few of the bees had squeezed their way into the store and were buzzing about.

The owner of the store saw us gazing quizzically at the hive in action and approached. She shared several facts about honey bees with us. Unfortunately, I don’t recall any of bits of information she shared with us, because before they could be absorbed the owner started picking up the bees with her bare hands. I fully expected her to experience the wrath of an angry bee’s sting, but of course she and the bees interacted like long-time friends. I perused the store for a bit longer before making the last short leg into Bandon.

I arrived at the Faith Baptist Church along with several other riders. We entered the church to a wonderful spaghetti dinner! As soon as the last riders arrived, we dug in. We ate and conversed with the members of the church telling them about our trip and asking them about life in the small coastal Oregon town. The pastor allowed us to use the church’s phone to make calls home and we were allowed on the computer to check our email.

I was completely beaten down from the day’s ride and lack of sleep, so I quickly found my place on the floor to sleep. I laid down the sleeping pad I had claimed, which had been left behind by Ryan when he flew home in San Francisco—no more scavenging for materials to build a pallet under my sleeping back. Before the lights were even turned off, I was sleeping soundly.

Day 41: July 11 Bandon, OR to Florence, OR 83 miles

I woke up feeling much more refreshed than the previous morning. The generous church members had prepared for us a terrific pancake breakfast. I stuffed my face with as many pancakes as my stomach would hold before setting out on the day's ride.

Highway 101 veered inland for a portion of the day's ride and we decided to take a western detour up to North Bend. We turned off the highway and onto a small, twisting road called West Beaver Hill Road. The winding road took us through forested hills, which bore very little auto traffic. As the road rose, I saw great views of the surrounding valleys.

Beaver Hill Road eventually gave way to 7 Devil's Road, where the trees seemed to disappear. Upon closer inspection at the hillside, there were thousands of tree stumps and fledgling trees. The hillsides were apparently the site of a vast Christmas tree farm. Without trees blocking my view, I could see for miles across the Oregon horizon. I pushed on and soared down a steep, curving descent. I had to brake fairly hard while cornering to prevent myself from becoming intimate with the asphalt blurring past my feet.

Shortly after the dangerous plunge was our next rest stop. Our stop was at Davey Jones Locker Grocery and Deli. A large sign outside boasted “Old Fashioned Salt Water Taffy,” so I went inside and purchased a cornucopia of the sweet delights. North Bend lied just above Coos Bay.

Coos Bay was the home of Steve Prefontaine. Prefontaine, dubbed “Pre,” was one of Americans greatest distance runners until his tragic death in 1975. As a distance runner myself, and having read Pre’s biography, I was quite excited to be near the hometown of one of the sources of motivation for me. On my Texas 4000 application, I quoted Pre, who once said, “To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice The Gift.”

Highway 101 ran through Coos Bay. Since we would meet back up with 101 in North Bend, I realized I could ride through Coos Bay and meet back up with the group in North Bend. Inside Davey Jones Locker, I inquired about a route to Coos Bay, and found out two things. First, there was a road just over the bridge that would take me directly into Coos Bay. And Secondly, the man I was talking to went to high school with Pre.

As I was excitedly talking about the prospect of visiting the Prefontaine memorial in Coos Bay, Don slowly and gingerly approached on his bike. Once he was off his bike he told us why his shorts now sported a rather large, jagged red circle. He was making the descent on 7 Devils Road and apparently he didn’t slow down enough before evil struck. He went down and slid across the pavement on his butt and left oblique. A very large portion of his left butt cheek was now fused with the Oregon blacktop, and a section of his skin on his left side was also missing. Don was a trooper and smiled as we snapped pictures of his fresh injuries.

I had made my decision to ride into Coos Bay in search of Pre’s memorial. I turned off on Libby Road and hammered toward town. When I reached the city limits, I stopped to take a picture of the sign and then coasted into town knowing that Pre once pounded the pavement on the roads I was currently pedaling on. I made it into downtown and weaved up and down the streets looking for a memorial. I asked several people for help, but to my disappointment, no one seemed to know where the memorial was. As I meandered through the downtown grid, I ran into Tommy and eventually Seth who was also a fan of Pre. Before running into Seth and a few other riders, Tommy and I asked a few other people about the memorial, but our search was fruitless.

We kept returning to a small visitor’s center, which was closed. There was a small electronic directory outside that we attempted to use, but it contained no information about the memorial. It was as if Coos Bay had forgotten about its most famous citizen. I refused to give up my search. I looked up and down the roads and road around the streets diligently looking for the museum and memorial. We returned to the visitor’s center for what felt like the hundredth time. I walked around to the back side of the building to see if there was any more information and that’s when I stumbled across a thin concrete structure tucked away next to some bushes. On the structure was a plaque that had an engraving of Pre’s face and read:

Steve Roland Prefontiane
January 25, 1951 May 30, 1975
Coos Bay, Oregon Eugene, Oregon

American Records held by Steve Prefontaine
At the time of his death May 30, 1975:


The sign then listed the eight American records he held at the time of his death. I snapped a picture of the small memorial, as did Seth. Seth had grown out a Pre-esque moustache, so he posted with the plaque for a picture.

Somewhat disappointed at the small memorial but satisfied with the visit to the memorial of one of the greatest distance runners our country has ever seen, I resumed my trek northward. We soon passed through North Bend and over two large green metal bridges, which deposited us on the east side of Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area. To my left were massive sand dunes obscuring any view of the ocean, which resided a mile away.

The sand dunes continued to escort us toward Alaska as I cruised along the highway. Eventually we came to another rest stop at a gas station along the highway. There was a fruit stand in a parking lot next door, so we meandered over to purchase some fresh fruit. After the rest stop, we made a short ride into Florence where we had lodging for the night.

Day 42: July 12 Florence, OR to Lincoln City, OR 78 miles

The day started with Werckle consulting his handy travel guide for the section of Highway 101 we would be undertaking today. The book gave a grim account of the segment boasting the strongest headwinds anywhere on the west coast. I pushed off dreading climbing a phantom hill all day long.

Just outside of town, we stopped at a small park to examine some carnivorous plants that are native to Northern California and Southwestern Oregon. I strolled down the path and onto a wooden boardwalk that extended out over a marshy area where there were hundreds of small green plants, which were hook-shaped. Insects are attracted to the Darlingtonia by a nectar-like substance and then become trapped inside the hood. The insects then slide down the glassy inside surface of the plant into a pool of liquid that slowly digests the creatures. I took a few pictures of the fascinating plants and then got back on my bike.

As I set out on our final day of riding along the coast, I tried to absorb as much of the natural beauty as I could. The coastline had only become more stunning as we progressed north. The rocky coastlines became more grandiose. Rocks thrust farther out of the ocean waves. Tidal pools gathered among the cracks and crevasses. At times the land fell almost vertically for hundreds of feet before plunging into the cold Pacific water. We wound our way along the coastline, teetering high above the water and far below the edge of the western edge of our great country. We passed through tunnels bored through the rocky cliffs and passed lighthouses warning ships of the impending dangers of the rock-strewn water to our left.

The first rest stop brought us to an area where the road dipped down to the jagged shoreline. While enjoying snacks, I wandered down to inspect the sea life filling the tidal pools. Urchins, starfish, and small fish inhabited the pools. With the curiosity of a small child, I delicately poked and prodded the urchins and studied their reactions. Cold sea spray misted my faced, and I decided to spare the creatures from more distress.

Tommy and I set out riding, snaking our way northward. A few miles up the highway we encountered an area, which was a habitat for sea lions. We pulled off the highway and into the car park where we left our bicycles at the entrance to the beach. We found ourselves standing on and area of shoreline where the rocks had given way to soft, brown sand. A short way into the water, a long, rocky island rose from the ocean, which provided a perch for the sea lions. The massive creatures preferred to remain virtually motionless. I stood staring at the enormous aquatic mammals for a long period of time before Tommy and I decided to carry on with our advancement on Lincoln City.

Another twenty miles or so delivered us at our lunch stop at a park along the coastline with some spectacular views. I walked along the trails to the edge of cliffs that dropped toward the water. Huge monoliths dotted the rough ocean before me, conjuring images of the coastline in The Goonies as Rosalita found the small bag of jewels. The millions of years of erosion from ocean waves had carved caves and arches through the huge rock islets.

Seth and I set out after lunch to finish out the day, and we actually had a tailwind through the section of Highway 101 that was supposed to have the storied headwind. We cruised along at well over twenty miles and hour, arriving in Lincoln City quite quickly. We found our way to the Oceanfront Beach Rentals, where Tommy was already waiting. The rental company provided us two houses to accommodate all the riders. We were also given access to the internet and pool.

Tommy and I entered one of the houses and quickly claimed a room downstairs with two beds. We started discussing some plans to sneak out in the morning and steal Washington since Portland was right on the border. We stowed our bikes in a small, covered utility room and then went on to check out email at the rental office. After checking our email, we found a Dairy Queen where we picked up some food before returning to the house.

A group of us decided it would be relaxing to go sit in the hot tub and swim in the pool. When we walked in to building containing the pool and hot tub, I was a bit impressed. The hot tub sat on the back of the building enclosed in glass overlooking the ocean. As we sat in the pool, someone dared Pirkle to run and jump in the ocean. With a little coercing, Pirkle took off and ran down the stairs to the beach and into the water.

Pirkle returned on then somehow Steve, Pirkle, and I decided to go jump in the ocean. We walked down the stairs and out onto the beach. No one was in the water and the people on the beach were wrapped in blankets. The three of us began running toward the water while screaming. It was a long run across the beach, and when I finally hit the water, my breath was taken away. We all started screaming in high-pitched voices and quickly retreated from the frigid salt water amid applause from people on the beach. We returned to the hot tub to warm up and watch the sun set over the Pacific.

Day 43: July 13 Lincoln City, OR to Portland, OR 84 miles

I awoke to the sound of Tommy’s alarm at 4:30 am. Eyes red and stinging from lack of sleep, it was time for Tommy and me to sneak off and steal Washington. We both got up and quietly dressed as to not wake anyone else in the house. We grabbed our bags and quietly snuck down the short hallway and out the back door that led into the utility room where we had stashed our bikes the night before. We headed out the utility room door and into the cold morning air. As we tried to sneak around the house, we triggered the motion-detector light. We hurried around to the trailer trying not to trip any other motion detector lights. Tommy opened the trailer, we threw our bags in, ate a quick breakfast, and we were off.

Our route for the day was north on highway 101 for a few miles north of Lincoln City and then a turn inland on route 117 to Portland. It was still very dark outside, and neither Tommy nor I had a light. I was leading, and I could barely see the road in front of me. If there would have been any debris on the road we both would have taken on a face full of asphalt. Even with the darkness, we were riding at a quick pace. We turned east on 117 as light started creeping over the horizon. As Tommy and I were inching toward Portland and laughing about stealing Washington, our smiles turned to frowns as we heard the dreaded popping sound. My back tire had just blown out.

It was only a minor setback but an annoying one. We stopped and I pulled off my back wheel to inspect the damage. The sidewall had blown out. The tire was pretty much trashed, but over the course of the summer we had learned temporary fixes for these little problems. Tommy opened up a pack of Oreos, we each ate two cookies, and then I used the cardboard from the packaging to reinforce the sidewall. I used my extra tube I had brought along, aired up the tire, reattached the back wheel, and we were off again. Nothing was going to stop us from taking Washington, or at least I that’s what I thought.

Not more than a few miles down the road, we heard the dreaded sound again. It was another blowout. Once again, it was the sidewall on my back tire, but in a different place. I still had some of the cardboard from the Oreos, so I repeated the quick fix, I used Tommy’s spare tube, and we were back on the road. About 30 minutes later, blowout number three occurred. For a third time the sidewall had blown out. Luckily, Tommy had a patch kit with him, because we were out of spare tubes.

Minutes later we once again heard the all too familiar sound of my sidewall blowing out again. I got off my bike, threw my helmet and spewed a string of expletives. I quickly removed my back wheel and threw that into the weeds as well. Tommy remained quiet while I walked around a bit, taking deep breathes to settle down. Once I had control of myself, I placed a patch on the inside of my swiss cheese tire and another patch on my tube. I aired my tire up and we were off. The wind was at our backs and we were averaging close to thirty miles per hour.

After blowouts five, six, and seven I was about to lose it. We only had one patch left and Tommy needed to save it in case he had a flat. Tommy and I knew that by now the others would have woken up and realized what our plan was and would be well on the way to attempting to overtake us. We were about 3 miles outside of a small town.

“Just go,” I told Tommy.
“Are you sure? What are you going to do?” Tommy asked.
“There’s a town about 3 miles ahead. I’ll head toward it and if the van hasn’t caught me by then, I’ll see if I can find a bike shop or buy a patch kit at a gas station. They are probably closing in on us, so one of us needs to take the border.”
“Ok. Good luck man, see you in Portland.”
“See ya.”

And with that Tommy was off to take Washington, and I was alone. I started the three mile walk into town. The whole way I was hoping that some Good Samaritan would see a guy in bike gear walking his bike and would offer a ride into town. Three miles later, with no ride offered, I came to a dilemma. The town did not lie directly on the highway. A bypass had been built around the town. I had no idea how far back the other riders were or how far back the van was. If I were to head into town, there’s no way the van would find me if it were to catch up to my current position. If I decided to stay on the highway, it could be hours before the van caught up to me.

I figured that even if the van missed me and I walked all the way through town, I’d still be ahead of the slowest group. So it made more sense to head into town and see if I could find a solution to my problem in case I was hours ahead of everyone. I reluctantly turned off the highway and headed into town.

As I was walking up to the first signs of town, an RV pulled into the turning lane for Home Depot and stopped. “YES!” I thought to myself, “Someone is going to offer me a ride into town!” An elderly gentleman jumped out of the RV and started walking toward me. My aching feet were getting excited at the thought of not walking anymore.

“Do you know where the Hughes Aviation Museum is?” the man asked me.

I stood in silence for a moment pondering why he’d ask someone with “Texas 4000” written on their jersey. Surely he passed the other riders on his way. Finally I replied, “No, I’m not from around here.”

The old man said, “ok thanks,” and jumped back in his RV and drove off. I just stood there for a few moments trying to figure out exactly what happened. I finally snapped out of it and started walking again.

I soon came upon a Texaco, and headed in the store. I walked around the store looking for a patch kit, but I couldn’t find anything. I figured I’d buy a Mountain Dew and sit outside to ponder my situation. As I was headed to the register, something caught my eye. A patch kit! There was only one, but I figured it would be enough to patch up my tire and ride until the van caught up. What luck! I grabbed the kit and headed up to the register where I saw another little jewel. A cigarette company was running a promotion where you could win a 1963 Corvette Stingray. The brochure was complete with a picture. I finally had proof to win my $20 billion from Tommy. I grabbed the brochure and put it in the back of my jersey, paid for my items, and then headed outside to fix my tire.

I used every patch in the kit on my tube and my tire, but I still couldn’t get the tube to hold air. At this point my tire had seven holes in the sidewall and my tube appeared to have more patches on it than it had original rubber. I was defeated. I sat and drank my mountain dew and cursed under my breath. I finally got up and headed back into the gas station.

“Is there a bike shop in this town by any chance?” I asked hopefully.

“There sure is, but it’s a good 3 miles from here,” the man behind the counter replied.

“That’s ok, can you give me directions?” I happily quipped.

The employee gave me directions to the bike shop and once again I found myself walking. I headed through town and took in the sights the Oregon town. I found the street I was instructed to turn on and took a right, which lead me into downtown. I walked block after block past shop after shop and finally all my troubles were going to be solved. My savior, the bike shop, stood in front of me.

I parked my bike outside and entered the shop. The shop had a Michelin Carbide tire on sale for twenty dollars, so I quickly bought the tire and a couple tubes. I didn’t have any tire levers, so the shop was nice enough to mount my tire and aired up my tire with their floor pump. The shop owner gave me directions back to the highway, and I went outside to reattach my tire. I triumphantly trashed my porous tire and old tubes and headed off on my bike.

After stopping just outside of town to refill my water bottles at a gas station, I turned onto the highway and headed toward Portland with the wind at my back. The tailwind kept my average at well over 25 miles per hour, which quickly brought me into the outskirts of Portland. As I made my way into the city, a realization came to me. Tommy had left me behind, no other riders had caught up to me, I wasn’t sure where exactly I was going, I had no directions, and I had no cell phone. I thought we were staying at a college in northeast Portland.

I decided to head into downtown Portland and ask for directions. My first stop was at a bookstore where I found out some disconcerting information. There was no college in northeast Portland. There was Portland State University south of downtown and the University of Portland that was northwest of my current location. I decided I would try the University of Portland and I was given directions, which were very unclear. I made another stop at a sporting goods store to attempt to gain better directions; however, no one could clarify much. So I headed off. I road through and then headed across the river toward what I thought was the correct direction.

As I rode through the Portland neighborhoods, I became less and less positive about the direction I was heading, and my stomach quickly reminded me that I had not eaten anything of substance all day. I rounded a corner, spotted at Quiznos, and decided that I would grab some food and ponder my situation. I asked the girl behind the counter for directions to the University of Portland, but she wasn’t sure of how to get there. As I waited for my food, I decided to see if there was a phone book I could borrow. Luckily they had a phone book and were nice enough to allow me the use of their phone.

I called the University of Portland and was transferred to the housing department. I was told that we were indeed staying there, but we weren’t expected there until 7 o’clock that evening. Additionally, I was informed that we were to give a presentation at Portland State University before arriving at the University of Portland. I also was given directions to the University of Portland from my current location by the man in the housing department.

I finished my sandwich, thanked the gracious people at Quiznos, and headed off to find the University of Portland. I figured that I would find my final destination and worry about the presentation later. I found the university rather easily and then road around campus trying to decide what to do next.

I knew Tommy was in town somewhere and he had his cell phone on him. I found the library and made arrangements to get a guest log-in. I then logged into the members area of the Texas 4000 website and wrote down Tommy’s and Chris’ cell phone numbers. I figured I could try and get a hold of Tommy, but if not, I could call Chris and figure out what I needed to do.

I now had Tommy’s cell phone number, but my next problem was that my wallet was in the trailer. And my phone card just happened to reside in my wallet. I stopped at the front desk at the library and asked them directions to the nearest grocery store. I figured I could pick up a phone card and use a pay phone.

I located the grocery store, but I wasn’t keen on leaving my bike unattended outside, so I headed across the street to a gas station where I purchased a phone card. My next stop was the McDonald’s on the corner where I used the pay phone to call Tommy.

I was relieved when he answered his phone. He had arrived in Portland an hour and a half before I did, and he successfully took Washington. Luckily he was in a part of Portland that I had ridden by earlier in the day. I told him to stay there and I would meet him there in 20 minutes.

I jumped back on my bike and rode back down south and met up with Tommy. We were both hungry, so we stopped and grabbed a burger and then headed down to a bike shop. We killed some time in the bike shop and then decided to ride around for a bit longer. As we were leaving, we saw an orange and white blur on a blue bike. We realized it was Meg, so we yelled at her. She finally heard us and turned around and came back. She had lost the others and was wandering around on her own.

Meg wanted to pick up a couple things in the bike shop, so we headed back in and wasted some more time. After leaving the bike shop, we went to a 7-Eleven and bought some junk food, which we proceeded to eat on the sidewalk across the street. We finished up our snack and decided it was time to head over to the University of Portland.

As we pulled up to the cafeteria where we were staying, I looked down and saw that my distance for the day was 124.25 miles. I rode another ¾ of a mile around the area to click over to a grand total of 125 miles for the day.

We headed to the back of the cafeteria and found out that we weren’t staying in the cafeteria but on the lawn behind the cafeteria. We set up our tents and headed inside for a meal in the cafeteria, which the university had generously provided for us.

After dinner, we found out that the university was also allowing us to do out laundry for free onsite. I loaded up my laundry and started heading toward the laundry room. Just outside the cafeteria, some kids on BMX bikes had challenged a couple of the riders to bike races. The kids were left in the dust.

I went and threw my laundry in the washer and sat down to relax in front of the big screen TV in the lounge. I eventually borrowed Dan’s phone and called my parents to let them know I hadn’t died alongside the highway somewhere in Oregon. After my laundry finished up, I headed back to the tent for some well-deserved sleep.

Day 44: July 14 Portland, OR to Longview, WA 52 miles

Breakfast was provided by the cafeteria at the university. We all packed up our stuff before eating as much as possible. The ride today was a short one--only 53 miles--mostly following the Columbia River northwest to Longview. We pushed out and proceeded past the gas station and the McDonald's I had visited the day before. We wound our way through the thinning urban environment and toward an inevitable meeting with the river.

At mile twenty, a gas station provided our first rest stop. I went in, filled my water, and ate a couple quick snacks. I was feeling quite good, especially after the previous long day of riding and stress. I only stayed at the rest stop for about five minutes before I was back on my bike and pushing on alone in the lead.

My legs felt strong and I pushed them harder and harder. A few miles later I encountered my meeting with the Columbia River. The river guided me northwest toward my goal for the day. The road was relatively flat, but had a few rolling climbs and descents. Even with a slight headwind, I continued to push myself harder to ensure the faster riders would not overtake me. I had become a must stronger rider, but I knew there were a few people that could still easily catch me if they wanted to. Although Tommy had taken Washington the previous day, I wasn't sure if there was anyone who was trying to officially take the state line. Since I had failed in my attempt at capturing the state line alongside Tommy, I was determined to be the first across today.

The quick ride alongside the river delivered me to the small community of Ranier a few miles short of the half-century mark. Before I even penetrated the city limits, I could see the Lewis and Clarke Bridge, which connected Oregon and Washington and marked then entrance to my ninth state. All I had to do was get across the bridge before anyone overtook me and I'd be the first one to roll over the state line permanently.

I entered town and immediately began searching for the entrance to the bridge. I found a sign, which I misinterpreted. I turned off the highway and onto a small street, which headed skyward and appeared to guide my way to the bridge. As I struggled up the steep incline, I began to second guess my decision to turn off the highway. It appeared I was simply riding through a residential street and not the entrance to a busy bridge. When I reached a cul-de-sac that marked the end of the steep climb, I panicked a little. I had wasted precious minutes climbing my way to a hillside dead end. If anyone was on my trail, they could have already blown by me while I was naively wasting energy. I turned around and flew back down the hill toward the highway.

When I reached the highway, I tore around the corner and found my way to the entrance to the bridge. As I began the taxing climb to the apex of the bridge, I had to carefully dodge traffic. One lane of the bridge was closed due to construction, which put me right in the thick of traffic. I tried to ride in the closed lane when possible, but the majority of the length of the lane on the bridge was unrideable. Once I crossed the summit of the lengthy bridge, I rode white-knuckled down the descent avoiding cars and construction equipment.

Once into the town of Longview, I recalled directions and found my way to the armory. When I arrived, I realized I was the first one there. I didn't know who our contact was or exactly where I was supposed to go, so I just sat down in the grass and waited. And waited. Apparently no one was trying to catch me. No one had even cared to give chase. I was at the armory for close to an hour before any of the other riders showed up. They had chosen to ride at an easy pace, while I was racing against no one to the border.

While waiting on the rest of the riders, several of us played basketball inside the building. Once everyone arrived, the good people at the armory provided us with dinner. We were also able to secure some donations from local restaurants. After dinner, a bunch of us decided to find a local bar that was showing the day's stage from the Tour de France. After trying unsuccessfully at three different bars, many people returned to the armory to get some sleep. Suchin, his girlfriend, Werckle, and I decided to stay at the last bar and share a pitcher before returning to settle in for the night.

Day 45: July 15 Longview, WA to Olympia, WA 76 miles

It was one of those mornings. I’m not sure what my problem was. Maybe it was lack of sleep from being out late. Perhaps it was just general fatigue from being on the road. At breakfast I piled scrambled eggs onto my plate and someone jokingly made a comment about me taking more than my share. I snapped. I dumped the eggs back onto the serving tray and stormed off. I packed up my stuff while sulking and refused to talk to anyone. In the back of my mind I knew I was being stupid about the situation, but I let my pride get in the way of going in to get breakfast.

As we finished getting ready, a couple guys apologized to me. I felt bad at that point because there was no need for them to apologize. Knowing I didn’t eat any breakfast, Chris offered me a Power Bar, but again, I let my pride get in the way and denied. The group took a picture with the Army officers and then pushed out for the day’s ride.

The ride took us through parts of rural Washington. We cruised passed a seemingly endless supply of Christmas Tree farms. The route included an abundance of road changes. Each riding group had written down the directions, but even with written instructions, the route was hard to decipher. I was riding with the slow group. As we rode through a very small, quaint town, the road suddenly ended. Quizzically, we all stared at each other and then consulted the directions. Although lost, we remained in good spirits as we jokingly blamed one another for losing the route.


After backtracking for about five miles, we were able to rejoin the correct route and begin making our way toward Olympia once again. The plan was to meet our hosts, who were cyclists, about thirty miles outside of the city so that we would not get lost on our way in to destination. Tom Sanford and John Edwards met us at a small park. When we approached the city, the group formed a double pace line. We looked quite impressive riding as a group.

The Hamilton Family played host for us. We stored all of our bikes in their garage and they had plenty of snacks and drinks for us to enjoy while resting. Their house was amazing. The view from the deck included capital building off to the right and Mount Ranier in the distance. We conversed with our hosts for a bit and then went to a church for dinner. Some members of a local hospital came out and presented us with a sizeable donation. Some local media also came out to talk with us.

After dinner, we were taken to our host homes. Tommy, Doug, Suchin, and I were taken to a house about 30 minutes outside of Olympia. The gentleman who graciously put us up for the night was a former policeman. He invited us in to his house and allowed to watch the day’s stage from the Tour de France on his big screen TV and allowed us to check our email. He gave us a tour of his house and then showed us where we were staying. Although glad to have a roof over our heads, I think we were all a bit surprised to find out we would be sleeping on the floor of the garage among car parts and stacks for sheet rock. After the lights were turned off, we laughed about our sleeping situation knowing that the other riders were nestled snugly in comfortable beds.

Day 46: July 16 Olympia, WA to Seattle, WA 61 miles

We had to get up a little earlier to be carted the thirty minutes back in to town to meet the other for breakfast. The Hamilton’s provided us with breakfast and gave us sack lunches to take with us. Once again, Tom and John escorted us. The plan was to ride part of the way to Seattle and then take a ferry from somewhere near Tacoma. Tom and John guided us to the ferry point crisscrossing Interstate Five several times, including a short stretch of illegally riding on the should of the Interstate.

It took us longer than expected to get to the departure point, so we missed the ferry. We decided to go ahead and eat lunch at the park, but once again the group had a decision-making breakdown. We were already at the departure point for the ferry, but the next ferry didn’t leave for several hours. We could wait or just go ahead and ride all the way in to Seattle. I wanted to get the day over with and just ride, but no decision was being made. I felt like we were wasting time. I wanted to get into Seattle as soon as possible to see the city. Words were exchanged among several people multiple times, as more and more time passed by.

Eventually, the decision was made to ride the distance to Seattle rather than wait on the next ferry. We set out and pedaled our way toward Seattle. When we arrived in Seattle, we had to find our way to a bike route across the bridge to Bellevue. Our searches were fruitless—we could not find the route. We asked directions form several people and still we were unable to locate the conduit to Bellevue. Steve was getting more and more frustrated, especially after a difficult climb up a steep hill, which resulted in nothing more than tired legs.

Eventually Steve got so frustrated that he took off on his own. We continued our search and eventually found our way over the bridge and then followed a series of bike paths to the church which was hosting us for the weekend. When we arrived at the church, I immediately called my friend Toan who had flown in to meet me for the weekend. He had rented a car and booked a hotel room. Suchin’s girlfriend had also booked a room in the same hotel, so we had all made plans to go out together.

Day 47: July 17 Day off in Seattle, WA

Once I was up and moving around, Toan and I got a hold of Suchin and his girlfriend. We set out to see Seattle. We walked toward the space needle. When we got there, there was a huge festival going on called “Taste of Seattle.” Many of the local restaurants were there serving food and there were numerous give-aways. We wandered through the crowd tasting samples and listening to the live band. Eventually we all grabbed some food and then decided to leave the festival behind.

Someone had told us about a ferry that would take us over to Bainbridge Island where there was a beach. We found the ferry and boarded, snapping pictures of Seattle as we slowly moved away from shore. After the ferry docked at the island, we jumped on a bus that took us a few miles up the road near the beach. We strolled along the sidewalk next to a less than impressive beach. The sand was sparsely populated, although there was beach volleyball game keeping a small crowd entertained.

As we left the volleyball game behind, we approached a large pile of sand on the sidewalk. A woman was intently molding the sand as her small son played nearby. When I neared, I realized the woman was making an incredible sand sculpture in the shape of woman lying down with her child by her head. I stood and watched as this woman scooped away sand and smoothed the tiny grains together to form this amazing work of art.

After satisfying my artistic side, we strolled on along the beach. Suchin and his girlfriend were looking for a place to get some food, while Toan and I were just walking around to take in the scenery. We all ended up in a local coffee shop for a bathroom break and a few refreshments. After the refreshments, Toan and I decided to head back toward the ferry, while Suchin and his girlfriend went in search of food. We made plans to meet back up later that night to go out in a different area of Seattle.

Toan and I set off toward the direction of the ferry when we realized neither of us had any clue where the bus stop was. Without taking the bus, it would be a very long walk back to the pier. As we continued to walk, bus after bus whizzed by on the street, but we never saw one halt at a bus stop. Once we thought we had found a bus stop, but much to our chagrin, when we prepared to climb aboard an approaching bus, it blew by us, leaving Toan and I standing utterly confused.

A short time later, I spotted a Domino's Pizza delivery car idling on the side of the road. When the deliveryman showed back up, we quickly asked him if he could tell us where a bus stop was and how far it was back to the pier. He quickly insisted that we accept a ride to the pier. Toan and I glanced at each other, shrugged, and then hopped in the back seat of the car. As I nestled in to the back seat and the smells of the hot fresh pizzas in the front seat filled my olfactory glands, I glanced out the back window. In the distance I saw Suchin and his girlfriend walking toward us. I pointed them out to Toan and we both laughed as the deliveryman sped away.

The pizza guy delivered us to the pier and received a showering of "thank you’s." I almost felt as though I should tip him, but then I recalled we were the delivery. The pizza doesn't tip the pizza guy. Toan and I ordered some cheap seafood at the pier and waited for what seemed like an eternity for the next ferry to arrive.

Later that evening, the four of us were back together and sought out a new area of Seattle. We found a district full of dive bars and wandered in to one. The bar was dim and made of old wood. The tabletops were old pinball machines and the back of the bar contained a bunch of arcade games from the 1980s. I quickly realized that the bar was very hot and stuffy, so we moved outside to the small patio area in front of the bar. We stood outside and talked to a middle-aged couple that was in town for their daughter's wedding. They decided to go out and live it up and leave their daughter and son-in-law-to-be at home.

We moved on to a bar a few doors down. When we walked in, I once again noticed how warm it was inside, but I also noticed something much worse. The entire bar smelled of vomit. We quickly settled outside in the fresh air. We were craving pizza, so we began a search that lasted much longer than intended. After walking the streets for a good part of an hour, we stumbled upon a late-night diner. We at our food and then went back to the hotel to salvage what little sleep could be fit into the remainder of the quickly eroding night.

Day 48: July 18 Seattle, WA to Mount Vernon, WA 69 miles

After a short night of sleep, Toan drove Suchin and I back to the church in Bellvue to rejoin the rest of the team. I arrived, bid farewell to Toan, and then scavenged through what was left of the breakfast food. Much to my surprise, Tommy informed me that a package had been shipped to Seattle for me. I tore open the box to find a care package sent from my friends. The box contained snack foods, pain relievers, and a couple cards complete with phrases like, "Keep Swimming!" The package definitely made me feel better after a very short night of sleep.

After rifling through the care package and eating a few of the goodies, I sat in on our presentation for the church group. After the presentation, we spoke to a few of the church members before departing. The presentation meant a late start, but part of our mission was to spread awareness. The group said thanks to our hosts and then we pushed out for the day.

Negotiating our way through the urban areas on the outskirts of Seattle north toward Mount Vernon, we road together as a group. The road leading us toward our destination away narrow and shoulderless, so we were riding single file when traffic became heavy. Shortly after crossing an elevated set of railroad tracks, I heard someone yelling for us to stop. When I turned, I saw a mangled pile of bicycles and people occupying the road near the railroad tracks.

The tracks crossed the road at an obtuse angle. Cyclists normally try to cross railroad tracks a right angle, but riding in a pace line with heavy traffic to the left made a right angle impossible. One rider lost it. Dan, Doug, and Kartik all went down. When we heard the yelling, Hogan turned to look back, and he crashed as well.

Luckily no one was seriously injured, but the bikes all took a hit. Hogan bent his derailleur and had to sag the next thirty miles, Kartik broke an arm off on of his aero bars, and Doug's left shifter was severely damaged. After surveying bikes for damage and brushing off dirt and pebbles the rest of the group was on the road again.

Still riding through what seemed like an endless city, lunchtime approached. I noticed Dbear’s truck in the parking log of a closed office building. Hungry eyes fixed on a vehicle holding my food, I failed to notice the lip on the entrance to the parking lot. The entry was raised a couple of inches from the road surface. Instead of slowing and turning to take on the small stair at a perpendicular angle, I slowed slightly and tried to turn in at a twenty-degree angle or so. When I leaned to my right for the turn, my front tire refused to climb the miniature step. I was thrust off of my bike, but luckily in mid-air I was able to instinctly tuck and subsequently roll when I hit the ground. When my body came to a stop, I noticed Chris on the ground about ten feet behind me. We had suffered the same fate. Neither of us was injured beyond some very minor scratches.

Back on the road, we eventually put the urban riding behind us and rejoined nature. As much as I love the big cites, once I got my fix, I was ready to get back out into the mountains and trees. Riding through the climbs and descents and the fresh air, I felt content. We had been given directions to a private lake about twelve miles outside of Mount Vernon where we would be fed dinner and have a chance for a swim. We turned onto the private road and slowly rode down the steep, gravel road.

There was a grass parking lot, which gave way to an area with picnic tables canopied by large trees. Beyond the picnic area laid Lake McMurray. The water was as still and smooth as glass. There was a wooden dock extending from the shore out into the water and a small blue, square floating dock. I had originally looked forward to a swim in the cool water to cap off the day’s ride, but once we arrived no one was really up to taking a dip in the cold water.

Werckle, not deterred by lack of swimmers, jumped in. After a quick swim he climbed onto the floating dock and boasted, "who thinks they can knock me off?" As expected with a large group of competitive males, a large group of us quickly stripped down to our chamois and dove into the water. Soon, a school of cyclists were swimming toward Werckle who was presiding over the small dock. A battle royale ensued as bodies were tossed back into the water almost as fast as they could climb onto the slippery surface of the dock. After an epic battle, a few of us remained lying on the dock gasping for air. No winner was declared, but all had a great time.

We ate dinner and then headed on into town. We had been given a short cut route, but Steve and I misinterpreted and ended up taking the long way. We arrived at the local high school and found out we had access to showers and would be staying in the wrestling room. Then entire floor was padded, but I quickly claimed an exercise mat and placed my things down. We took showers and then our charitable hosts offered to wash our clothes for us.

It was in the wrestling room where I discovered the springboard. Being a wrestling room, the walls and floors were very well padded. Naturally, inspiration hit, and soon Steve and I were launching our bodies off of the springboard into the walls. We’d get a running start, hit the spring board, and fling ourselves toward the padded wall. We’d hit the wall with a thud and then fall to the padded floor laughing. Soon we were striving for height and distance. A few others joined us in our new hazardous sport, but after a short time a general discomfort set in the projectiles that were our bodies, and we retired.

Day 49: July 19 Mount Vernon, WA to Vancouver, BC 79 miles

A local church in Mount Vernon was nice enough to provide us with breakfast. As I pedaled my sore body—launching oneself into a wall results in soreness and bruising—from the high school to the church, I looked up at the sky and noticed the heavens darkening. Was it possible that our streak of rainless weather would soon come to an end? While eating a blueberry muffin and looking outside, the sky opened up. Everyone was chattering about riding the day through the rain, but as plates were cleared, the sky followed suit. By the time we were ready to leave the church, the rain had ceased. We all breathed a sigh of relief at the stoppage of the rain because it was a chilly morning and all our rain gear was in the van, which Tommy had taken back to Seattle to pick up the trailer and new tires.

I pushed out with the slow group and we made our way through the rural areas north of Mount Vernon. As the land flattened out, we found ourselves at what appeared to be an impasse of sorts. A gate blocked the road we were supposed to turn on. The corridor appeared to be a private road through a company’s land even though it appeared on the map. We weren’t sure where else we could cut through since we didn’t have a map with us, so we carried our bikes over the metal gate and continued into the car-free road. We made it through the closed passage without incident, and continued onto another pastoral highway.

As the group rounded a corner and approached a small town, someone realized we had lost Don. We stopped at a small store and waited for him. With no sign of Don, a couple riders went back in fear that he had wrecked and was injured or gotten lost since our directions for the day were slightly complicated. While waiting, someone spotted a bald eagle in the sky. We all rushed out to catch a glimpse of the rare bird.

The large bird was quite majestic. I watched in amazement as the eagle flew over the water looking for its next meal. We were all snapping pictures as quickly as possible, knowing that this might be a once in a lifetime sighting. The eagle perched in the tree, as if it was proudly posing for the flock of paparazzi lingering below. Eventually the great bird tired of us and flew away.

The rescue team returned with an unharmed Don and we made the last twelve-mile push to the Canadian border. In the distance I could see the long line of cars waiting to leave the United States. There was a large grassy area with a monument marking the U.S.-Canadian border. The sign next to the queue of traffic read, “thinkmetric.” My smile widened as I rode toward our northern neighbor. We also noticed another sign just before the border that informed us that Vancouver was 39 miles away. We had already put about fifty-seven miles of riding in, eighty mile day had just turned into a yet another century. Nevertheless, we rode our bikes across the grass and through the open passage in the monument, which marked the border. I had just ridden my bicycle to and into Canada!

Before me was a large flowerbed, which depicted the Canadian flag in red and white flowers. We took many pictures at the border and in front of the monument and flowered flag. We had left behind our home country in favor of foreign soil. Although the day wasn’t even halfway over, the border crossing was a joyous celebration.

I learned that Werckle had taken the Canadian border. At the mile forty rest stop, Werckle left a little early. Steve thought he'd join him, so he hammered and caught up to him. B-Hard then put on the chase. The three of them made a run at the border, but Werckle had a slow leak in his rear tire. Steve was going to give him his rear wheel so Werckle could take the border, but B-Hard sacrificed instead. Steve relegated to be Werckle’s domestique. Shortly thereafter, they rode across the border.


We had to wait for the support vehicles to advance to the front of the line before we took our bikes to the Canadian border officials. We had imagined a nightmare crossing the border. Nineteen cyclists and three vehicles was just asking for a hard time, but the customs agents just asked a few questions, took a quick count, and pointed us to a nearby park where could have lunch.

When I reached the park, I immediately removed my shoes and felt the soft, green Canadian grass beneath my feet. As a few riders were unloading the food for lunch, Steve giddily whispered that if we went now, we could be the first people to pee on Canada. The two of us laughing like little kids ran over to the nearby woods and delivered American water onto Canadian soil. Satisfied, we returned to the group and gloated about our achievement.

After polishing off our first lunch in a foreign country, we start toward Vancouver. A short distance from the border was a small visitor’s center where we stopped to collect a map of the area. Map in our possession, we moved toward Vancouver. However, a couple kilometers—thinkmetric—later we discovered a problem. The highway that was supposed to lead us into Vancouver proclaimed that bicycles were prohibited, but there was supposed to be a bike path that followed the highway.

We searched everywhere for an entrance to the bike path, but we were unsuccessful. We had a decision: risk riding on the highway or find an alternate route. We consulted the map and found a parallel road a few kilometers to the east. We figured since kilometers were less than miles, so the new route couldn’t be much longer. We set out slightly unsure of the new route. We asked a gentleman for help after we turned onto the parallel highway, but he rendered very little assistance.

We continued our path northward negotiating a series of large hills. Eventually we found the highway that would lead us west toward the University of British Columbia. Shortly after the turn someone spotted a liquor store. Meg and Melissa wanted to get a beer and celebrate our arrival in Canada and their ability to now drink legally, so all of us turned into the shopping center.

While the girls were picking out a beer, I struck up a conversation with the clerk. Turns out, he’d been to Texas several times. We talked about Canada and my home state before leaving the store. As the ladies were polishing off their beer, I noticed a microbrewery in the same parking lot. I suggested we get a proper pint before setting back out on course.

The group quickly agreed and we went over to the brewery. As the five of us entered the bar in our cycling gear, we immediately drew attention. I’m guessing no one had seen that much spandex in a bar since the eighties. Undaunted, we found seats at a table and asked for a menu. We all ordered a pint, sat, and relaxed. It wasn’t long before the inquiries started. Patrons, waitresses, and bartenders all wanted to know what Texas 4000 was.

Soon we had pulled up to the bar and were telling stories from the road. The patrons and employees were our captive audience as we all told our stories and conversed with our new Canadian friends. We met one gentleman who was a member of the Canadian Coast Guard. We delayed our leaving the brewery because we were having such a good time talking to our new friends. It wouldn’t take us long to ride the last ten miles to the university. It wasn’t until our coast guard friend asked us where we were staying that we realized something was wrong. When we told him our destination was the University of British Columbia, he informed us that we were much further than ten miles away. We produced the map and started calculating. As soon as I would come up with a figure, someone else would come up with another distance. We eventually realized that we were about thirty miles away!

The day was late and we still had quite a bit of riding to do. We informed our friends that we must push off. Our coast guard friend picked up our tab and then made a donation to Texas 4000. We thanked him profusely. We pedaled away from the brewery concluding one of many positive experiences with Canadians.

I was leading the westward pace line. The ominous clouds in the distance were producing rain showers. I worried we were going to be caught in a downpour before we could make it to our destination. We crossed a large bridge and the rain covered a large portion of the panorama in front of me.

A dry future seemed bleak, but a few miles after we descended the bridge, the highway turned to the west and away from the impending rain. The problem was that the bike lane we were traveling on continued in a northward direction and the highway turned west. We stopped for a quick bathroom break at a cluster of large shrubs and then carried our bikes over the cement barricade, so we could continue our trip on the shoulder of the highway.

We followed the highway and eventually turned north again and into a slightly more urban area. We knew we were in the area of the university, but we had no idea exactly how to get there or where we were staying on the campus. We stopped several times and asked for directions, but the foreign students didn’t really help our group of foreign cyclists much. I had incorrectly assumed that since they were students at the university that they could direct us toward the campus.

Eventually we found out way onto a road that navigated the west side of campus. We now at least knew where campus was, but we still were unsure of where to go on campus. Through a clearing in a group of trees someone spotted the van in a parking lot and then we noticed a few riders who had obviously completed their ride hours before. We yelled at them through the fence and they gave us directions to the dorm that had been provided for us.

Once at the dorm, I grabbed my gear, found a bed in the room Tommy had claimed, and then quickly showered. With a day off the next day, I was already preparing to hit the town. Unfortunately, while I was showering, a group of people had taken the van to go run some errands, so we were stuck at the dorm for the time being. We sat in the lounge and watched TV and made a ramen noodle dinner.

Eventually the group returned and we decided to take public transportation down to an area of town that was known for bars and clubs. We wandered around to a few bars and had some drinks before the group decided to head into a small club that had cheap beer since most of us were pretty poor. Everyone was releasing and having a great time, but eventually we had to leave the club to make sure we could catch transportation back to the campus.

As we made our way toward to dorm, I looked over and noticed that the gate to an outdoor pool was standing slightly askew. I quickly spotted the diving platforms and mentioned I wanted to jump off the ten metre (thinkmetric) platform. Paul and I began debating on whether or not we should slip through the fence for a swim. I turned to look at the pool to make a point and saw a large, white bare ass gliding through the air and disappear into the pool. While Paul and I were discussing the pool, Werckle slid through the fence, stripped off his clothes, and ran straight for the pool.

Paul and I looked at each other and shrugged. Werckle and had the decision for us, so we slipped through the fence and I took off my shoes, socks, and shirt. I quickly climbed to the ten metre platform with Paul following behind. Paul tried to convince me to jump off the lower platform, but I was determined. Before he could attempt to convince me, I jumped and plummeted to the water. I made Paul’s decision for him and he climbed to the higher platform and plunged into the water. After exiting the pool, we made the cold walk back across campus to the dorm. I hung up my wet clothes and went to bed.

Day 50: July 20 Day off in Vancouver, BC

I slept in a bit and woke up wondering what my day would hold. I s******ed to myself after seeing my wet clothes, which brought the events from the previous night flooding back into my thoughts. Many of the riders decided to go explore more of Vancouver, some even went to watch the Gastown Tour, which is a series of one kilometer loops around the Gastown area of Vancouver.

I stuck around campus and explored with Tommy, Steve, and a few others. We found a student center where we were able to use some public access computers. We also grabbed a burger for lunch and ate outside. After lunch, I wandered off by myself. I made my way out to a botanical garden area near the water to sit and parse my thoughts. I sat there staring at the water and the mountains for awhile attempting to grasp the fact that I had ridden my bicycle for over a month and a half to Vancouver, Canada. Even for someone who had done exactly that, it was a hard concept to swallow.

Thousands of miles from home, I sat in a foreign country, having traveled there using only my legs, determination, and the support of people along the way and back home. Through the generosity of people we had met along the way, we had not even touched our food budget. We had originally budgeted $8,000 for food and here we were in Vancouver and had yet spent a dime. That meant an extra $8,000 was going toward cancer research!

In my short time I had spent with our northern neighbors, I realized how genuinely nice everyone had been thus far. I could only hope that the rest of the Canadians would match the friendliness and generosity of the citizens of Vancouver. We had only spent time in a large urban area, but the differences between Canada and the U.S. seemed to be minimal. Conversions from mile to kilometers made for confusion, but most Canadian businesses even accepted American money. Of course, the exchange rate worked to their advantage because they accepted an American dollar as a Canadian one. Canadians tended to turn every sentence into a question by adding “eh?” or “right?” but other than that, our neighbors were not much different.

After reflecting on the sheer vastness of our accomplishment thus far, I made my way back to the computer lab on campus and sent out a few emails to friends and family. I made my way back to the dorm and hung out with those who were still lounging around. I would have liked to explore Vancouver a bit more, but it was nice to just relax and enjoy a day off.

Day 51: July 21 Vancouver, BC to Whistler, BC 76 miles

This morning as we assembled for our pre-ride meeting, Chris asked if I would like to dedicate the ride to someone. I thought about it and quickly decided to dedicate that particular day's ride to my friend Katrina's mother. Her mother was battling breast cancer and was diagnosed the day I was accepted to Texas 4000. With the ride dedication and route discussed, we set out to the resort town of Whistler.

We pushed out from the University of British Columbia and headed east for our initial urban ride. We made our way through Vancouver and over a large bridge carrying us away from the core of the city. We found ourselves in a small park along the water. There was a path that followed the water in the direction we needed to travel, but we were unsure if it met back up with the road we needed to take. An argument ensued about whether to follow the path through the park or take the road and battle traffic.

Werckle made the decision for the group when he got tired of the discussion and took off riding. The group followed behind, and we were officially on our way again. The park path eventually gave way to a road and we were back into traffic. Once we made it through a shop-lined corridor the road began rising and the trees thickened. Houses were interspersed as we snaked our way through a residential area nestled onto a small mountainside.

Eventually the residential neighborhood gave way to the highway and we had to once again battle cars speeding by us. The view was incredible from my vantage point. Before entering the highway, I looked down from a small bridge. The surrounding green mountains fell into a beautiful blue bay filled with cruise ships and small boat. The serene setting was quite soothing, but I had to turn and ride to the highway.

Once on the highway, I was unable to take in my surroundings. The highway hugged the mountainside, with rocky walls extending hundreds of feet skyward. There was little room, and sometimes none at all, between the edge of the highway and the cliff to my left. I carefully descended the highway, carefully navigating potholes, rocks, and debris, while maintaining a path out of the way of traffic.

Eventually the highway leveled off and brought us to our first rest stop of the day. The rest stop was in a parking lot of a couple small stores. Across the highway was a set of railroad tracks and beyond the tracks was a large bay there extended to the base of some beautiful snow-capped mountains. I snapped a few pictures of the surroundings after some refreshments and then Tommy and I set off riding again.

Riding on the highway to Whistler, I saw a huge waterfall off to my right. I asked Tommy if he saw it, and he said that he did. When we saw it a second time from a larger clearing in the trees, we both stopped to snap a few pictures from the highway. As we continued on, we ran into some serious road construction.

The right-hand lanes were closed off and were being resurfaced, so we were forced onto the two left-hand lanes. One lane was designated for traffic traveling in each direction. The problem was that these lanes were no longer paved and were full of large potholes and gravel. To exacerbate the situation further, we were traveling down a seven percent grade. I was white-knuckling my handlebars as I prayed that I would not wreck. Flying down the descent, there was no way to steer in either direction. I had to hold my bike as straight as possible and hope that I could ride over or through anything in my path. If I were to wreck, Tommy would slam into me and there was a good chance that we would both end up in the path of encroaching traffic. I breathed a sigh of relief as we finally made our way onto paved road once again.

We encountered several more sections of construction on our way, but safely approached Whistler. The temperature had risen to close to 95 degrees, which is quite warm by British Columbian standards. The heat was definitely taking its toll, as we had been treated to mild weather all the way up the Pacific Coast. By the time we neared town, Tommy and I had joined a few other riders and we entered the city as a slightly larger group. We found the town center and inquired about a bike shop, but were told that we would most likely only find mountain bike stuff in the shops. Afterwards, we found our way to the Riverside RV Park.

We set up tents and explored the area. A few of the riders who didn’t want to use the pay showers, decided to bathe in the frigid river near the campsite. I opted to spend a few looneys and take a warm shower. Once everyone was cleaned up, a bunch of us packed into the van and drove back into town to explore.

We parked the van and then went into town. The main part of town was brick roads that went right up to the edges of the buildings. There were no cars allowed on the streets and bicycles were only allowed be walked through the streets. With only foot traffic, I felt like I was wandering through a faux city in an amusement park. We found our way to the base of the ski slope, which was surrounded by mountain bikers. The ski lift had been converted to allow mountain bikes to be transported to the top of the slope. Then the mountain bikers could ride down the slope in full body armor.

At the base of the ski slope was the Longhorn Saloon and Grill. It had a large outdoor seating area and big screen televisions, which were showing the Tour de France. The tour coverage didn’t start for a bit, so we decided to find some seats outside and watch the people ride down the mountain. While wandering around the area outside the bar, a kid noticed Bhard’s burnt orange shirt and told his dad that Bhard must be from Texas. Turns out, the boy, Spencer, was the son of Patrick Flynn who owned Flynn Construction in Austin. Hogan had interviewed with Mr. Flynn before he left on the trip and Mr. Flynn had made a donation to Texas 4000. Mr. Flynn and his family were coincidentally vacationing in Whistler and we happened to run into them.

Mr. Flynn then insisted that we all sit down and have dinner with him and his family. We tried to say no, but as any good Texan, Mr. Flynn was stubborn and we eventually accepted his offer. We sat with the Flynn family, ate, and talked about Texas 4000 and the summer. Mr. Flynn told us about his favorite things about Whistler while we quickly devoured the food he so charitably bought us.

After thanking the Flynn family profusely for the food and biding them farewell, we made our way into the bar to watch Lance tackle the time trial on the famous Alpe d’Huez, which he won by over a minute. During the course of watching the tour, we made friends with our waitress, who decided to bring us a round of shots on the house. A few of us decided we wanted to experience the nightlife in Whistler, so we asked her where some good places to go out were. She gave us a few suggestions and said that perhaps she would see us out later, as she was going out after her shift was over.

We wandered around the resort town stopping in at a few bars to check out the scene, eventually settling on one of the places our waitress had told us about. Shortly after arriving, the club started filling up with multitudes of attractive people. We started mingling, and of course we were enjoying the numerous attractive women. I spotted our waitress later and struck up a conversation. I pointed out that the bar was packed with attractive people and inquired how the city was in the winter. She laughed, looked around, and told me to take what I saw before me and multiply it by ten. I immediately added Whistler to my list of places to revisit.

Time escaped us, and before we knew it, the bar was closing. We went back to the van and had the designated driver take us back to the campground. By the time I got settled in to my sleeping bag, it was after three in the morning. I knew that the short night of sleep was going to make for a long day when I woke up in a few hours.

Day 52: July 22 Whistler, BC to Lillooet, BC 85 miles

Today’s ride was just 85 miles. At this point, 85 miles is pretty much a normal day. Only 2 rest stops, lunch, 1 more rest stop, then I’m done. Setting out, I figured it to be a nice day of riding through the beautiful mountains of British Columbia. If I had only known what was in store.

Getting up this morning was a bit difficult due to the late night enjoying the Whistler nightlife, but the late night was worth it. It was the usual morning of rolling up sleeping bags, breaking down tents, inhaling breakfast, and packing up the trailer. Shortly after that we were on the road. It was Pirkle’s day to drive the van, but instead of trying to find someone to drive for him, he elected to drive and let his aching body heal. Pirkle and I were the last two who had not missed a mile of riding. Now it was just me. Every single person on the other route had been in the van. Now everyone on our route except me had been in the van. I was the last man standing. If my knees could hold out another couple weeks and I could continue to find people to take my turns in the driving rotation, I could make it the full trip without ever having to SAG.

The day started out innocent enough. We were riding through valleys surrounded by luscious green mountains kissed at the base by emerald lakes. We soon came to a fork in the road which Dan and I pondered for a bit and finally figured out we needed to turn right. Shortly afterwards Pirkle came from the opposite direction and said he had yet to find anyone, so he was going back the other way to see if anyone took a wrong turn. Soon we had passed the 20 mile point and were looking for a rest stop, but Pirkle had yet to come back. We decided to pull in to a parking lot at some sort of business and sat down to hydrate and eat a little food. Some other riders passed us by and we eventually were on our way too. A few miles up the road, emerald green lakes were only feet to our right just off the roadway. I stopped to snap a couple pictures and we were headed out. Pirkle passed us and said he was going to set up a rest stop at mile 30. We were following the base of the mountain with the lake on our right-hand side. The road appeared to follow the lake around the base of the mountain, but then it took a turn to the left and upward. We saw the van parked at the top of the first turn of the first switchback and then saw the sign informing us of what we were about to face, “Extreme Grades Next 13 Km.”

The riders who passed us earlier were leaving from the 30 mile rest stop as we were pulling in. I ate some food, drank a little water, and refilled my water bottles. I had a conversation with Pirkle about why he decided to drive instead of continuing the quest to not SAG. At this point Steve informed me that they would find someone to take my turn driving even if he had to take all of them, because someone from our team had to ride the whole way. I was the only one left. It made me feel good that my teammates were behind me. What started out as something of a competition had turned into a team effort. There was no way I could continue my streak without my teammates backing me. Steve, Tommy, and a few other riders left. I’m not sure how long later I left, but they had a good head start.

I decided I was going to tackle this monster by myself. I knew it was going to be a rough 13 km, but I’d defeated Tioga Pass. This couldn’t be worse, and it was a shorter distance. As I rounded the first corner I saw the sign with the grades on it. The grades ranged between eleven and fifteen percent for the next 8 miles. Tioga was only about nine percent. This was going to be brutal. I told myself that I could do this climb without stopping. I knew I could. My body would tell me no, but I just had to let my mind control the situation.

Within minutes I was drenched in sweat. My legs were already aching and I quickly became aware of a new problem I had never noticed before. Insects can’t really keep up with you when you are riding 15-20 miles an hour, but when you are pushing as hard as you can and only doing 5-7 miles an hour they have no problem. Canadian bugs are much different than what I was use to in Texas. The mosquitoes were annoying, but those I’ve dealt with. However, in Canada the horseflies are big enough to eat a large dog. When they are buzzing around your head, it sounds like a squadron of World War II bomber planes approaching. And they bite. Aching legs, gallons of sweat, mosquitoes, and loud, biting horseflies. You’d think that was bad enough, but there’s one more thing. There are also very small black flies that you can barely see and can’t hear. And they bite too. At least the horseflies are slow and loud. The small flies are virtually undetectable until they bite. So let me paint a picture for you. Imagine a cyclist riding up a very steep hill, drenched in sweat, swatting at the visible swarm of horseflies, slapping himself trying to kill small flies that no one can see. And he’s doing all this while attempting to keep his balance. I’m sure it was rather comical to anyone driving by in a car.

As I continued to make turn after turn and climb after climb, my body continued to heat up. The air temperature was only in the upper 70s or lower 80s, but it felt like it was 100 degrees. Eventually, I started to pass small waterfalls that were coming out of the rocks. When I’d pass one, you could feel the cold air permeating from the water. They were like small air conditioners that gave me relief for about a second and a half. I made a turn and saw Steve and a few other riders stopped at one of the waterfalls dousing their bodies with the frigid water. They told me to stop, but I just continued. I told them I was going to make it without stopping. A few more turns and I passed a couple girls who had stopped their car on the opposite side of the road. They yelled some words of encouragement and told me that when I got to the other side, my work would be worth it. I replied with, “I sure hope so.”

I eventually passed all of the rest of the riders except Hogan. Everyone had stopped to take breaks. I envied them. I really did. My legs were jelly at this point, and I just wanted to take a break. I knew I was nearing the top, so there was no way I was stopping. I came around the corner and saw Hogan and an older gentleman stopped at a park alongside the road. Hogan yelled for me to join them, but I just kept going. I was rounding the final turn of this hellacious climb. I had been pushing myself hard, but I saw the top and kicked it up a notch. I sprinted (I’m using that term loosely) to the top, stopped my bike, climbed off, and promptly puked on the side of the road.

My original intention was to just finish the climb without stopping, but due to everyone else taking breaks or stopping somewhere along the ride, I found myself standing alone next to my puke at the top. I was now the first rider to the top of both of the most difficult climbs of the ride. I know that if it had actually been a race, I would not have been the first to the top, but that was not the point. I was there alone. I’d done it.

I composed myself after the puking incident and soon Hogan and the older gentleman arrived. Hogan had been riding out front and caught up with the older rider who turned out to be a professor at UCLA. His wife was following him in the car as support. Hogan and the man had talked on the climb and they generously gave him water and an energy bar when they arrived at the top. Shortly after that, Seth arrived and then others followed. We decided that even though it had only been about 8 miles, we wanted our lunch stop after that brutal climb.

We all went and sat in a grassy area and waited for the van. And waited. A few of us snapped some pictures of the surrounding mountains while we all attempted to avoid the various biting insects that were settling in around us. After what seemed like an eternity, Pirkle and the van arrived with out lunch that once again consisted of peanut butter sandwiches and a piece of fruit.

After eating Steve, Werckle, and I decided to head out. We were the first group to leave, and we quickly started seeing out reward for the climbing we did earlier. Our route followed a mountain river descending toward the valley. The river ran swiftly downhill and we glided effortlessly on the road carved out of the huge trees. We looked around in amazement at the green mountains contrasting with the larger snow-capped mountains in the background. Everywhere we looked was raw nature. We hoped to see a bear or a moose, but they eluded us. Once the road flattened out, we road past lake after lake which from a distance appeared to be colored with and emerald green dye, yet when we approached were as clear as glass.

The road was a bit rough, but manageable. Then we started climbing again. We were climbing a road that was literally cut into the side of the mountain. Just to our right was the mountain, and across the lane to our left was a long drop-off. The more we climbed the bigger the drop off. At times the fall to the bottom of the canyon was probably 1500-2000 feet, and there were times that the only thing that separated us from that drop was a 3-foot high concrete barrier. Looking out at the valleys and the mountains were simply breathtaking, and I really don’t think any of us were thinking about how close to death we really were.

The ride shifted to climbs and descents. We’d climb for awhile and then hit an 11-12% descent, which made for fun riding. I’d pedal as hard as I could, crouch down into an aerodynamic position, and then watch the miles per hour tick up on my computer. On my first of the big descents I hit 47 miles an hour without a single pedal stroke. The next descent that came up I was determined to break 50 and I really wanted to push 60, so I decided to pedal down the descent. I took a blind corner too fast and ended up in the other lane, so I had to brake. Luckily, there was no oncoming traffic or I likely would have been toast. We put some more mileage behind us and did some climbing and descending and then finally came upon a sign that we knew marked our descent into Lillooet.

I knew this was my last chance of the day to break the 50 mph barrier, so we studied the sign. The sign shows a 13% grade followed by a hairpin turn to the right. Next up were two turns the left followed by a nice one kilometer descent before the grade changed to 11% followed by another ¾ of a kilometer of straightaway. After that there was another sharp, almost hairpin turn followed by a little over 2 kilometers of straight roadway. Then end of the descent seemed to be my best bet to crack 50 (and possibly 60), but the grade changed to 10% and there were two intersections which we didn’t know how busy they would be. This shifted my focus to the section of one kilometer of 13% and the ¾ of a kilometer of 11% grade. I knew I’d have to start slowing before that second sharp turn, but I knew if I could keep enough speed through the second turn of the descent, I could probably hit 50 long before I’d have to start slowing.

Steve, Werckle, and I decided that we should space out 45 seconds to a minute on our descent in case anyone went down. That way we wouldn’t take out the person behind us. It was decided that I would be the first out of the gate. I was excited. I could feel the rush of the descent calling my name. I turned to Steve and Werckle, bid them farewell, and told them I’d see them in Lillooet.

And with that I was off. I flew down the mountain trying to maintain a speed slow enough to properly brake before the first hairpin turn. I could see the road below me and knew there was no traffic approaching so I knew I had use of the opposite lane as well. I feathered my brakes, slowed and successfully maneuvered the turn. Now it was time to pick up a little speed, make the next turn to the left and go for it. I began picking up speed and entered the turn, but I quickly realized that I had picked up too much speed. I started braking, but the concrete barrier was rapidly filling my field of vision. I leaned into the turn and pulled parallel with the concrete barrier while continuing to very carefully brake. My pedal was inches from making contact with the barrier, but if I could just hold on a couple more seconds the turn would straighten out and I would be in the clear. Just then my back tire found some gravel and I felt the back end start to fishtail. It was at this point I knew I was in trouble. This is where everything happens so fast, yet everything is in slow motion.

I completely lost the back end and my bike slammed into the concreted barrier at about 35 miles an hour. I was flipped upside down and propelled forward. I felt and heard my helmet scraping against the top of the concrete barrier. As that happened, my helmet was ripped from my head, I completed the flip and landed in some shrubs in a sitting position facing away from the road. As I sat there for what seemed like an eternity, I thought to myself, “that wasn’t so bad.” And just as that thought finished, I realized what I thought was an eternity was mere fractions of a second when my bike flew over my left shoulder and landed in front of me.

I sat there dazed for a few seconds trying to collect myself. I finally realized I was still alive and stood up. Just as I got to my feet I heard Steve approaching and slowing. He was asking me what was going on. He later told me that as he approached, he saw me walking around on the other side of the barrier without a helmet and thought I was searching for something or had to go to the bathroom. Steve finally realized what happened when he saw my bike and asked if I was ok. I said I was and then he pointed out that my leg was bleeding. It was about this time that Werckle showed up and the questions were repeated.

I surveyed myself as Steve and Werckle recovered my bike. I had a large section of skin on my upper right thigh that was missing, a few holes in my riding shorts, and a series of other scrapes and scratches on my forearms, but other than that I was unscathed. My bike wasn’t quite so lucky. The bar tape was ripped off on one side and my computer was trashed. Neither of these was too crippling. Then we noticed a crack in my carbon fiber fork. The crack only appeared to be on the surface, so that didn’t appear to be too bad either. However, with carbon fiber I was still at risk. Next we noticed that one of my shifters was bent and my front derailleur was way off. We only had a couple more kilometers left and it was all downhill, so I could ride in with these issues and resolve them later. The back rim was another story. It was so out of true that it wouldn’t even spin a quarter of a turn even with the brakes opened all the way up. Luckily, Steve was a veteran cyclist and took charge. He removed my back rim and started beating it on the road. He’d take a look at it and then hammer away some more.

As Steve was doing emergency repair on my rear wheel, I looked around and realized how lucky I had been. Almost every other concrete barrier we had passed that day was keeping objects on the road from plunging 1500 feet down the side of a mountain. This particular one greeted me with some relatively soft bushes to cushion my fall. I looked at the top of my helmet and saw where it had scraped against the top of the concrete wall before freeing itself from my head. Had my trajectory been a few inches lower, I would have hit my head or neck on the barrier while the rest of my body attempted to continue its flight path. I could have easily broken my neck. When I landed, my bike flew over my shoulder missing my head by inches. At this point my helmet had come off. If the bike had hit me in the head, I likely would have sustained some serious injuries, especially if I had take a wheel or a chain ring to the head. I was very fortunate; someone was looking out for me on this particular day.

We put my wheel back on and tested it. It still wouldn’t complete a rotation because it was rubbing on the brakes, so we opened the brakes all the way up. Now the wheel would spin a full rotation. Not the safest but I only had to make it a few more kilometers down to Lillooet where we could reassess the situation. Since I was going to take the rest of the descent slowly and because I now only had front brakes, I decided to occupy the last position to finish out the ride. Steve and Werckle left at intervals while I dusted the rest of the gravel and debris from my arms and legs. I put my helmet back on and cautiously eased back onto the road.

I was lightly feathering my brakes to try and take a little speed out. I was riding with only front brakes, an unstable back rim, and a possible cracked front fork. Any number of things could go wrong. If I had to brake hard, I’d go over the handlebars and eat a face full of asphalt. If my front fork cracked, I’d eat a face full of asphalt. If my rear wheel decided to taco, I’d eat a face full of asphalt. I’d probably ridden a kilometer or so when one of my water bottles came loose and went skidding across the road. I carefully slowed as not to crash again. A passing car stopped as they saw me heading back uphill. I can only guess they saw the blood on my leg and arms, because they asked if I was ok and if I needed a ride. I replied that I was ok, that I was just going back to retrieve my water bottle. I made my way down the rest of the descent incident free and found Steve and Werckle waiting for me. Apparently they were starting to get worried that I had crashed again since it had taken me awhile to descend.

We found the campground that we were supposed to be staying at that night. The Cayoosh Campground was giving us a place to stay and they also provided us with steaks to grill and corn for dinner (as well as charcoal and lighter fluid). Rider after rider poured into the camp while I inspected my injuries and the damage to my bike. Soon word came in that Chris had crashed on the descent as well. Once he made it into camp, we compared stories and realized we both crashed at the same spot. Chris seemed to have collected a bit more road rash than I did, and my bike seemed to have taken a bit more damage than his.

A local reporter had come out to interview us for an article in the Lillooet newspaper. He chatted with a few of us. We talked about our insane climb up Duffy Lake Road (or Mt. Curry as it is called) and how beautiful the rest of the ride was. The reporter informed us that the road from Whistler to Lillooet was rated as one of the top ten most scenic drives in North America.
As we all told stories of the day, talked to the reporter, set up tents, and prepared for our feast of steak, we noticed a van pull into the parking lot. The occupants of the van approached us carrying what appeared to be milk crates. I soon realized it was a young couple and that they were carrying crates full of ice-cold Gatorade. We all scrambled to secure our favorite flavor of Gatorade—I snagged the last Fierce Grape. The couple told us they had read about our journey in the local paper and felt compelled to support our noble cause. They not only supplied us with Gatorade, but also handed us a check for a monetary donation.
The cheerful couple told us about their year-old twins and their life in the tiny, but beautiful, town of Lillooet. When they finally revealed the true reason for their generosity, we were all left speechless. The woman (whose name has escaped me but whose memory never will) had an inoperable brain tumor and was given less than a year to live. As I looked into her and her young husband's eyes, I saw the humanity behind the disease and was humbled by their bravery. It was then that I knew why we where there and what we were riding for. Once the awkward silence passed, we thanked them profusely for their generosity, and in return they thanked us for what we were doing. They gathered their milk crates, climbed into their van, and drove away leaving us all in a reflective mood.
Once the couple left and we had our tent set up, I figured it was time to go shower and clean up. The warm water stung as it rolled over the various areas of road rash. Trying to dry off with a towel was almost as painful. After the shower a few of us kicked the soccer ball around until it was time to eat. The steaks were an excellent reward for a rough day of riding. With my stomach full of food corn and steak, Steve, Tommy, Dbear, and I chatted for a bit until I drifted off to sleep.

Day 53: July 23 Lillooet, BC to 100 Mile House, BC 76 miles

I woke up after a restful night of sleep. My previous day's injuries rushed back into my mind when I moved to crawl out of my sleeping bag. Over the course of the night the road rash on my leg had bonded to the inside of my sleeping bag. When I tried to get out of the cocoon, the area was ripped free from the bond. An immediate stinging sensation struck and I winced in pain as I looked down at the freshly opened injury. I put on my riding gear, pulling my shorts up above the road rash so that I would not have to repeat the painful separation process at the end of the day.

The ride today would take us from Lillooet to 100 Mile House. On the way, we would pass through 40 Mile House, 70 Mile House, 94 Mile House, and several others. Canadians were constantly reminding us to thinkmetric, so I was quite perplexed at the names of these towns. Turned out that 100 mile house was named in the mid-1800s when the gold rush started to head north. Lillooet was close to mile zero of the Cariboo Gold Rush Trail which extended 300 miles northward to the Barkerville gold fields. Towns were set up at different intervals along the trail to profit off the prospectors heading north in search of riches.

We had a late start of about 9:00 on what was going to be the longest day I’d ridden since the fiasco heading in to Portland. Once again, Tommy and I were riding together as we left the stunning little town of Lillooet behind. We had to take a highway out of town that eventually connected with Highway 97. Once we turned on to Highway 97, we realized that something wasn’t quite right about the distance to our destination. We had arrived at the 20 Mile House Store, but our computers had already logged forty miles on the day.

Tommy and I were trying to convert the kilometers left to miles and add that to what we had already ridden, but we were getting totals that were well over one hundred miles. We kept refiguring and over-thinking, but all our calculations were still over one hundred miles. It was yet another hot day in southern British Columbia, and the thought of adding more miles to an already long day was quite disheartening.

The near-100 degree heat was slowly draining the energy from my body when we finally spotted Dbear’s truck around the sixty mile mark. His truck was parked near a lake on that was only a few feet from the edge of the highway. The water looked quite inviting, and Dbear said that Steve and a couple others had dunked their heads in the cool water. I was tempted, but decided to not jump into the lake.

Dbear confirmed that the other riders were also confused with the distance to our destination. It seemed as though we still had around sixty miles to go. The distance itself wasn’t an issue. It was more of trying to mentally accept an extra twenty miles. We consulted the map, but we still were not confident in our conversion skills. What was still the most perplexing was that we knew it was 100 miles from Lillooet to 100 Mile house, yet the distances weren’t matching up.

Regardless of the distance, we had to finish the ride. That’s what we did day after day. Tommy and I pedaled away and hope for a shorter day. As we continued the ride, the mountains seemed to stay behind and the land flattened out a little, although flat was a very relative term. There were still plenty of rolling hills, climbs, and descents.

We rode into a small town and decided to go head and stop at a grocery store to buy a few snacks. Tommy and I both bought a couple things and then sat out on the wooden front porch of the store to relax and eat our food and finish off some cold orange crème sodas. We took our time and then moved on toward 100 Mile House.

Eventually as the sun drew closer to the horizon, we pulled in to 100 Mile House just as Tommy’s computer turned over to 117 miles. We eventually found our campground and started setting up our tents. There was a river at the bottom of a deep ravine next to the campground. We finally learned why 100 Mile House was 117 miles from Lillooet. The distance was indeed 100 miles, but the original trail is a gravel road that went almost directly over a mountain peak. In order for us to take paved highways to 100 Mile House, we had to detour around the mountain, and that detour added seventeen extra miles.

We took Dbear’s truck to another campground in town that had pay showers. I was able to shower for the first time in a couple days. I still had to be very careful with my road rash, but the hot sun had dried the wound into a hard scab. After showering, Dbear, Tommy, and I decided to reward ourselves with a pizza and root beer at a local pizza joint. Once the feeding commenced, we returned to the campground and shared stories of our long day of riding. A few riders spotted a bear earlier in the day, which made me quite jealous.

Day 54: July 24 100 Mile House, BC to Williams Lake, BC 80 miles

The usual morning routine was followed. As I packed my stuff away and helped take down the tent, the breakfast crew was busy boiling water for yet another morning of oatmeal. I’ve had periods in my life where I’ve eaten the same thing for breakfast day after day, but it was my choice. The vast majority of the last fifty four days I’ve eaten oatmeal because I had no choice.

There comes a point where it is hard to stomach certain foods. The oatmeal had become laborious to eat. We had added different fruit, syrup, brown sugar, even peanut butter, but in the end, it was still oatmeal. Bananas had also made my list of less than desirable foods at this point in the ride. The top of my list was probably peanut butter. Peanut butter sandwiches were a daily staple. I felt lucky if I could get my hands on some jelly or honey to spice things up a bit. While I would have enjoyed better food, I had to keep in mind there was a reason for eating oatmeal and peanut butter sandwiches every day. It was cheap. The cheaper we ate the more money we saved. The more money we saved, the more money would donate to the American Cancer Society. It was worth it.

The day’s ride wasn’t incredibly memorable. I felt as though I was becoming too acclimated to the beautiful surroundings, which caused me to miss out on some of the incredible country I was riding through. About twenty miles from the end of the ride, as my legs continued their familiar circular motion, I began to feel the dreaded springy feeling on the back of my bike.

Suchin was riding behind me, so I asked him if my back tire appeared to be low. He confirmed that it did, so we stopped. Indeed the back tired had lost some air, but it wasn’t completely flat. I didn’t have a spare tube on me, so I hoped it was only a slow leak. I borrowed Suchin’s pump—I lost mine somewhere in Texas a few days into the trip—and inflated my tire. We began riding again, but soon I could feel the springy feeling again. I knew I needed to do something about the back tire.

I went ahead and removed my tire and pulled the tube out. Neither Suchin nor I had a spare tube. I told him to go ahead with me and I would wait for another rider or one of the support vehicles. Suchin said he would wait on me. Not too long after, the trio of Don, Melissa, and Meg caught up and donated a tube to my cause. I watched the trio pedal away as I installed the new tube and reattached my wheel.

Back on our way toward Williams Lake, Suchin and I talked of swimming in the lake. We assumed that a town called Williams Lake would likely be situated on or near a lake of the same name. After finishing just short of 200 miles in two days, a swim in a cool, British Columbian lake sounded fantastic. We made plans to locate a beach or somewhere we could take a relaxing swim after the conclusion of the ride.

As we neared the city, I caught sight of an enormous lake ahead to our left. The surrounding mountains hugged the lake, which stretched for what looked like miles at their base. As we got closer, the highway skirted the north side of the lake, and I could see the town ahead nestled on the eastern shore. As Suchin and I rode onward, we were both lost in thoughts of swimming in the lake.

Once we entered town, we turned north and headed to a church, which was nice enough to allow us to stay in a large downstairs area. I immediately inquired about swimming, but I found out that the beach area was likely closed. Tommy, Dbear, and I went to Safeway to pick up a few things after we unloaded our stuff. When we entered, Dbear spotted the love of his life. There she was, working at Safeway in a small Canadian town. Dbear was quite smitten with Miss Safeway. She was quite attractive, but Dbear couldn’t stop talking about her.

In the parking lot, we were stopped by a friendly gentleman who professed his love for all things American. He asked us about Texas 4000 and talked incessantly about how much he loved George Bush and other assorted things about our home country. The man continued to talk for what seemed like an eternity while we entertained him with a steady stream of “yeah’s,” uh huh’s,” and “ok’s.” Before leaving, he shared his religious beliefs with us. The three of us thanked him for the conversation as he bid us farewell. We then returned to the church and settled in for the night.

Day 55: July 25 Williams Lake, BC to Quesnel, BC 87 miles

The group was to give a presentation to a group at the church this morning, but we also needed a few errands run. I volunteered to help with errands along with Tommy and Dbear. We also found a laundry mat close by, so we could do some laundry while taking care of the tasks that needed to be done before pushing out for the day. I had not done any laundry since Vancouver. It had only been four days, but when you only have a duffle bag of clothes it’s a good idea to do laundry as much as possible, especially when you have no idea when you will have access to a washer and dryer again.

We threw our clothes in the washer and then went back to Safeway to pick up food for the team. Tommy and I both knew that Dbear had volunteered with hopes that he could steal another glance at the Safeway girl. Unfortunately for Dbear, the love of his life was not working. We finished up the errands, grabbed our freshly clean clothes, and went back to the church to join up with the others to start the day’s ride.

When we got to the church, I immediately regretted missing the presentation. During the presentation, Suchin mistakenly told the group that they should check their prostate daily. A new catch phrase had been born. We’d put our index and middle finger up on one hand and say “Check Yo Self!”

Reciting the new slogan, we packed up and began riding. We were once again following the Cariboo Highway northward. The highway paralleled the Willow River for much of the day. The days ride was pretty flat since we were following the low point in the valley next to the river. Unfortunately the day’s ride was rather forgettable as there were no major obstacles to overcome.

When we entered the town of Quesnel, we found an old church that was providing our lodging and food for the night. We entered the basement of the church where rows of tables had been set up for the impending feast. Members of the church and the Canadian Cancer Society spoke with us and presented us with small pins proudly displaying the symbols of Quesnel.

We were treated to a large buffet of food, which had been prepared by the church members. I ate until my stomach could not stretch any more. After dinner we were given directions to a gym down the street, which was kind enough to allow us to use their showers. We walked the few blocks down to the gym and washed off a couple days worth of sweat and dirt. After showering, I went back to the church to listen to music and do a little reading before going to sleep.

Day 56: July 26 Quesnel, BC to Prince George, BC 76 miles

We left the church and rode across town to eat a donated breakfast at an A&W Restaurant. When we arrived, we were told we could order anything on the menu. Suchin and I noticed that they were not just serving breakfast, but they were serving their entire menu. A greasy burger was sounding quite appealing to both of us, so we took the plunge and ordered burgers and fries. After devouring our breakfast, we thought it would be a great idea to order root beer floats. Suchin and I both quickly inhaled our dessert.

After breakfast, it was time to move on toward Prince George. A couple miles outside of town, my stomach began to feel heavy. The combination of grease, carbonation, and ice cream were somehow chemically reacting to form what felt like a large rock in my stomach. Moaningly, I looked over at Suchin, and I could see the disgust on his face as he was experiencing the same problem. The two of us slowly struggled up the climb leading out of Quesnel.

Suchin and I both suffered through about an hour of stomach problems before our bodies finally felt normal once again. It was yet another gorgeous day of riding through the warm British Columbian sun, but the riding seemed to have flattened out a bit compared to some of the previous days.

Later in the day, Suchin and I approached the van for one of the last rest stops of the day. Bhard, Dan, and a few other riders were finishing up their breaks when we showed up. The van was parked along the highway next to an open grassy area. Suchin had to go to the bathroom, so he asked the other riders where they had gone. The only cover around was a couple of large stone pillars that marked the gate entrance to a large ranch. Suchin went over to the gate to relieve himself. While he was peeing, a van turned off of the highway and into the drive that lead up to the gate. We all began laughing as the car approached Suchin. The van passed him without incident, but Suchin returned to a van erupting with laughter.

From the rest stop, it was a short ride in to Prince George where we made our way to one of our host family’s homes. There were several host families that were taking us in, but our first stop was the Spicer-Thompson household. We were greeted with refreshments and warm smiles. Tommy had gone ahead to retrieve our mail, so when he showed up, I was given a small package containing a Livestrong bracelet and a couple other things. I already had one of the yellow bracelets, so I gave it to one of my fellow riders.

The Rocky Route had acquired a large donation of protein cookies, but the shipment had not arrived in Prince George when they rode through. It was now in the garage of one of the host homes, so we had to pick up the cookies to deliver to and share with the Rocky Route. Pirkle, Dbear, and I went to the home of David and Susan, where we found a truck pallet of protein cookies. The pallet contained 200 pounds of cookies. Once we joined the Rocky Route, there would be forty riders, which meant each rider had five pounds of cookies to eat to ensure we didn’t waste any of the shipment. I knew I would soon be adding protein cookies to my list of foods I now hated.

Soon the entire team went to Wendy and Richard Girard’s house to socialize and eat dinner. All the host families came over and we met the people we would be staying with and chatted with everyone. We talked about our experiences on the ride and the citizens of Prince George enlightened us on how they lived through the brutal Canadian winters. Seth, Don, Suchin, and I found out we were assigned to stay with the Girards for the night. Wendy and Richard informed us that they would be taking us out to a bar that night and then waterskiing the next day.

After the potluck dinner, the other riders departed and Wendy loaded us up into her minivan to take us to a local indoor pool. We were able to sit in the pool, relax, and chat. Suchin, Seth, Don, and I competed in the steam room challenge to try and sweat it out as long as possible. No winner was declared as the staff came in to shut down the steam room before anyone gave in and retreated back to the pool.

After we concluded our time in the pool, we showered and went back to the Girard’s house to change clothes and prepare for our night out on the town with Wendy and Richard. When it came time to leave we walked out the front door and Richard happened to look up at the sky. He pointed out that the northern lights were visible.

I looked up at the sky and stopped dead in my tracks. The northern lights are much more prevalent in the winter and away from the illumination of a city, but there, before my eyes were waves of color. I’d always been fascinated by the magnetic phenomenon, but I never realized what they were all about. Previous to seeing them with my own eyes, I’d only seen pictures of the famous lights. Still pictures gave me the misconception that the northern lights were just bright hues of static color on the horizon. As I watched, waves of mostly green tones shifted and rolled across the night sky. The palette of colors danced across the sky as if guided by a symphony of classical music. I stood speechless for several minutes unable to blink fear the lights would be gone in the fraction of the second my eyes were closed.

The Girards let us enjoy nature’s laser light show, but eventually they urged us to climb into the van. I think they knew that the four of us could have stood there motionless all night staring at the sky. As I climbed into the van, I looked back skyward many times to steal glances not knowing if I’d ever see the Aurora Borealis again.

Richard and Wendy first wanted to take us to a country-western bar called the Cadillac Ranch, but it was closed. They were then going to take us to a rock and roll joint called the Generator, but it too was closed. We finally settled on another bar, which had a live band playing. The band was playing mostly covers, none of which they were extremely good at. Apparently they weren’t very good at memorizing lyrics either, because there were endless sheets of paper with the lyrics to the songs taped hanging from the ceiling.

After a fight broke out in the bar, we decided it was time to go back to the Girard house and retire for the night. On the ride back to the house, I stared out the window in hopes of seeing color in the sky, but to my dismay only darkness stared back at me. As I settled into bed that night, I realized that today we crossed the 3500-mile mark on our trip. My mind made a feeble attempt to process that fact as I drifted into unconsciousness.

Day 57: July 27 Day off in Prince George, BC

The morning was reserved for packing the van. We had to get all our bikes and gear into the trailer for the drive to Whitehorse. We all convened back at the Spicer-Thompson house where the van and Dbear's truck were parked out back. I grabbed a quick bite to eat and then went out back to help with the packing. I tried to concentrate on helping, but all I had on my mind was getting done with packing, so we could head out to the lake to water ski and wakeboard.

I urged everyone to quickly pack, so I could maximize my time on the lake. I felt bad that all I wanted to do was bail on my duties, but the lake was calling my name. Packing only took a few hours, but it felt like an eternity. Finally the majority of the preparation for the drive was done, and Don, Suchin, Dan, and I were released to go with the Girards out to the lake.

The Girards had some close friends who had a house on a lake about twenty minutes from Prince George. The girls and their host were also invited out to the lake. When we arrived we were greeted by our new hosts and were given a quick tour of the grounds. A simple one-room house was situated at the top of the hill. A path led down the hill to a wooden deck, which led down to the boat dock. Their property was situated on a large arm of the lake which extended away from the main part of the body of water.

We followed the stone stairs down to the wooden deck that overlooked the lake. The girls and their host had already arrived and were snacking on some finger foods. We sat in the warm sun and ate fresh fruit, chips, and sipped on refreshing beverages. After we ate lunch, it was time to climb into the boat and do some wakeboarding.

It was the moment I had been waiting for since the previous day when I was first told that the lake was to be our destination. I quickly found a life vest and headed toward the boat. The engine cranked up and the radio came on. It was at this point that I found out a fact about our neighbors to the north. Canadians love country music. Before any of us Texans got a crack at wakeboarding, our hosts’ sixteen-year old son got to show off. He spent his entire summers on the lake, and it showed. As he cut across the wake, he landed flip after flip to the “oohs” and “awes” of us neophytes.

Don was the first of us to take his turn trying to wakeboard. With a quick lesson, he was out in the water. The engine roared and he was right back in the water. The process repeated many times, but he was never able to get up. Dan was up next. Dan had been wakeboarding before, so naturally, he little problem. He got up on the first try and actually proceeded to jump the wake a couple times.

I had been itching to get my turn, and I was finally going to get my chance. I listened to my quick lesson and then hopped in the water. I got into the position I was been instructed and held on to the rope. I gave the thumbs up and the engine roared. The rope went tight and I started to come out of the water, but quickly went right back in. The next attempt the rope immediately broke loose from my grip. I was determined to master the art of beginning wakeboarding. A few more failed attempts later and I knew I was on my last try. The engine roared, I held on and felt myself come out of the water. I turned the wakeboard and I was riding on top of the water! A smile broke out on my face, but a few seconds later, I leaned too far forward and found myself headed face first toward the surface of the lake. Eyes wide open, my face hit the water forcefully. As, I went under the water, I felt like my eyes had been pushed into the depths of my brain. I could see, but my eyes were incredibly painful.

After my attempt to blind myself, Suchin was the next to attempt. With country music blaring, Suchin made attempt after attempt, but had no luck in getting up. We were dropped off at the dock while the girls made their attempts, and were actually successful. The hosts’ daughter then took her turn on water skis and showed us what spending summers on a lake can do for your water skiing skills. She, like her brother, wowed us with her talent.

After the daughter finished skiing, Dan and I were given chances to attempt water ski. Dan, once again, found it quite easy even skiing slalom. When my turn came, I was determined to be more successful than I was at wakeboarding. I got some quick instruction and then I was in the water. I gave the thumbs up, the engine roared, and the rope tightened. I quickly rose up and found myself gliding across the surface of the water. We went the length of the arm of the lake before I was bold enough to leave the wake. As the boat was turned toward the main part of the lake, I cautiously made my way outside the wake. While I felt more and more comfortable, my forearms became more and more angry with me. Eventually, I couldn’t hold on anymore and the rope broke free from my hands. The boat circled back around and they asked me if I wanted to ski back. I could hear my forearms begging me to say no, but I quickly said yes. I made the quick ski back with a smile on my face.

When we got back to the dock, the group of high school kids asked if our hosts and the Girards if we could stay at the lake house for the night. After Don, the girls, and a couple other departed, we got to take the boat back out to do some tubing. Three large inner tubes were attached by ski ropes to the back of the boat. One person lay across each inner tube and then the boat would get up to speed and drive in figure eights so that it would cross back across the old wake. When the inner tubes would cross, they would be sent airborne crashing into the other tubes or flipping over. It was quite a lot of fun.

Day 58 & 59: July 28 & 29 Drive to Whitehorse

I woke in a chair at the front of the lake house. The air was quite cool as people began to stir. Our hosts began cooking breakfast, and before I knew it, I was eating pancakes and drinking orange juice. It was a great beginning to the day after such a long night. After breakfast, we thanked our lake house hosts and piled into the van to head back to the Girard’s to collect our belongings. We thanked the Girards when they dropped us off at the Spicer-Thompson house.

A short time later, the team was bidding a collective farewell to all our hosts as pulled away from Prince George. Tommy and Dbear were in the truck, and the remainder of us piled into the van for what would be a long journey. As Prince George became a speck in the rearview mirror, I quickly fell asleep thanks to the little rest I got at the lake house.

I was in and out of consciousness for the better part of the morning and only became fully cognizant when we stopped to refuel at a 7-11. I got out of the van to use the restroom and quickly realized that I was quite hungry. I roamed through the few aisles looking for something that appealed to me, but wasn’t covered in an inch of dust.

Just as I thought I wouldn’t find anything that appealed to me, I saw a sign over the register. There was a special on chips, a drink, and a hot dog. I don’t know why, but for some reason, the hot dogs revolving back and forth across the less than hygienic metal heating tray sounded quite appealing. And what was that? Free chili and cheese? How could I resist? In a few short hours I would feel sorry for everyone else in the van, but I indulged nevertheless.

The other must have been seriously jealous of my gourmet lunch, for when they saw my food they decided that it was time for lunch. They settled on a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and although mashed potatoes and gravy would have tasted quite good, I was happy with my purchase, which I immediately consumed in the parking lot of KFC.

Finished with lunch, we packed back in to the van and continued the road trip north. As I sat there packed into the back seat enjoying the stunning landscape around, I realized I longed to be on the bike. The extra rest was good for my aching body, but I think all of us would have rather been on our bikes battling the elements than to be packed into a van, even with radio and air conditioning.

Looking into the woods next to the road, we saw several black bears carousing in the vegetation. A short time later, looking into the mountains someone caught sight of a glacier. It had turned quite chilly outside, so I had to wipe the fog away from the window to peer at the great block of ice, but I was mesmerized. As I looked into the depths of other mountains in the area, I caught sight of a few more of the white giants.

The weather had turned chilly and rain was periodically falling as we continued our drive. The sun was moving toward the horizon and we were all quite tired of being cramped into the van. None of us were use to being sedentary all day. We stopped again to refuel at a small gas station/restaurant seemingly in the middle of nowhere. There was a short debate of whether to ask about camping in the large area next to the building or forging on to put more miles behind us. The decision was reached to continue driving to make the next day’s drive shorter.

We crammed back into the van and continued the drive as darkness set in and the rain came and went. With night consuming the van, I was left with no light to read and no scenery to pass the time. I closed my eyes and attempted to sleep. Around midnight we found a small parking area to pull off the road for the night. As we struggled to set up tents in complete darkness, some people decided it would just be easier to sleep in the vehicles. Road weary, we didn’t bother to put away any sort of “smellables” in case a rogue bear decided to pay us a visit.

It is a very strange feeling to wake up to surroundings you have never seen before. The previous night we had driven in under the cover of night, so I had no clue what was around us. For all I knew, we had stopped and camped outside a toxic waste dump or perhaps at the mouth of a cave that a large family of grizzly bears called home. Climbing out of the tent, I took in the surroundings. We had parked in an area that was used as a storage area for construction equipment. There were a few buildings in across the highway, but we were largely out in the middle of nowhere.

We tore down the tents, packed the van up, and continued the drive. I spotted a few more bears and picked out glaciers in the mountains. When we stopped at a gas station to refuel, I wandered inside to use the restroom and search for a snack. We searched through the knick knacks looking at what the Yukon had to offer. On a shelf was a small pile of coon skin caps! I donned the hat and did my impression of Jake, the gentleman from Tonopah.

We pulled into Whitehorse in the early evening and found our way to the church we were staying at. We were greeted by church members and shown the area where we would be sleeping. I found a room in the back that had no windows and claimed my floor space. Once we were settled in, we went back downstairs to the sanctuary where we were meeting with a youth group.

First we talked to them about Texas 4000. Chris and I both told our stories of crashing on the way to Lillooet. After we were done sharing and answering the kid’s questions, we were invited to play games with the youth group. The first game I participated in was a race against others to eat a candy bar. The catch was that the candy bar was tied to one end of a string and the other end was between my teeth. The goal was to eat the candy bar without using your hands. I quickly realized that if I knelt down and put the candy bar on the floor, I could quickly gobble up the string and eventually the candy bar. I easily won. The next game was a team relay race. Each team member had a toothpick in their mouth. The first person had a life saver on their toothpick. The goal was to pass the life saver from toothpick to toothpick to the last person on the team.

After the games were completed, we loaded up into the van and truck to go across town to a school where we reunited with the Rocky Route. We walked in to smiles and a warm greeting. It was great to see the other riders after a month and a half, but it was a little odd. I’d been with nineteen others building a bond over the past sixty days and now there was another group of people who were invading that bond. The awkwardness quickly passed as we exchanged stories from our respective trips. We laughed and drank until late into the night before it was time to return to the church to retire for the night. I made my way into the dark cave of a room and quickly fell asleep.

Day 60: July 30 Day off in Whitehorse

I spent the majority of the day outside with several others doing some bike maintenance. I cleaned my bike and made a few adjustments to parts damaged in the crash. I also went with Tommy to pick up mail. I had hoped that I would have a package containing some homemade cookies, but I was disappointed.

As people were readying for bed, I turned on the church’s sound system and popped in a Beatles CD. I quickly realized that if I turned on a couple of the microphones, we could have a little karaoke party. Suchin did a horrible rendition of “Let it Be” with a little help from Steve and Doug. After Suchin’s song, Paul decided to take on “Plush” by Stone Temple Pilots. Once Paul finished singing, we turned off the music and people started to make their way to bed.

Suchin and I tried to rally some people to go out with us and see what the Whitehorse nightlife had to offer, but couldn’t manage to round anyone up so we headed out as a duo. Suchin and I jumped in the van and headed toward a bar that was in the downtown area of Whitehorse. We weren’t really expecting much from a town with a population of 23,000, but we couldn’t have been more wrong.

When we walked up to the first bar, there was a line out the door. We took that as a good sign and figured we might be able to have some fun. As we were standing in line a large man busted out the door stumbling. His face and shirt were completely covered in blood and he was asking for someone to call an ambulance. Behind him came a small Asian man yelling at him, “You get out! You no come back!” As the man stood disoriented asking for an ambulance, the Asian man continued to yell. I wasn’t sure if I should be worried or laugh at the situation. I looked over at Suchin and he looked quite confused as well. The line wasn’t moving, so we decided to seek out another bar.

As we walked down the street to where another bar was located, we were approached by a shady guy wearing a trench coat who offered to sell us weed. We declined, but asked him where a good bar would be. He told us to try the Kopper King. We had seen the Kopper King earlier in the day, but had written it off since it was attached to a gas station. We decided to try another place in the area instead.

When we walked in to the next bar, it was very dimly lit and there were only a few patrons, none of which were close to our age. We asked where we might go to find a crowd more fitting, and they, too, told us to go to the Kopper King. We decided to drive over to the Kopper King and see what it was all about. We walked back toward the van when we were approached by another shady man.

The guy approached and asked us if we had girlfriends. I answered “no,” and Suchin said “yes.” The man dug into his coat and quickly pulled out a small box. He opened the box and asked Suchin if he’d like to buy a pair of earrings for his girlfriend. I laughed as I had expected the guy to try and hook us up with some prostitutes. He made Suchin a few offers on a couple different jewelry items before Suchin was successfully able to ward the salesman off. When we climbed into the van, Suchin and I both laughed and I remarked, “where are we?”

We drove across town to the Kopper King and the parking lot was completely full. The line was longer than the first bar. We parked on a side street and found our place in line. While we waited, Adriano and a few other members of the Rocky Route came out of the double “K.” They told us the bar was packed but they were leaving to get some sleep before the next day’s ride. After the Rockies departed, Suchin and I struck up a conversation with two girls standing behind us in line.

They were both originally from Whitehorse, but had gone on to college. They were back in Whitehorse for the summer. We continued to talk to the two ladies after we entered the bar. They told us about living in the Yukon and we told them about riding our bikes across the continent. We continued to hang out with them and played foosball before they finally drug us out to the dance floor. When avoiding dancing at all cost (I’m male and white), something transpired.

The center of the dance floor cleared out and two opposing factions had clearly formed. As the music continued, one group danced as a unit while the other watched. They finished a series of choreographed dance moves, everyone cheered, and then the opposing group performed their moves. I was waiting on someone to yell, “You Got Served!” As the dance competition continued amidst the cheers of the crowd, I once again turned to Suchin and remarked, “Where are we?”

Once the dance competition had wound down, I noticed something else peculiar. Walking around the bar were ten insanely gorgeous women in bikinis. Suchin and I were both taken aback as we tried to comprehend what was going on. Apparently the first bar we went to where the bloody gentleman was begging for an ambulance had been holding a bikini contest. For some reason, the contestants decided to pay the Kopper King a visit, but didn’t bother putting on more clothing. I turned to Suchin and said, “Where are we?”

The night had begun to wind down and we found out our female friends for the night had been dropped off at the Double K, so we offered them a ride home in the van. They gladly accepted, but I don’t think they quite knew what was in store for the ride in the van. The van had been escorting sweaty, dirty cyclists for the better part of two months. Meals had been eaten in the van. Naps had been taken in the van. The van was a mess. Suchin and I were quite use to the smell, but I have to imagine that the van smelled like a pair of old gym shoes. I can only imagine what the two girls were thinking when we opened the doors and the smell drifted out.

Apparently the musty stench didn’t quell their hunger, because we found ourselves pulling into a Tim Horton’s for a late-night meal. We ordered food, ate, and talked with our new found friends. As we were leaving the restaurant, a fight nearly broke out in the parking lot. The girls navigated us back to their place of residence. When we dropped them off, they still doubted we had ridden our bikes from Texas to Whitehorse. We gave them the website address, took a couple pictures with them, and bid them a farewell. Suchin and I returned to the church where I tip toed passed sleeping cyclists trying not to wake anyone.

Day 61: July 31 Whitehorse, BC to Haines Junction, BC 93 miles

Once again I was up with little sleep due to Suchin and I exploring the Whitehorse nightlife. Spirits were high with the promise of riding with the Rocky Route for the first time. Steve, Bhard, Suchin, and I decided to don war paint for the day’s ride. We all decided to use chain grease to paint our faces with plans to yell crazily when we met up with the Rockies. Steve covered half his face with grease like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, while Bhard painted circles around his eyes and stripes down his face. Suchin and I went with slightly less decoration and just drew lines under our eyes like an outfielder. I didn’t want to go all out with the chain grease not knowing if I had a shower waiting on me at the end of the ride.

After all the gear was loaded up, we rode across Whitehorse to the school where the Rockies had been staying. When we arrived most of the Rocky team was outside, so Steve, Suchin, Bhard, and I started yelling like maniacs as we approached. A few laughs later, the Rockies and the Sierras were now just Texas 4000 for Cancer. Although we were all riding as one group, each team was maintaining its independence within the entire group. Over the past month and a half each team had developed its own rules and customs. In order to prevent complete chaos, it was decided that each team would set up its own rest stops and each team would make meals for their own team. We would all work as a unit on the ride, but the two teams needed to maintain their individuality.

The Rocky Route had developed a custom of ride dedications before each day’s ride as we had. Each route did their morning dedication, ending with Martina reading an inspiring email that had been sent to the Rocky Route from a gentleman they had met in Calgary. The gentleman had been inspired by Texas 4000 to start cycling again after years of giving it up when his father passed away.

After the ride dedication, we set out for our first ride as a full unit since circling the capitol building in Austin sixty days prior. As we set out riding, it was a little drizzly. We were giving the Rockies a hard time about brining rain with them, since they had experienced such horrible weather on their trip and we had seen nothing but wonderful conditions since June 3. A few miles into the ride, the misty weather receded, although the heavy cloud cover stubbornly remained overhead.

I rode out with Bhard and Doug, but as the ride pushed on, the two teams mixed a bit more and shared more stories. The lunch stop was our first glimpse at the delicacies the Rockies partook in for their meals. Skip had told us that they were eating better food than us, but until this point, we had not experienced it. As we dined on our usual peanut butter sandwiches, the Rockies feasted on grilled cheese and tomato soup. Their lunch wasn’t a five-start restaurant, but I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had a warm meal for lunch. Although we were slightly envious, we were quite proud we had hardly dipped into our food budget, allowing us to make a larger donation to the American Cancer Society.

After lunch, we set back out through the rolling landscape of the Yukon. The day’s ride was the most desolate to date. We rode through nothing but sheer nature. I saw very little civilization as we rode through the thick evergreen forests surrounded by mountains. Cars and RVs occasionally passed, but mostly it was just cyclists and nature.

The last four miles into Haines Junction, we had to battle some rough roads. There was some heavy-duty construction going on. We had to ride through some thick, wet gravel. I had to sustain a fast enough speed to maintain my balance, yet keeping speed through gravel and mud was not easy. Emerging from the stretch of sludge, we found the local school where we were staying for the night.

The town of Haines Junction was nothing more than a school, a combination grocery store and gas station, and a few buildings at a junction of two highways. Casting a shadow on the small town was a large group of mountains encrusted with glaciers. I pulled up to the school with my legs feeling great after three days of rest. I grabbed a quick shower and scrubbed the chain grease off of my face.

A local eatery called the Village Bakery set us up with a full dinner. We had our choice of salmon or meatloaf and plenty of sides and salad. The food was wonderful, so I filled my stomach to the point of discomfort. After dinner, we returned to the school gym to relax, but Tommy and I decided to walk down to the grocery store and have a look around. I picked up a couple snacks as the pain from overeating had subsided, and then we went back to the gym to settle in for the night.

Day 62: August 1 Haines Junction, BC to Burwash Landing, BC 75 miles

Music blared from the Rocky Route’s van as we loaded up all of our gear and set out for the second day together. I stared up at the towering mountains and wondered what it would be like to live in a place like Haines Junction. I was in awe of the natural beauty of the settlement.

I rode out with a large group consisting of riders from each route. Martina, always in a great mood, was complimenting everyone on chiseled calf muscles as we climbed and descended the Yukon landscape. The day was beginning to warm as we unremittingly pedaled north. Eventually the mountains seemed to grow larger on the horizon while the earth under our feet flattened.

A rest stop awaited us in the parking lot of several abandoned buildings. Fading signs boasted of restaurants, lodges, and helicopter tours of nearby mountains and glaciers. I spied a lake in the distance of our current location as I downed a couple sandwiches.

We soon set out again and were quickly awed by a large body of water known as Kluane Lake. The lake extended as far as I could see in one direction and met the base of large mountains on one side. The water was the same emerald green color as the lakes I had passed in British Columbia, but I had yet to see anything quite this large. We stopped and got off our bikes to take as many pictures of the lake as possible. The weather was perfect, and the water was still, providing a perfect reflection off the glass surface.

After taking a series of pictures, someone spotted the “dead thing.” A small mammal was lying dead in the road. It had apparently been dead long enough to become stiff and bloated. We somehow found the humor in the poor little creature’s demise and dared Steve to go poke it with a stick. He eventually gave in and went and prodded the creature. Steve returned to the side of the road when we saw a small truck approaching from the distance. We began wondering loudly if the truck my run over the “dead thing.” When the truck neared, it was a direct hit. The “dead thing” simply bounced and rolled like it was made of rubber while we cheered and laughed wildly. We had once again proved out maturity.

With the excitement of the “dead thing” behind us, we continued our trip around the lake. The highway followed the lake’s south shore for as far as I could see. The route followed the south side of the lakes next to the base of the mountains. About a mile beyond the “dead thing,” I crossed the point where the lake gave way to the Kluane River. It was the point where the emerald water braided through beds of mud and turned from green to gray. The river was very wide and flowed fast. I tried to admire the power of the shallow river, but the lake, which gave birth to the river, was captivating.

The end of the bridge deposited me on back on the south shore of the lake near the base of the towering mountains. The road was cut into the side of the mountain, which fell another twenty to thirty feet belong before giving way to the lake. As I looked ahead I saw a large, tree-covered island standing lonely out in the water. I had to stop and take a few pictures of the islet before continuing my ride.

A few more twists and turns brought me to an area where several riders had stopped, daring each other to enter the cold waters of the massive lake. I stopped and encouraged the frigid swim. Martina, Mike, and Suchin all volunteered to take the plunge while the rest of us cheered them on. After a count of three, they jumped. Screams erupted from the swimmers when they hit the chilly water. Martina and Suchin took a quick return dip in the water before I got back on my bike and started pedaling again.

As I passed an area called Destruction Bay, I saw several more abandoned buildings boasting of resorts and restaurants. To my left, over the mountains, I could see dark clouds creeping over the peaks. A few miles later, Tommy and I came upon Dbear’s truck and stories of a nearby grizzly bear. The grizzly had retreated into the woods, but not before several riders were able to get pictures of the large animal. The bear even gave Pops a faux charge to scare him away. It worked. As I ate my snacks, I looked around hoping to catch sight of the bear, but to no avail.

I saw the ominous clouds had now consumed the peaks of the mountains to our left and were quickly approaching, as the sky grew darker. Would the Rocky Route’s bad weather god spoil the ride, or would our good weather god win the battle and allow us to arrive dry? Tommy and I hurriedly continued our path to Burwash Landing.

The sky looked like it was about to open up as I turned off the highway and onto a short dirt road that led us to the small building that was to house us for the night. A few drops began to fall as I pulled up to the metal edifice. The last few Sierra riders made it into the building before the skies opened up on the remaining Rocky riders. I couldn’t help but to laugh at their misfortune.

Once inside, I staked out a spot in one of the small rooms. With all forty of us under one roof, it was a bit cramped, but we made due. I went in the kitchen, found a glad and got a big drink of water. It was only after I finished downing the water that someone pointed out the large sign over the sink reading: “Water unsafe. Boil before drinking.” There wasn’t much I could do except hope that I hadn’t just ingested a future case of dysentery.

There was a small exercise room where Bhard battled the stair-climbing machine and Bryn leg pressed the entire stack of weights. Tommy and I found a laundry mat nearby and went to ensure we had clean clothes for the next few days. After completing laundry, we returned for dinner. After eating platefuls of instant mashed potatoes, we turned on the TV and VCR to watch the only movie available: Godzilla.

Day 63: August 2 Burwash Landing to Koidern BC, 70 miles

Shortly after I started the ride this morning, I noticed acres of dead trees, which reminded me of the wild fires that had been burning in Alaska and the cause of those fires. In Prince George I was told that there was a beetle that burrowed into the trees and would eventually kill the trees. Mother Nature needed to provide a cold snap of about negative forty degrees to kill most of them off, but that cold snap had not happened the previous winter. Because the beetles survived, they were present in very high numbers and were killing off acres of trees, which dried up and became a fire waiting to happen.

The opposition weather forces were once again battling. The sky was dark gray and rain appeared to be seconds away. The air was quite chilly, but as I continued to ride, the moisture stayed in the atmosphere. The Alaskan Highway treated us to many sections of packed gravel road in lieu of asphalt, which made sections of riding more treacherous and difficult. The moisture in the air had apparently left a fresh dusting of snow on the high peaks of the mountains in the area during the night. The peaks had much more snow coverage than the previous day and the white tops provided a stark contrast against the dark sky.

Somewhere between the first and second rest stops, I found myself riding alone. I was riding at a quick pace when I saw a very large animal crossing the road in front of me. I didn’t ride with my glasses on because my eyesight isn’t that bad, and although I had contacts with me on the trip, I didn’t have them in. I saw a wide, broad, flat tail and realized the largest beaver in the world was cross the road. The massive beaver’s back was at least four feet high. I quickly slowed and jumped off my bike, trying to get my camera out of my saddle bag.

When I retrieved my camera from my saddle bag, I realized that a car had stopped behind me and a man was approaching me. In a thick German accent the man asked, “Do you want me to hold your bike.” The German tourist held my bike while I moved in closer to take a picture of the world’s largest beaver. I got a little closer and that’s when I noticed the quills. The world’s largest beaver had just turned into a large and intimidating porcupine. I stopped dead in my tracks and snapped a few pictures as the barbed creature waddled off into the woods. I was quite glad I was paying attention and decided to stop and take pictures of the beaver. Had I continued riding toward the beaver, I would have gotten quite a surprise when I realized the animal was a porcupine, and I had angered it.

Not too long after my encounter with the freakishly large porcupine, I came upon the second rest stop of the day. Music was once again blasting from the Rocky’s van. When I stopped, Tommy was teaching Suchin to two-step in the middle of the highway. I laughed as I watched Tommy and Suchin country dance to hip-hip music in the middle of the pristine Yukon.

At the break, we discussed our options for the night. We had no place to stay, so we needed to find a campground somewhere around the seventy-mile mark. Once a campground was found, one of the vehicles would be parked by the entrance so riders would know where to turn off the road. We had no idea exactly how long the day’s ride would end up being, since we weren’t sure where a campground was or if one even existed.

Eventually I came upon a small road that led into a simple campground that sat next to a clear stream. There was a covered area with a wood-burning stove and a couple picnic tables, but the rest of the area was barren. The water pump did not work, but we still had plenty of water reserves. Once the tents were set up a group of us wandered over to the stream.

We took turns throwing rocks at different targets. Eventually, we threw large sticks into the creek and then tried to hit the moving targets with rocks. Werckle decided to go for a quick swim before we returned to the camp area. Before retiring for the night, Steve showed us a trick with fireweed. When placed near fire, the fireweed would open up and release its seeds into the air.

Day 64: August 3 Koidern, YT to Beaver Creek, YT 40 Miles

The morning was rather chilly while I dressed, ate, brushed my teeth, and packed up all the gear. We milled around moving slowly in the cold air, but as people slowly became more alert, laughing and joking crept into the morning calmness. By the time we set out on the ride, the air was warm enough to allow me to leave the warm weather gear behind. I left the campground with the first group to head out. With the race to Alaska looming the next day, no one was pushing the cadence.

I got to the first rest stop and there were a few riders already there. I stopped and began eating a granola bar when Chris, Doug, and Paul blew by me. Something clicked in my head and I jumped back on my bike. I finished ingesting the granola bar while hammering to catch up to the trio in front of me.

I was pushing twenty-five miles and hour when I passed the trio. As I overtook them, I said nothing, but I heard someone exclaim, “whoa.” As I continued to hammer, I realized that Paul had jumped on my back wheel and was riding behind me. Paul said something about me riding stronger than he’d ever seen me and I replied, “My legs feel great. Today is a short ride, so I want to see what I can do. There’s no guarantee I will feel this good for the race tomorrow.”

Little else was said as we proceeded to fly up and down climbs and descent and tackled rough gravel sections. I started into another section of treacherous pothole-filled gravel highway when I was staring down at a steep descent. I was still pushing a speed over twenty miles and hour as I embraced the wet gravel plunge. As soon as the hill bottomed out, I began to climb up continuing to push hard. I glanced back to make sure Paul was still behind me and I didn’t seen another cyclist behind me. I had dropped Paul somewhere without even knowing it.

I continued my push riding through extended sections of muddy gravel, the result of rain, which came down prior to my arrival. I was tackling climbs like they were I was gliding across flat land with the wind at my back. Plowing through one particular section of gravel, I was passing cars and RVs that had slowed to slowly drive through the muck. I continued my assault of the Canadian landscape, but I had no idea how far I had traveled since my computer had been trashed in the wreck outside Lillooet.

My legs still felt strong when I rolled into Beaver Creek. I had no idea how far ahead of the next riders I was because the last person I had seen was Paul. Beaver Creek seemed to be a series of a few stores and buildings along the Al-Can Highway, so I continued to ride through town to check things out. I found a building that exclaimed it was the Chamber of Commerce and entered. I looked around at the brochures and signed in to the register before hanging out on the porch for a bit. I wasn’t quite sure were we were staying, so I went back toward the skirt of town and sat in the shade of some bushes to await the arrival of other riders.

As time passed and no one arrived, I began to worry that we might be staying outside town, so I rode back to the city limits sign and waited until others showed. When more riders made their way into the small community, we found the RV park where we were staying, and reunited with P-willy, who had apparently arrived in town not too terribly long after I did.

We set up in a virtually treeless gravel lot made for parking RVs. Once camp was erected, we raided the campground lodge where we bought snacks and used the internet access, which was provided free of charge. I consumed a dinner of pasta and then joined a game of 42, while a rival game of Texas Hold’em erupted at a nearby table. Once darkness settled in over the campground, the air quickly became cold. I found myself shivering to sleep wearing two pairs of socks, jeans, a tshirt, and a sweatshirt, all while wrapped up in sleeping bag.

Day 65: August 4 Beaver Creek, YT to Northway, AK (gas station) 71 miles

I woke up wrapped up still cold from then night’s frigid temperatures. I felt surprisingly good after riding as hard as I could the previous day. I shivered as I packed up my belongings and helped tear down the tent. I could feel the excitement mounting. After breakfast the biggest and last race of the trip would take place—the race to Alaska. The race filled every topic of discussion as the teams ate breakfast and readied for the day.

Many of the riders from the Rocky Route and a few of the slower riders from our route opted to not race to the border. We lined up on the highway with Skip filming, and before I could even feel excitement in the pit of my stomach, the race began. I started toward the back of the long pace line. My legs still felt good riding at the quick pace. So far the road was quite flat, and I knew there wouldn’t be a separation in the pack until we reached some hills.

After a few miles, I could tell that I wasn’t going to be able to hold the pace once we started climbing, so I decided to take a few minutes of glory. I moved to the left toward the middle of the road and began my assault on the front of the pack. I increased my pace and began passing rider after rider until I found myself in the front. I moved back to the right and began pulling the pack. My quads began to burns as I continued the quick pace of the peloton.

I continued to pull for a few miles until I saw a slight dip before the road beckoned skyward. I turned to the left and pushed hard down hill, but as soon as we started climbing, the pack broke apart. I watched helplessly as the entire field blew by me. For a split second, I felt defeated as I watched the racers distance themselves from me, but I recalled my strong ride the day before and remembered my choice to move into the lead, ending any hopes I had of competing.

At that moment, I decided to readjust my goal for the race to Alaska. I was now in last of the racers, so I decided to see how many people I could pick off before reaching the border. I picked up the pace and saw Doug ahead of me. I finally reeled in Doug and as I passed I said, “Come on, let’s go!” Doug was tired, but pulled in behind me and the two of us pressed on. We quickly overtook Don, who had to drop out with a broken spoke. Next, we passed Dan, who was having back issues.

The landscape was rising and falling as Doug and I continued our pursuit of the border. My legs were burning, but I continued to press on. Doug and I took turns pulling each other while we hammered away. We picked off a couple more riders before catching up to Paul. When Paul saw me, he picked up his pace, as did I. Doug fell off a bit and Paul and I challenged each other to push our limits. I saw Suchin ahead and set my sights on him as I began to put a little bit of space between myself and Paul.

I saw a building at the top of the next hill that I figured was probably the U.S. Customs building. I thought I had enough distance left that I could catch Suchin before he made it to the border. I pushed myself harder and zeroed in on Suchin. I couple minutes later, I saw Suchin stop at the bottom of the ascent before the customs building. I was so focused on trying to catch Suchin that I didn’t even realize that the border was actually at the bottom of the hill. I continued a hard push to the border even though I had no chance to catch anyone else.

When I crossed the border, I was so tired I couldn’t even celebrate. I immediately put my bike done and went to sit down on a bench completely exhausted. It took me a few minutes to regroup and settle down before I was able to get up and join the rest of the riders in celebration. We cheered as rider after rider crossed the border. Once all the riders entered Alaska, the picture taking started.

We took a series of group pictures with the sign welcoming visitors to Alaska. Several riders climbed on top of the sign, while the rest of us gathered in front. I stood on the back row pointing at the location of Anchorage on the depiction of Alaska on the sign. After the group shots, I took several pictures in front of the sign, both alone and with Tommy, Steve, and Dbear.

There was a bench that resided half in Alaska and half in the Yukon. The actual border was a fifteen foot wide strip cut into the thick forest extending indefinitely in both directions. We talked with several groups of tourist who were quite intrigued when they learned of our undertaking. We began to wind down the celebration and the extended break, as we still had a little over fifty miles left on the day.

Unfortunately, pursuing our ultimate goal of Anchorage meant we had to bid farewell to Dbear. He was supposed to meet his mother in Seattle in a few days and would not have time to drive down to meet her if he proceeded to Anchorage. Dbear leaving us made crossing into Alaska bittersweet. He had been an integral part of our team, a tentmate, and a good friend. After a series of hug, we all watched as Dbear drove away back into the Yukon.

One less vehicle and friend, we rode up the hill to proceed through customs. When I got to the top of the hill, I read the signs forbidding photographs. We lined up at the customs building to the queer looks of the customs agents. One by one, an agent inspected our birth certificates and driver’s licenses while asking a few questions to each rider. After the last rider made it through customs, we continued our ride.

A few miles after customs, we came across a gas station. Although we had an extended break at the border, we stopped at the gas station for lunch. Since we were back in the U.S., I decided to take the chance to make a call to my parents for the first time since Seattle. I was able to inform them of our crossing the border and was given congratulations.

After the lunch stop, I decided to set out riding alone and enjoy the Alaskan landscape. Although the mountains had receded the past couple days, the road still rose and fell with the rolling landscape. The forest was thick with trees but spotted with lakes. As I rode through the crisp air, I smiled at the thought of entering a state I’d longed to visit all my life.

As I rounded a corner, I saw a small collection of riders off their bikes looking at something in the distance. When I pulled up, someone pointed to a marshy field where there was a moose standing in the tall grass. It wasn’t a bull moose, but it was still very amazing to see the massive animal. She stood almost motionless in the meadow below as we took pictures.

A couple short miles later, I came upon the van where some of the riders were already enjoying mid-ride snacks. We discussed the moose and then they pushed out. A couple minutes later, I decided to continue riding alone and pushed out as well. The miles seemed to ride themselves as I was lost in my thoughts of actually being in Alaska. Before I knew it, I happened upon a store where the van was parked in the dirt parking lot, marking the destination for the day’s ride.

We obtained a series of spots in the campground just behind the store. After setting up the tent, Tommy and I went in to the store to use the showers in the back. After showering, I bought some chips and a Pepsi before returning to camp. We ate dinner and then I settled in to the tent, where Tommy shared deer sausage that his family had sent from home. With Dbear gone, there was an available space in our tent, which Meg, from the Rocky Route, decided to occupy. Meg and I talked about music for a little bit before everyone went to sleep.

Day 66: August 5 Northway AK to Tok, AK 71 miles

Not long after leaving the campground behind, the road continued to flatten out, which left me wondering about the Alaskan landscape. Alaska is an enormous state, but I still had a preconceived notion that it was entirely mountainous. I suppose that thought is just as bad when people express stereotypes about my home state of Texas. As much a I was enjoying the easy riding, I was a bit disappointed with the lack of towering peaks.

The forests seemed to thin out a little with the flattened land. We crossed a series of rivers on our way in to Tok. Tok marked our turn off the Alaskan Highway and toward Anchorage. We stayed in a small church just off the highway. There was a single shower, so we each had three minutes to get as clean as possible. I luckily got in line early enough that I was able to get in a shower when there was still warm water.

Many of the riders walked over to the gift shops to look around at all the souvenirs and knick knacks. The store was filled with videos, hats made from fox fur, gems, stuffed animals, and furniture. After killing time in the gift shop, a group of us piled into one of the vans and went to a diner in town for a filling meal. I ordered a burger and we all talked while eating. After dinner, Tommy and I went across the street to a laundry mat where I was able to make a couple phone calls to friends.

Tommy and I walked back to the church where people had already begun to turn in for the night. Unfortunately a few people were snoring, which impeded my ability to fall asleep. I donned my headphones to drown out the excess noise and drifted off to sleep.

Day 67: August 6 Tok, AK to Chistochina, AK 90 (125) miles

We were unsure of what our destination for the night would be. The Rocky Route had secured a place to stay for their team, but we couldn’t ask them to take on another eighteen people. We were left with the task of riding until we found a campground to stay at. We were hoping there would be something near where the Rocky Route was staying.

After leaving Tok behind, the flat road began to rise and fall again. The mountains began rising from the earth once again, but they still weren’t the towering peaks I was expecting. Summit signs on the side of the road noted meager elevations of just under two thousand feet. The lakes and rivers once again became more prevalent.

I found myself riding alone for a section of the ride. When I looked to my left I saw a single massive mountain. The peak was solitary and covered with snow, and reminded me of the view of Mt. Rainer from Olympia. The peak was quite far away, so it was a bit hazy. I took pictures of the enormous mountain and then continued riding.

A couple miles later I spotted a sign that I found quite humorous. It was an “Adopt-a-Highway” sign. The green sign stated that the stretch of highway was maintained by the Star Trek Club. I found it amusing because I was in the middle of nowhere. That there were enough people in the area to form a Star Trek Club was pretty amazing, and for some reason I just found it funny that there was a Star Trek Club in the Alaskan wilderness.

I continued riding and eventually we came upon Chistochina, which was the destination of the Rocky Route. We looked around the area for a campground, but we were unable to find anywhere to stay. We left the Rocky Route behind and continued riding promising to meet up in the morning. Soon we had eclipsed the century mark and continued riding in search of a place to stay.

Tommy was out front riding alone when we were able to find a campground after 125 miles of riding. I felt great after the long ride, and figured I could have easily gone another twenty-five miles or more, especially with the long daylight hours. We unhooked the trailer and waited on Tommy to return, but he didn’t show up at the campground. We started worrying about him, so we jumped in the van and drove to find him. We eventually came across him riding back toward the campground. Tommy had logged almost one hundred and fifty miles. We got him back to the campground and then began to make dinner and shower off many miles of sweat and dirt.

The time was late, but it still seemed early with the sun still hanging high in the sky. The land of the midnight sun challenged our sleeping cycles, especially when camping. Although a long day of cycling created fatigue in my body, it was difficult to shut down my system and ready for sleep when the sun was still brightly shining in the sky at ten a night. The sun didn’t disappear over the horizon till just after midnight and would return around four in the morning.

I wandered down to the river to take in my surroundings. The wind, shallow river created the boundary of the campground. As I stood near the river, the mosquitoes quickly located me and caused me to retreat back toward our village of tents. Dinner was ready, so I found my small coffee cut and filled it with pasta. Some of the riders went to a nearby restaurant and store to do laundry. Tommy and I stayed behind to try and catch up on a little sleep, since we had done laundry the previous day in Tok. I listened to my headphones while lying under the warm sun waiting on sleep to take over.

Day 68: August 7 Chistochina, AK to Tazlina Lodge AK (Grizzly Country Convenience Store) 86 miles

In the morning, after we packed up all our gear, we waited out by the highway for the Rocky Route to show up. We weren’t sure when they would arrive, but they had to ride about thirty miles to get to our current position. Once they arrived, it was time for us to set out for the day’s ride. The first part of the ride looked quite familiar, as I had ridden it the previous day while looking for Tommy.

As the day wore on, the landscape I rode over remained much the same, but in the distance it appeared as if the mountains were growing to greater heights. We once again had nowhere to stay for the night, so toward the end of the day one of the vehicles drove ahead to try and find a place to stay. News returned that we had a place to camp for the night.

The Grizzly Country Convenience Store was nice enough to allow us to camp behind the store. The owner allowed us use of the outhouses. It was a symbiotic agreement, as the forty ravenous riders invaded the store to provide an influx of capital. I once again bought a Pepsi and a couple snacks. Someone found a “Texas Sized” cinnamon roll, so it was inevitably bought.

There was a small RV park a few miles back in a settlement called Nelchina that had agreed to allow us to use their showers. We made several trips with the van to shuttle riders to the showers. After I took my shower, I went to the bar/restaurant to wait on the other riders. The large building had a few patrons who were having a drink or eating. We thanked the owners, who were also bartending, for allowing us use of the showers. I inquired about how late the bar stayed open. The owner informed me that he usually just kept the bar open as long as there were people there. I asked if they would stay open till nine or so if a group of us came back to play 42 and poker. He agreed he would.

When I got back to the store, I informed the others of the plan to return to play 42 and poker. I had figured about ten people or so would be interested, but we ended up shuttling almost the entire team back. Some of us played games, while the rest just wanted to go to socialize. We ordered food and talked with the owners and other locals. As the games wound down, one of the women who worked for the establishment decided to go out to her car and bring in a karaoke machine.

The machine was plugged in and we immediately swarmed to fight over the microphones. Solos and group songs were performed, even inviting to the locals to join us in the performances. We eventually went to the van and brought in our own CDs and sang along with the songs. We stayed at the bar until late in the night. The sun had set before we climbed into the vans and returned to the store. Once back at the store, we wandered around in the darkness toward the tents.

Day 69: August 8 Tazlina Lodge, AK to Chickaloon ? miles

The day started out a bit slow as it seemed to take forever to get packed up and start riding. We knew there was a chance that we would get to see a glacier up close, so I was quite excited to get on the road. I was feeling pretty good as we set out, so I was able to ride with a faster group. I fell in behind P-willy, Tommy, and Steve. Riding was quite easy as I was drafting off of three of the tallest riders in Texas 4000. I felt as if I didn’t even need to pedal.

I looked around and saw that the mountains had really begun to spring out of the earth and were growing at a very fast rate. As we were cruising along, we had to make a stop for a flat tire, but were quickly back on the road. We were moving along quickly after the first rest stop, which put us well out in front of everyone. We made a stop at a scenic overlook. The mountains were the largest I’d see thus far, and I could see a glacier flowing out of the mountains. All the huge peaks were covered in a thick blanket of snow.

We pushed on once again when we came up signs reading “Be Prepared to Stop” at around mile forty. We figured we would wait on the van, load up, shuttle across the construction area, and then eat lunch on the other side of the construction. As we sat and waited, we witnessed a rock slide that fell off a cliff and covered the road in a cloud of dust and rocks, showing why it was unsafe for us to continue on our bikes. We waited for a long time before Pops and Galvan rolled up. We explained the situation before us and inquired about the vans. Pop informed us that the vans stopped a few miles back and set up the rest stop.

We weren’t too happy about being left out of the lunch stop, but we figured we’d just shuttle across the construction, go see the glacier, and then meet up with everyone for our sandwiches on the other side. Galvan and Pops were added to our small group and we were shuttled across the construction in the back of one of the construction trucks. On the other side, it was just a short ride to the entrance to the glacier park.

We rode down a steep dirt road and across a bridge over a glacier river to the headquarters of the park. P-willy successfully got our entrance fees waved and we continued toward the glacier down the dirt road. A large tour bus passed us as we battled the gravel and rocks. The bus was kicking up a large cloud of dust and debris, so we backed off a bit as to find cleaner air for our lungs. The tour bus disappeared around the corner as we talked of riding our bikes onto a glacier.

When we rounded the last corner, we saw the bus stopped on a one-lane wooden bridge over a swift glacial stream. Just as a woman approaches us, we see that the bus has broken through the small bridge and was stuck. The woman asks if one of us could ride back to the front and ask the people in charge to bring some equipment or something to get them out. Steve volunteered to ride back, while the rest of us waited as we watched a large group of Italian tourists exited the disabled bus.

The driver had not followed the reinforced tracks on the bridge and had broken through on the right side of the bridge. Since the bus was off-center, we were able to easily ride our bikes past the bus to wait on the other side. While waiting on Steve’s return, we watched as one of the tourists produced a fishing pole and attempted to fish in the rushing waters. Steve returned, and we decided to ride on and see the glacier. As we headed toward the glacier, cars had already begun to line up wanting to exit the park.

We arrived at the parking area near the glacier and found a small building to store our bikes near. We talked to a couple of girls who worked as guides at the glacier and they told us that the glacier was twenty-seven miles long. There was a trip that was five days long that traveled to the head of the glacier and back down, which included ice climbing. The girls told us when we hiked out on to the glacier, to stay on the darker areas, which would be the safest and most solid and stable. The girls also informed us that the road in which the bus was stranded on was the only way in or out of the park.

We began our hike toward the glacier. At first we were wandering among dirt, mud, and chunks of ice, but soon we were walking solely on ice. Under my feet was a massive block of ice that extended for twenty seven miles, yet the air around me was in the mid-seventies. I walked around and examined the ice and the streams of melted ice that had cut pathways in the ice. While the rest of the group stayed back, P-willy and I continued to wander deeper into the mass of ice.

We wandered around until the rest of the group was no longer in sight. We rounded a corner and before me was one of the most breathtaking sights I’d ever seen. A large blue lake resided on the surface of the glacier. The white ice rose forty and fifty feet from the surface of the lake. The melting ice created long cascading waterfalls down to the surface of the water. A couple small icebergs floated in the water. P-willy and I stood speechless for a few moments before we both clamored to take pictures.

I climbed over a couple of ice boulders to gain the best view of the lake for my pictures. One I had taken the pictures, I climbed back over and P-willy and I reluctantly decided to head back toward the rest of the group. Just as we began to walk away, we heard a cracking and sliding sound. I quickly turned back to the lake to witness the entire section of ice I was standing on to take pictures slide into the glacial lake. A moment of complete silence between P-willy and I was quickly interrupted by laughter.

We rejoined the group and sat on a picnic table looking back at the glacier. The decision was made to return to the road to hopefully see other riders, flag down the van, and get some food. The line of cars had gotten quite long when we returned to the bridge. The bus didn’t appear to be going anywhere for awhile, but we easily squeezed by the bus again and made our way out of the park. We made the difficult climb back up the dirt exit road and back on to the highway. We found a small restaurant where we wanted to stop to get some food since we had yet to eat anything, but the prices were a bit steep.

We pressed on climbing and descending the landscape. A few more miles down the road, Steve got a flat tire. Luckily Laura miraculously arrived in the car. She had little food, but had a cache of protein cookies. We all quickly devoured a number of cookies while Steve changed his flat tire. Laura made sure we had everything we needed and then left to find the van and let them know that we were actually behind everyone. No one else had stopped at the glacier, so while we were walking on the ice, the rest of the team had passed us by.

Dustin, Galvan, and I decided to leave to get a little head start. We pushed on and a few miles later, we happened upon the van. I quickly seized a couple sandwiches and downed them as quickly as I could. I ate some cookies and waited on P-will, Tommy, and Steve to arrive. We chatted with a couple hikers who had returned to their car, but there was still no sign of the trio. Eventually I decided to just ride on.

I rode solo, but Pops periodically showed up to snap some pictures of me riding. I rode past a series of lakes nestled along the bottom of the valley. The mountains had begun to recede a bit, but they still loomed large as I joined a swift glacial river that the road paralleled. Eventually, I rode into Chistochina, where we were staying in a local park.

Steve, Tommy, and P-willy finally made it to the park. They filled me in on what took them so long to arrive. Just after Steve fixed his flat tire, P-willy somehow mangled his chain in an attempt to get up a hill. The trio had to stop once again to take a few links out of his chain, which restricted him to his small chain ring, but P-willy was able to ride again. They made it to the van, but there were few sandwiches left, so they decided to push on after eating what they could. They started hammering at over eighteen miles an hour into the wind. I’m not sure how P-willy was able to manage that in the small chain ring, but nevertheless he did.

We drove down to a small store and picked up some snacks and essentials for dinner and the returned to the park. On the way back to the park, we spotted a bald eagle flying over the river. It was diving down toward the water looking for its next meal. The large bird looked majestic flying over the water with the mountains in the background. Back at the park, we ate dinner and then the Rocky Route supplied ice cream sundaes for the entire team. It was a great finish to a great day.

Day 70: August 9 Chickaloon to Anchorage, AK 76 miles

It was exciting, yet very strange, to wake up this morning. Excitement was high knowing that at the end of the day, we would complete our ultimate goal—Anchorage. As excited as I was, I was also filled with a sadness knowing my journey was coming to an end. We packed up our things and loaded them in to the van for the last time. Breakfast was fixed and eaten, and then we gathered in a circle where every stated who they had been riding for and shared thoughts on the ride.

We cheerfully pushed out for the last time and rode toward Anchorage. The mountains continued to surround us, but the road seemed to flatten once again. I flatted on the one hilly section. We made it through the first twenty miles carving through forest, but after the first rest stop, we joined up with a large four-lane highway that would escort us to Anchorage. Bicycles were prohibited on the highway, but we had no choice but to ride on the highway.

Shortly after joining the highway, I got my second flat of the day. The highway was littered with debris, and I apparently had an affinity for finding sharp object to pierce my tire. A short time later, I collected my third flat. We found a rest stop along the highway that served as our next rest stop and allowed us to get instructions on meeting outside Anchorage for a small welcoming party.

After the rest stop, I collected flat number four. As Steve said, “the road to Anchorage is paved with flats.” Regardless, I pushed on and we arrived at the welcoming party. The Texas Exes had set up a party in the parking lot of a business. The party gave us a chance to unite as a team to ride in to Anchorage as a full unit. We ate a few snacks and had a champagne toast to celebrate our arrival.

After the welcoming party, we formed a double pace line of the thirty eight riders. We looked quite impressive as we followed the bike path into town. We passed an Air Force Base and eventually turned onto a busy street through the outskirts of Anchorage. We then turned into a large park with winding paved paths. It was difficult to stay together through the park, but we were able to manage. Steve’s rear derailleur arm broke off, so he removed a few chain links and converted his bike to a single speed to finish the ride. I had a slow leak in my rear tire, so I had to continually stop to air up my tire to finish the day’s ride.

Exiting the park, we found ourselves on the road leading in to Alaska Pacific University. I started yelling in celebration as we approached our final destination. There were news crews awaiting our arrival and members of the Texas Exes. We pulled in to the parking lot and began the celebration. High-fives and hugs were plentiful as we rejoiced. Several family members of riders had flown to meet us and locals were out to greet us.

We unloaded our things and changed clothes before returning to the parking lot. The Texas Exes had arranged a great barbecue for us. We dined on reindeer sausage, caribou steaks, smoked salmon, halibut, garlic bread, salad, and an endless supply of other food. While we were eating the Alaska Texas Exes presented us with a check for over five thousand dollars, which was matched by BP from donations by their employees.

During dinner, a few members from the Anchorage chapter of the Association of Former Students came out to join the festivities. They had no idea that there was an Aggie riding with Texas 4000, but I quickly sought them out and we began to chat. I took a picture with a couple of the members while holding a Texas A&M flag. It was nice to see a couple Aggies after spending a summer with longhorns. Although the other riders were still “the enemy,” I regarded them as my brothers and sisters.

I was so excited to have accomplished the goal of reaching Alaska. I was proud of myself for being the sole person to ride the entire distance, even on bad knees. However, I had a feeling of “now what?” The past two and a half months I had woken up every day, gotten on my bike, and ridden. I had interacted with locals, with kids, with cancer patients, and survivors. I had participated in Relay for Life events. When I would wake up in the morning, I had nothing to do. It was all over. I tried to push the conflicting thoughts to the back of my head and enjoy the celebration, but I couldn’t help but to think of such things.

After the barbecue wound down, we helped clean up and signed up for host homes. We would stay at the University initially, but then would go to host homes for the remainder of our stay. In the gym, I got the team members to sign one of my jerseys. We gathered outside under the tent once the tables were cleared out reminisced, played a game impersonating other riders, and drank root beer. It was the last time we would all be together as a group. Riders were parting ways almost immediately.

After the game, Tommy, Meg, and I called a cab and headed toward downtown to have a drink to celebrate arriving in Anchorage. The celebration was once again bittersweet as we talked about what we were going to do no that the ride was over. Meg was leaving in the morning, while Tommy and I still had a few days to spend in Anchorage. Eventually other riders met us out as we explored the downtown area. I enjoyed my time out with the other riders before we had to return to the university to get some sleep. Although we had no more miles to pedal the next day, we still had to pack up the bikes and make a visit to the cancer ward in a local hospital.

Day 71: Anchorage

I woke up and it was time to pack up all the bikes. We cleaned out everyone’s belongings and loaded the bikes into the trailer. My back tire was flat, but it didn’t matter as I would see my bike again for a couple weeks. I bid farewell to my friend as it was loaded up and the trailer door was closed.

We gathered and then walked over to a local hospital where we were greeted by doctors and administrative staff. They took us on a tour of the cancer ward and showed us state-of-the-art medical machinery that was used in cancer treatment. We were told how the machinery worked and the staff spoke about some of the patients that came through their ward.

After the tour, the staff informed us that there was a cancer patient who was willing to speak with us. We entered the room and in the bed was a cheerful woman named Kelly. Next to the bed was her husband, a man named Jeff. The happy couple told us about their lives in a tiny town on the Kenai Peninsula. Each had children from previous marriages. The couple was in great spirits as they talked to us. Instead of being depressed by Kelly’s condition, they embraced her cancer as a part of their lives that made them who they were.

P-willy offered Kelly his Livestrong bracelet that he had been riding with all summer. The couple thanked him as we walked away. I got down the hall and decided to give them my bracelet as well, so that they both had another symbol of hope. I went back to the room, removed the bracelet that I had been riding with over the summer, and handed it to Jeff. He thanked me and promised to keep in touch as we exchanged email addresses. The hospital treated us to lunch in the cafeteria and then we left the hospital. I once again felt sadness as I stepped out of the hospital knowing that my time with Texas 4000 was now officially over.

its putting myself out there for sure, but maybe it will inspire someone. not looking to inspire someone to work out (although that would be a positive), but more looking to inspire someone to volunteer or donate to charity. the ride wasn't about being fit or exercising it was just a byproduct.

i still have a lot of cleaning up to do on the journal, but i figured i'd put it out there. i know its a lot at once, but those truly interested will probably finish it eventually.

My favorite parts so far (through Day 4)

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We were flying at 35 miles an hour downhill with the wind at our backs. We’d gone a good half mile too far before we realized in our excitement we had blown right by our turn. We reluctantly turned and made a less energized ride back uphill and against the wind to make our turn into town.

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quote:

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The world is a much different work of art at 16 mph.

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Regarding beer:

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The three of us all began a mild panic

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Aggie00, I cannot tell what year you did the Texas 4000, but I am very close friends with the guys who started this event, Troy Daniel, Matt Harding, and Wes Carberry (Sense Corp.). We were all in the same student organization at The Univeristy of Texas, and all of them are great guys.

I think the idea came from Penn, but I am not sure. I told Troy that I want to do this, maybe next summer after my first year of law school, but I think my time may have past me by...

Troy lost his father to cancer as I did, anyway to get people educated about it, and aware is great.

also, here is a link to this years Texas 4000 article:

http://www.utexas.edu/features/2007/texas4000/

i did the 2004 ride. i think the guys you know might have been in charge of the 2005 ride, but they did not start the ride...that was Chris Condit, who was on my ride. He's the founder. We did not have a title sponsor when the ride started...Sense Corps came later. The idea came from Chris when he was in San Fransisco and ran into a group who had cycled from John Hopkins in Maryland. Regardless of who started it, its a GREAT thing...

Do you have a PDF version?

dave - i don't, but i might be able to create one when i get home.

Cool. It'd be a bit easier for me to print and read. Heck, just a Word version would be fine.

[This message has been edited by dave99ag (edited 6/6/2007 10:29a).]

That's awesome. I'll burn a segment later this afternoon reading it.

You'd think people doing a bike ride for cancer would be sensitive enough not to joke about Bonfire

Aggie00 - Thanks for all your posts. You are a big part of why this board is really great.

Holy mackerel you have over 30,000 posts.

I glanced from the top of your post down to the ending when the ride was over.

Can't wait to read it all, unbelievable.

what was the problem with your knee? did you ever figure it out?

i always had bad knees in general. just would experience recurring knee pains. since the ride, i've had ZERO knee problems.

Oh, great, y'all are going to spoil the ending. I'm on Day 25.

If it don't kill ya, it'll make you stronger.

Tioga

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I have spent all day (between tasks/work) reading your journal.

simply fascinating, and you tell such a great story. I have laughed out loud in parts.

I'll finish it later.

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You'd think people doing a bike ride for cancer would be sensitive enough not to joke about Bonfire

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not that they should have been making those jokes, but at that point there were still a few people that didn't know i went to A&M...and none of them knew i was in school when it happened, much less that I was out there for hours helping out after the accident.

quote:

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The wind was absolutely crushing, but the only thing we could do was to try and find humor in the situation.

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ttt for 313...

nm, thanks for bumping the consolidated ride report, I was looking for one a few months ago

(didn't realize the date until after my initial post)

[This message has been edited by Brad06ag (edited 2/27/2009 7:15a).]

Awesome. It's over 100 pages when copied into Word and I intend to read every word of it in time.

I read the whole thing in 2 minutes flat. Beat that!!

Cliff's Notes??