Day 43: Menasha, WI to Scottville, MI

Back on my bike!

It's been about 5 days since my visit to Northfield Hospital, the time period the doctor had said I should wait out before beginning light riding. Today's ride was just 60 miles. I planned yesterday to begin riding at 5A and counting a breakfast stop and a speed of 10 mph, to arrive at Manitowoc, WI- 50 miles from Menasha- by 11A, well in advance of the 12:30P ferry boarding to get across Lake Michigan.

Of course, things don't always work out as planned. I rolled out of the campsite with two fellow riders, Ken from Kingston, NY--a retired IBM engineer--and Paul from Minnesota--a Dartmouth grad who's been a swim coach almost all his life--, closer to 6A than 5A. It was raining, not hard, but enough for us to look up at the gray sky while we were knocked around by cross-winds, and think that it didn't look so good.

We all had strawberry waffles at a local diner about 6 miles outside of Menasha. Lightning flashed through the diner windows and the rain let loose, and after waiting about 20 minutes, it didn't seem as if waiting would do any more good than riding through the weather. I punched holes through a trash bag, pulled it over me and tucked it into my shorts, and began riding. Though trying to relax, I gripped the handlebars so tightly my thumbs grew numb. I was so scared of falling and re-fracturing my collarbone. Especially on the slick pavement.

But my friends rode with me, slowly, though steadily, and made sure I was riding at a pace that would ensure that I'd get to the ferry on time. Moreover, a few other riders joined us, some riding ahead calling out obstacles well in advance and others flanking me from behind, calling out cars coming up on us from behind. I was well taken care of and let go of my death grip slightly.

On one of the roads, though (and there are almost no cars going through this farm country), a dozen silver dollar-sized frogs began jumping across the road in the rain daring us to squash them under our tires. And with the lightning in the distance, my friends protecting me, being back on my bicycle, I realized that I was smiling (still held on tight to the handlebars, though!) REALLY BIG! and was enjoying every moment of the ride. The rain was refreshing, the gray clouds gave us sun cover, and the smell of the storm made me feel so fortunate to be strong enough to ride my bicycle and experiencing all of this rather than riding the support van right then.

I got to the ferry, rode the S.S. Badger for 4 hours and simply put my head down on a table and drooled on my arm as I tried to sleep through my seasickness compounded by the boat tossing. There had been a green Volkswagon loaded on to the bottom deck--green for two reasons: the paint job and the job done on it from several people, green themselves, from the upstairs deck. A woman working in the galley told me that it was the choppiest day all summer.

But I made it across the lake, got back on my bike, and finished the day's ride into Scottville. I made it. :) I got a chance to ride into the final time zone we'd be crossing--Eastern.

Day 42: Wisconsin Rapids to Menasha, WI

We wound through County Roads W, D, H, A, GG, T, U, J, AA . . . . They took us through the corn fields, along the edge of Lake Winnebago, and past the town of Winneconne, "a little drinking town with a big fishing problem." In Wild Rose, stands proudly sold "redneck vegetables" and "redneck ammunition." I didn't bother to stop at these retail outlets, but I did stop at Beans 'n Buns, a coffee shop/gift shop in Winneconne that happenned to also sell homemade dog biscuits.

The Maplewood Middle School cheerleaders came by the school gym tonight where we had eaten dinner to sell chocolate bars as they were fundraising to cover the cost of new uniforms. After the cheerleaders demonstrated a few cheers (imagine timid 12-year-olds standing in front of fifty old and haggard people, all knackard--as the British would say--who, though not meaning to be rude, are about to fall asleep in their chairs because it's past 7:30P, their bed time.) the ever-hungry cyclists ended up buying a lot of chocolate bars.

Wisconsin roads are just about the best roads you can find anywhere. I've realized that road construction, though it holds up traffic and forces you to take long detours, is absolutely necessary to maintain high quality roads. (Yes, it does seem obvious, but one never considers the obvious when you're grumpy about three lanes merging into one because of road maintenance.) Hawai'i's roads are horrible compared to Wisconsin's and I've promised myself to welcome orange cones and signs and realized that driving more slowly, if it means a smoother ride down the road, is much more important than pushing through traffic. After all, how much more quickly do we need to get places? Another good reason not to have a packed schedule: biker saftey. :)


Day 41: Osseo to Wisconsin Rapids, WI

Instead of only corn and soybean fields, cranberry bogs began to pop up. I talked to my father on the phone yesterday and he mentioned that the largest grower in the U.S. of ginseng was in Wisconsin. I thought, "Ginseng in *Wisconsin*?" "You sure, Dad?" "Yeah!" and my dad began to describe what the leaves looked like. I assumed my father got Wisconsin mixed up with some other place and that his facts weren't straight. But, I found out my dad (as is often the case) was right: Marathon County in northern Wisconsin hosts the largest ginseng farm in North America. Our route doesn't take us this far north, though all the fields in green that I couldn't identify today I assumed to be ginseng.

Before riding the trainer for a couple of hours this afternoon, I finished a Steinbeck novel, _Tortilla Flats_. It was basically about a bunch of friends hanging around near Monterey. Each character vignette seemed to be an allegory for *something*, though I couldn't figure out what. I didn't try very hard to figure it out, though. I suppose the book, like this ride and all the people and places I'm experiencing, is simply "as is." And that's cool without having to be overtly exciting.

Day 40: Pepin to Osseo, WI

A group called something like "The Laura Ingalls Wilder Memorial Society" served us breakfast. They maintain the history of her travels across the U.S. from her birthplace in Pepin, WI, upkeep one of her former homes, and run the Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum. A large sign of a cartoon caricature of a girl in a large white bonnet, blue skirt, and white apron, head tucked down, holding a pink flower ensures that all passersby on Highway 35 don't miss the museum.

Now, I remember reading _Little House in the Big Woods_ and _Little House on the Prarie_ when I was 12 or so. One of the few things I remember from the books was that Laura's mother patted the cornbread batter with her hands to sweeten the loaf before putting it in the oven. "Your mother's touch is all the sweetness we need," her father had told her. I also remembered a part of a story of Laura and her family eating watermelon next to a campfire while coyotes howled in the distance.

These images crossed my mind as I rode in the support van through the hills on County Road D through Modena and Mondovi on the way to Osseo. I passed an old Lutheran "Kirke" where Country Road D met Country Road J--the only building for miles in the rolling green hills. In Mondovi, as I stood right outside a green-trimmed yellow house dedicated to the Green Bay Packers, I waved to a family driving their horse and buggy down County Road H. The father, hat brim low, turned and tossed a quick wave while the mother, keeping her eyes ahead, held her young son on her lap on top of the folds of her long black skirt. I imagined that family still living in a little house in the big woods; I imagined the people living in the Green Bay shrine barbecueing on their front lawn while cheering the Packers to another SuperBowl win. Wisconsinites.


Day 39: Northfield, MN to Pepin, WI

So Harry/Dr. Seper did not give the all clear to ride my bike, but he DID say that regaining movement in my shoulder was key. Because I had been wearing a brace since the accident, I only had minimal movement in my shoulder. He encouraged me to start doing everyday things again that I had avoided: brush my teeth with my right hand, comb my hair and draw it back in a ponytail, wash my face with two hands . . . . And so I started to last night. It was all very tough-- I had to slide my hand up the wall in order to raise it high enough to begin tying back my hair.

I also decided last night that since I couldn't ride my bicycle, and since I had been advised to do "everyday things" again, I would go for a run on the Cannon Valley Bicycle Trail that the bicyclists took this morning. It's a beautiful paved trail connecting Cannon Falls to RedWing, about 20 miles apart. Yup, me, stubborn (as usual) and a bit frustrated that I couldn't rejoin the other riders just yet, went for a 20+-mile run with a *slightly* broken collarbone.

The trick was that once I started, I couldn't turn back. There is no road paralleling the bicycle trail, no intersections to turn off on. The trail stretches for those 20 miles through dense trees, thick mosquito patches, and towards the end of the trail, behind industrial warehouses--which the trees do a fair job covering up the view of. But I went slowly and pressed on, chatting with fellow bicyclists as they rode past. Many rode alongside next to me including Diana, a first mate on shipping vessels that travel between the West Coast and Hawai'i; Mark, a former officer in the Air Force and recently home to the U.S. after two years in Africa in the Peace Corps; John, a jeweler from Colorado; and Paul, my riding buddy for the past several weeks, a British actuary with a quick wit. They offered me water, food, and their great company. I felt as if I were in the Tour de France, my crew supporting me the entire way. And I did make it to Red Wing, sore though happy, where we had a lunch stop at a marina.

There happened to be a statue of Charles Lindbergh near the picnic tables we ate at. The bronze memorialized him as a boy, smiling, balanced on one foot, leaning forward, arms outstretched to his sides as if he were a bird. And I couldn't help but think: how appropriate. :)

Tonight I walked to the BP station a few blocks from the school. Unlike most gas stations, the food mart had a few tables indoors you could sit at and enjoy the ice cream or burger or muffins (that were baked down the street) you bought from the counter. A couple of friends and I each ordered a double scoop of Moose Tracks ice cream (chocolate bits, caramel, pecans, vanilla ice cream). "Could you make that an *extra large* double scoop?" The bushy red-haired manager smiled, handed us the ice cream, and swept the floors and chatted with us as we ate the tracks left by humongous moose.

Day 38: Rest day in Northfield, MN

Northfield's claim to fame is not only that it's home to Carleton and Saint Olaf College, but it's also home to the First National Bank of Northfield, the last bank Jesse James attempted to rob. Since 1876, the town still celebrates the defeat of Jesse James and the James-Younger gang because its own citizens had banded together to defend their town from the gang. The celebration takes place in September and includes a
reenactment- good guys win; bad guys lose.

Division Street in the heart of Northfield is almost like any other college town: trendy coffee shops, ice cream parlors, banks with multiple ATM machines, bars, a few bookstores . . . . Most of the buildings, however, date to at least the mid-1800s. Brick foundations, painted white porches with arches connecting the white wooden posts, buildings lining the street like stacked dominoes with no spaces in between. The historical society of Northfield is based out of the First National Bank on this street, one of the buildings in this stack. The Archer House at the beginning of the street (set off on its own) dates to 1877. I couldn't resist staying at this "charming French Second Empire Inn" along the Cannon River.

In the afternoon, I walked the 3 or 4 miles to Northfield Hospital to have my collarbone checked out again. On the other side of the river, downtown turns into suburbs, which, after you pass the senior citizen centers, turns into fields of yellow and green. In the middle of these fields is the newly built hospital.

Now, I had missed returning to Brown to see my friends graduate before the start of this bike adventure. On top of the ceremonies, I had also missed a lot of the fun stuff that goes along with commencement, including a pops concert this year by Harry Connick, Jr. But no matter! At Northfield Hospital, I was in fact treated by Harry Connick, Jr.! Same rugged good looks, playful smile, intense voice . . . . Strangely, he introduced himself as Dr. Seper.

Harry, Dr. Seper, told me that I could begin light cycling in 5 days. He took me out of the sling and said that I could begin reacquiring motion in my right arm within reason. I'm disappointed that I can't begin tomorrow, though I suppose that pianists know best when it comes to clavicles . . .

Day 37: Hutchinson to Northfield, MN

Woke up with an initial feeling of great gratitude for two reasons: 1) I was dry. It had been pouring, thundering, lightning-ing all through the night and continued for several hours in the morning. 2) The inside of my tent was a mosquito-free zone-- not saying that if it hadn't been one I wouldn't have gone through great extents to make it so. The minute I came out of my tent to brush my teeth, not only did the long johns my mother had sent me in Wyoming get soaked, but a mosquito found my right buttock (through those long johns) quite appetizing.

Today's the first day that it's rained hard right from the start. How I wanted to be out there on my bike instead of in a van! Sure, I'd get wet, but what's the fun in biking such a great distance if you don't encounter all types of weather? But then I recalled the feasting mosquitoes, and I thought, well, I could wait.

It stopped raining about mid-day and good ol' midwest humidity set in. I received pacakges from friends and family (thank you!) and the macademia nut chocolates were gone in minutes. A shoulder brace I had recently ordered also came in and I'm hoping that the doctor at the local hospital will give me an OK to get back on my bike.

Day 36: Living proof of the importance of helmet safety . . .

Montevideo to Hutchinson, MN: 82 miles

Fields of corn and soybeans and not much else. Instead of taking Insterstate 7, we went along county road 11, running along the borders of people's farms. I imagined that at any moment, there would suddenly appear a large baseball field in the middle of the fields, _Shoeless Joe_-esque. But no baseball field. Just corn. Some already showing tassles at the top.

To give you an idea of how "wide, open spaces" can be completely filled with corn, all of the cross streets running through the fields are numbered. One of the first one's I noticed was 240th street (or something like that) and one of the last was 720th street. Kind of hard to get lost in a place like this, I suppose.

Met two 10-year-olds riding their bikes (WITH their helmets on! Way to go!) in the parking lot of the rec center we're camping out at today. Alex and Spencer gave me directions into downtown and told me that today is the last day of "crazy days," a downtown-wide sale. "Shoes you'd normally pay twenty bucks for, are now like, two dollars." No wonder the Mall of America is in Minnesota.

Day 35: Music to slay mosquitoes by . . . HALF THE WAY HOME!

Watertown, SD to Montevideo, MN: 84 miles

Now, it's a wonder how the name of a city in South America was transplanted to Minnesota . . .

Today marked the halfway point in terms of mileage for this 9 week adventure. Plus, we all made it out of South Dakota-- finally. Or so we thought.

Based on some of the local members of a small Presbyterian Church I had met, all residents (well, 2 out of 2) of western Minnesota actually hail from South Dakota! "Moving east," they said, "to where the big cities are."

I went into town in the early evening, and braving the swarms of 1-inch diameter mosquitoes, went to the Java River to listen to Jerry Ostensoe play his guitar and sing some folk. I met Rich, his bassist, who also owns a farm raising organic beef, and Pete, his harmonica-ist. They played in a courtyard next to the coffee shop with a community-built waterfall and pond, rose beds, while we sat in wire chairs around round tables-- the sky turning greyish blue (you'd think clouds were rolling in, but that's the color of the cloudless sky at dusk).

And the band played on, almost until 10P, but called it quits when instead of strumming or blowing, they were slapping mosquitoes to smithereens. Ah, Minnesooooota.

Day 34: Another act of kindness never forgotten: Ambassador of Aloha . . .

DeSmet to Watertown, SD: 60 miles

Stopped by Parkview Center, an assisted living home in Bryant, SD. I talked with Harry for a while. I told him about my injuries, and he told me how his ankle got busted when he was driving a combine and the hammer came off and flew into his leg. "It takes a long time to tell a story. Especially if you're telling someone close to you. Then you gotta explain things." He sat reclined in his chair, moving his arms only when necessarry, but always smiling. His eyes were glazed as if the power level on his eyes was turned down to low, though he did say, 'You know, I've always wanted to go to Hawaii."

"Well, you've met a real girl from Hawaii."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Day 33: The storm that wasn't there, and JC's getting strong now . . .

Miller to DeSmet, SD: 79 miles

Hot and humid, though I found out that we've been quite lucky with the weather. South Dakota this time of the year runs easily in the 100s with thunderstorms always around the corner. Last night I saw lightning flash through my rain fly and although one's first reaction might be to take down the tent as quickly as possible and run for cover, I hunkered down in my tent, got comfortable against my pillows, and had the thunder lull me to sleep. There was no rain. There was no storm. There was no wind. Strange . . .

However, it's not always so benign. Along Route 14 from Miller to DeSmet is a town called Manchester, SD, hit by a tornado about 2-3 weeks ago. Trailers were shreds, houses were represented only by their concrete foudations. One of the locals, a man with grey prickly hair in dark blue overalls, told me that many people in the town were given shelter in DeSmet and several people were taken in critical condition to the local hospital. I also heard that someone's dog was skewered in one of the tree skeletons that remained upright. Yet there's no feeling of "why?" amongst everyone-- just that the communities pulled together, understanding that this is just something that happens and is part of their lives, living here in the Great Plains.

I set up the trainer under a shady tree next to a curb fronting a stone-walled Lutheran church and cycled again for about 2 hours. One of the other riders came up next to me with his digital camera and played a series of photos while I cycled, stimulating and actual "ride." I spoke with a number of college students who are on the ALA "Big Ride"--they end up in Washington, D.C.-- and waved to the neighbors of DeSmet High School and Armory where we camped out, mostly people in their 70s.

Day 32: Back on her bike . . .

Pierre to Miller, SD: 95 miles

Cyclists from "The Long Ride" (raising money for the American Lung Association) biked along much of the same route as our group. We were able to trade stories and share supplies (mainly water--it has been nearing 90 or over each day we've been in South Dakota) along the way into Miller.

The best part about today is that I was able to set up my bicycle on a trainer, a piece of exercise equipment that anchors my bike in place while allowing me to spin. Basically it turns my road bike into a stationary bike. I spun for about an hour and a half and it felt really good to be biking again! I'll be riding the stationary bike for the remainder of the week. A friend kiddingly suggested that we put the bike and the trainer into one of the vans so that I can cycle as it drives across the U.S. Hmm . . .

Day 31: Continuing to recover . . .

Rest day in Pierre, SD

Although it is the capital of South Dakota, Pierre has a population of just a little over 10,000. Because I'm not riding a bike, I explored the city on foot. The capitol is surrounded by a man-made lake with swans and ducks. It's a Monday and families set up picnics along the shore.

There is one movie theater and one Chinese restaurant. Of course, I visited both of them. :)

Day 30: Bikers' excitement!

Philip to Pierre, SD: 95 miles

Went alongside the Missouri River today--a beautiful, not very wide, fast-flowing river. The group stayed at the Pierre Indian Learning Center--a school for underprivileged children from Native American Tribes in the Dakotas. I learned that over 70% of the children who attend the school have experienced some form of abuse in their past. Becuase it's the summer, the students were no longer boarding at the school and we were able to stay in their dormitories.

Watched the Tour in a restaurant near the school with several other cyclists and witnessed Lance Armstrong claim the yellow jersey on the 'huez stage. Some things are just more exciting when you're with bikers . . .

Day 29: Joce does not thresh, neither does she bike--for the moment. But her kindness to the baby ducks will not be forgotten . . .

Interior to Philip, SD: 69 miles

Went through Badland National Park today. Dry and desolate, but the COLORS! Amazing! Rocks would be grey or beige for miles, and all of a sudden, around a bend, they would turn to yellow and red and purple. Canyons appeared as if the ground split open suddenly and jagged thin peaks formed at the top of rock formations from wind erosion. A seemingly un-earthly landscape which is simply incredible.

Passed through a town called Cottonwood (population 12) on the way in to Philip. I got an ice cream at a place called B.J.'s corner and overheard the beginning of a conversation between a 40-some year-old man and two older women: "Why aren't you two threshing wheat today?"

Dinner was at a steak restaurant in town (I had fried bread with veggies) and almost all of the cyclists stayed to watch the Tour de France on the televisions set up there. I've never been much into watching cycling before now, but I must say that it's quite fun to watch and learn from many of the other cyclists on this tour.

Day 28: In the wake of a wild buffalo encounter of the 3rd kind . . .

Rapid City to Interior, SD: 85 miles

Interior is on the fringes of Badland National Park. Today is the first day of long, straight roads, surrounded by a desolate landscape. It is tough not being on my bike today. The town of Interior seems to appear out of nowhere, I suppose very much similar to how the Badlands had always been perceived as inhospitable, though have supported human settlements for several of the past centuries.

Day 27: Arrrgh! Blic et er to the max . . .

Custer to Rapid City, SD: 83 miles

Visited Mount Rushmore! The ride up there was smooth, calm, little traffic with wide shoulders. Pulling into the parking lot area and looking up, the carved figures of Washington, Roosevelt, Jefferson, and Lincoln did not look so inspiring as the parking garage seemed to completely detract from the statues, even overwhelm them. But, as you walk through to the exhibit and take a stroll along the President's Walk (wooden stairs around the base of the monument) you realize how impressive the place really is.

I must admit, though, that visiting Mount Rushmore the day after visiting Crazy Horse filled me with mixed feelings. I must do more reading-- why were the Black Hills chosen for the busts? I've learned that the Black Hills was not only the site of famous battles but was also sacred land for many Native American tribes. Yes, must do more reading . . .

The ride into Rapid City was pleasant, though very hilly with steep, windy roads. I took a fall on one of the last turns with about 10 miles left to the ride. (Basically, a wild buffalo had been chasing me down one of these roads and I caught sight of three baby ducks crossing the road in front of me. Of course, I had to save the ducks and so the buffalo ended up rearend-ing me, sending me off my bike and into the sunflower field next to the road.) Seriously, though, I was diagnosed with a similar injury as Tyler Hamilton (for those of you following the Tour de France), but unlike Tyler Hamilton, I will be off of my bike for two weeks in order to recover. Nothing serious, but to be safe and smart, I'm staying away from being on the road.

So my plan of attack during my recovery period? I am riding in the support vehicle along the route. The tour group has not left me behind! For those of you who have donated on a per mile basis, I am keeping track of the miles I am missing and have made arrangements with the tour leader to ride those extra miles once I'm recovered. In the meantime, I am resting and am in good spirits. I am healthy and strong and am looking forward to being on my bike again soon.

Day 26: Jewel Cave and the legacy of Crazy Horse . . .

Newcastle, WY to Custer, SD: 40 miles

A very nice easy day of only about 40 miles. I stopped by Jewel Cave and took a tour before heading to the campsite. The cave kissed me three times while I was down there exploring-- water dropped on my head. The stalactites, stalacmites, cave "bacon" (a formation of calcium that's thin, curved, and long running alongside a cave wall), nailhead formations . . . I was in awe and strained my eyes in the dim light to see as much as possible. There are only two known entrances to Jewel Cave and only about 5% of it has been explored.

In the afternoon I headed up to Crazy Horse Monument with several other riders. "My lands are where my people lie buried." Immortal words of Crazy Horse. It's absolutely incredible what's in store for the area. Not only will the monument pay tribute to Crazy Horse and the Lokota Tribe as well as many other tribal leaders, it will be a center of learning for Native Americans, as a university and medical school will also be built on the premises. An awesome goal, being chipped away at a little every day.

I bought _Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee_ and have read the first few chapters. If anyone has recommendations on other books on Native American history, I'd greatly appreciate it.

Day 25: Exploration and exploitation . . .

Devil's Tower to Newcastle, WY: 78 miles

73 miles of HEADWIND! The entire day was spent fighting the wind and climbing hills. It was a day that necessitated strength, not necessarily fitness. And my calves, quads, and hamstrings have yet to mature!

I passed a lot of open, rolling green land. Saw striped cows, abandoned farms, and fields of dry yellow. Now on these open stretches of farm and pasture lands are barrels of hay. Probably because machines have changed over time, I've seen more hay tied into cylindrical shapes as opposed to blocks. One of these hay barrels was on the side of the road and just like horses, I suddenly had the inclination to sit on one. It took a while to get up on it--they are nearly 6 feet high and approximately 4 feet wide (imagine an oversized can of Starkist Tuna resting on its curved side). I found out later that these hay barrels weigh at least 700 pounds.

Every so often there are wooden signs, about 3 by 5 feet, marking Wyoming points of interest. On one of these signs, I read a bit about the Black Hills and General Custer's exploration and eploitation of the land and the Sioux Indians. I must admit that I don't remember learning much of the wars fought between Native Americans and foreigners to the lands. I must do some more reading when I return.

Day 24: Healing cuts and dried hands . . .

Rest day in Devil's Tower

Well, sitting on a horse at Grand Teton National Park wasn't enough. I wanted to actually ride a horse. So, I hopped on an old gal named Chapel and rode the horse (I bet the horse was probably on auto-pilot since it's been on the trail so many times) through a park at the base of Devil's Tower. Paul and Kari came along, too-- as if we all weren't tired from sitting our butts in saddles all day!

The owner of the restaurant near the campsite who helps organize the Devil's Tower stay for the cyclists, Matt, gave me a bottle of Emu Oil to help with my cuts and dry hands. I am always amazed and grateful at how people have always extended friendship and help. Yet not surprised. I honestly believe that people have so much good to share.

Finished jotting down notes for this entry at dusk with the wind picking up, clouds moving in ominously from behind Devil's Tower. A storm . . . raindrops! Hopefully it will cool things off for us tomorrow.

Day 23: The gigantic claws of Bear Lodge . . .

Gillette to Devil's Tower, WY: 70 miles

The day started off with headwind and ended with headwind. In the early morning, we rode through some open cattle grounds and so every 100 yards or so there seemed to be a cattle grate (very bumpy when you're on a bike). I rode through Rozette, population 25, and passed by T&T Ammunition Company.

It was a wonderful ride, though, because I felt like Lance Armstrong. Five other riders, who were bigger and more experienced cyclists than me, blocked the wind for me up until there were only about 20 miles left to Devil's Tower. I had the "sweet spot" where I could feel virtually no wind at all. What gentlemen. :)

And as for Devil's Tower, for those of you who have seen _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_, yes, it is a REAL place, not something concocted from Speilberg's imagination. And a tiny bit of history: it is the first National Monument. Also, I'm not sure why it was named "Devil'sTower," but the Sioux name for it is Mato Tipila, meaning Bear Lodge. If you look at the face of the mountain, you can almost imagine a bear's claws carving out the vertical ridges.

At the campsight, we celebrated the end of the third riding week by having a "luau." I had bought some plastic leis from a novelty shop in Jackson Hole and passed them around as all of the riders just sat around and talked story. A nice way to come together.

And yes, there are free nightly 9P outdoor showings of _Close Encounters_ and yes, I watched the movie while eating chocolate covered macademia nuts (thank you Mom!) with Devil's Tower right behind the movie screen.

Email Joce: mailto:coast_to_coast@fastmail.fm

Day 22: Nodding donkeys, white-tailed deer . . .

Buffalo to Gillette, WY: 73 miles

Had grits for breakfast for the first time in 3 weeks. At a water stop past oil riggs ("nodding donkeys") and mile-long climbs, I found out that there do exist flies that bite. Today's route followed I-90 almost the entire way. And yes, in certain circumstances, it is LEGAL to bike on an interstate highway . . .

At the very end of the ride, four white-tailed deer ran through a deserted lot I passed. They stopped, bleated for a long time, and finally pranced away. How would you like to have deer running around in your backyard?

When the night was over and I took note of the waxing crescent and the Big Dipper before falling asleep.

Day 21: 4th of July . . .

Worland to Buffalo, WY: 91 miles

8500 feet of climbing to get over Powder River Pass. Probably the most challenging day yet. I was in the saddle for 9 hours. Started cycling at 7:30A and finished around 8P. But, my 4th of July was topped off by catching a parade in a town called Ten Sleep (it used to take ten days to cross through the area) where teenaged girls rode their horses down the 3 blocks of main street, men in cowboy boots and hats straddled propane gas tanks (advertising their gas company), and little boys zoomed in their go-carts. And hey, our cycling group made it into their local newspaper . . .

Day 20: Bowed, but not broken . . . blic et er . . .

Riverton to Worland WY: 93 miles

I rode hard this morning to catch up to the rest of the group of riders since I started a little late this morning. By the time I reached Wind River Canyon, we had regrouped together. Beautiful! This is what I imagined when I thought of cycling across America. Warm, windy roads, little traffic, river flowing quickly, rocks towering on both sides of the road, shade, remnants of an old railroad from the mining days, butterflies zipping through the spokes of my wheel . . .

On the outskirts of Thermopolis (no, I am not joking about the name of the town!), home of the world's largest natural hot springs, I stopped at a shop selling "Hawaiian Style Shave Ice" with a few other riders. The store also sold jackalope heads, candy barrels, wooden welcome signs, and fishing gear.







On the way into Worland from Thermopolis, I crashed my bike in some gravel in order to avoid a dead hawk in the middle of the road, the rumble strip, and an oncoming tractor-trailer. I had a few cuts, but nothing serious. Friends helped me up, got me to a local hospital to double-check that I only had a few scrapes, and was up and riding again.

Finished the ride! Every single inch . . .

Day 19: Rattlesnakes for everyone . . .

Dubois to Riverton, WY: 78 miles, average speed 17 mph

Went running this morning, mostly through some residential areas. The sun rose behind the striated rock faces. Dogs barked in turn as I ran past their owner's home. I found a deli/espresso/grocery/navy surplus store (I guess they multi-task here). All of the houses were shaped squatly though one house almost had a parallelogram profile with diagonal planks. It really stood out-- a "modern" architectural approach when most everything else in the town was built for functionality.

Temperatures reached over 90 degrees again, and to get out of the hot and dry and weather as quickly as possible, I drafted behind Chris and Clyve, the tandem, for most of the day. Saw my first dead rattlesnake on the side of the road. Good thing I didn't see a live one while I was in the bushes!

Day 18: Ride um, cowperson!

Jackson Hole to Dubois, WY: 100+ miles

Three things: running, horses, and snow.

The start of today was different. I dragged myself out of bed before 5:30A and went for a half-hour run. Oh, it felt so good to move my legs and arms and NOT hear the wind whip by my ears, but instead just heard myself breathe and my feet hit the pavement. I finally had complete control of my body.

I ran along the bike path going in towards Teton Village. A man, white hair and moustache, blue baseball cap, nylon jacket, camera slung diagonally across his chest, riding his bike greeted me: "Nice time of the morning, huh?" Beautiful! This is one of the main reasons I came on this adventure. To be alone, but to be with so many other people who were also alone, but never lonely, never desiring anything more than just being.

The sun rose and lit up the Tetons as I ran east.

I returned to the campsight and a friend commented: "Joce, you're steaming!" And yes, I could see my body appear to evaporate!

Rode 20 miles to breakfast, but it was worth it: sourdough pancakes and a front row seat to the Tetons. Went through Grand Teton National Park and endured 8 miles of climbing to get to lunch. Couldn't really sit down to enjoy my sandwhich, though, because of the swarms of mosquitoes. One bit me right on the okole-- THROUGH my shorts! Could things get any worse?

But, I spotted a few cowboys off on a trail and walked up to them. One cowboy brought his horse down and asked me what was up and I told him that I was riding across the country, and one of the things I really wanted to do was to at least sit on a horse. And so, I got to sit on a horse at the Grand Tetons!







9 more miles of climbing to Togwotee Pass, reaching the Continental Divide- again! My riding partner, Paul, spotted some snow on the other side of a creek, and so after cresting one of the hills, we crawled up the opposite bank to make a snowman. It was more like ice rather than snow, but I brought some back over the creek to help Chris (a woman riding a tandem with her husband immediately behind us) cool down. It was still in the high 80s.

The mountains changed from green to orange, red, and purple as we rode down into Dubois from Togwotee Pass. Hot and dry and temperatures climbing into the 90s.

Day 17: Champagne Falls and shorn horns . . .







Rest day in Jackson Hole

From the campsite, I rode 5 miles in to the town with a couple of friends. After a visit to the post office and stopping for breakfast at a local diner, we locked up our bikes at the downtown office of a white water rafting company and headed for the Snake River!

WHAT FUN! We had an 8-mile tour of the river in category 2/3 rapids. A group of 5 high school girls visiting from Columbus, OH shared the 8-person raft with my friends and me. The neatest part of the river was "Champagne Falls," where air from a waterfall empyting beneath the surface of the river bubbed up. I took a swim at a calm part of the river--VERY COLD! I couldn't pass the opportunity by, fully partaking in the experience. :)

After riding the rapids, we walked around the downtown center of Jackson Hole. The entranceways to the main square are marked by elk antler arches. At first I was taken aback by imagining the number of elk that had died for this decoration, but I found out after reading the dedication plaque that the local Boy Scouts, over many years, collected the antlers after they had been shorn by the elk. They, along with other community groups such as the Rotary, built up the arches to symbolize the sense of community in the area and to let all visitors know the importance and respect they owed to the elk and other wildlife.

Still yet, there are quite a number of taxidermy shops nearby . . .

Day 16: Songs to slay 10% grades by . . .

Ashton to Jackson Hole, WY: 71 miles

What a tough day.

The first 20 miles were "rolling" hills. Imagine a ping pong ball bouncing up and down--the trace of its path outlined the roads we had to cycle today.

I stopped for lunch about 8 miles from the base of Teton Pass and went by a church to ask to use the restroom. Everyone there was dressed in their Sunday's best, and there I was with dirt and sunscreen smeared all over my skin, dressed in tight biking clothes. Coincidentally, the gentleman who showed me the way to the restroom used to live in Makaha over 20 years ago . . .







I rode up the Grand Teton Pass with a group of 5 other men. We were all dreading the 10% grade and ended up singing the Righteous Brothers song "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" during the 8-mile ride to the foot of the pass.

The first part of the climb was manageable. We all kept relatively together for a few miles until the "Welcome to Wyoming" sign (full of bullet holes) and the "10% grade" sign 50 feet behind it. Four miles later, I struggled to the next water station (the Cycle America group I ride with sets up water stops at strategic points along the route to ensure that all riders are hydrated). I stopped, ate a granola bar, and saw a trailer drive down the pass with angry horses denting the back door, trying to get out. Along with other riders, I motioned to oncoming traffic to slow down because of the slow trailer, and a man on a red motorcycle actually turned around to thank us.

I made my way up the rest of the pass VERY SLOWLY. A couple of the riders I had started off with actually doubled back down the pass after cresting it in order to ride with me up to the top, giving me moral support along the way. I had only several hundred feet of climbing left, and I MADE IT! I couldn't believe it! WOW! I got off my bike at the top, took in the scenery of Jackson Hole below me, leaned against my friends for support (remember, it's hard to be exercising at altitude!), got doused with water, and waited to welcome riders behind me.

I cautiously zoomed down the other side of the pass into Jackson Hole, relishing the climb and feeling the awesomeness of the Tetons.

Day 15: Joce (a la Walt Whitman) contemplates the human chain of continual re-discovery . . .

West Yellowstone, MT to Ashton, ID: 49 miles

A very easy riding day passing through towns with names such as No Chance, ID and Last Chance, ID. Most of today's route went along one of the scenic byways, meaning well-paved roads, little traffic, and gorgeous scenery. I spent most of the day at the Upper and Lower Mesa Falls which are along the Snake River. Each time I come upon a canyon or a waterfall along this trip, I just imagine what it would be like to "discover" them--to not know that they're there, but to happen upon them . . .

Apologies for the break in communication. Joce's mobile phone connection comes and goes, and mostly has been gone for the past few weeks. Check out her photos: www.hawaii.edu/labschool/jocelyn.html for more up-to-date coverage.