tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12419084799083851172024-03-14T01:23:00.524-07:00The Wild DorkTom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-33675586761181542362016-08-05T08:57:00.001-07:002016-08-05T08:57:05.700-07:00And more framebagsI have not been posting lately but certainly keeping busy. Here are two new custom frame bags that just shipped out of the Wild Dork workshop and are on their way to adventures in Pittsburgh, PA and beyond.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHk0lWuvgGErIWPmLz5XYTJKGk3CHQcBB0QtmZBubgbmoBk3lUtUUy9EZOPfjL4CMhQK-BstQqMFaCuRzeyru02PTAWcxL-ymJNYzBlOBQNsj_Ece3EAqOhczK70nPtj2Yks2ZE590zAoE/s1600/IMG_5752.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHk0lWuvgGErIWPmLz5XYTJKGk3CHQcBB0QtmZBubgbmoBk3lUtUUy9EZOPfjL4CMhQK-BstQqMFaCuRzeyru02PTAWcxL-ymJNYzBlOBQNsj_Ece3EAqOhczK70nPtj2Yks2ZE590zAoE/s400/IMG_5752.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many projects begin with taking a tracing of the interior of the main triangle with cardboard and making a template for cutting. I hope to capture the entire manufacturing process in an upcoming post.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6pqVDeZTGstQM6FCV4XhHeBjs1h1QBflvKblGGFuh94G3hH2cbn-xLXaUqk3-Vxhs_B1PqAWwzCwv2mrlMSfYj5m7pKFAM4L45PUeecB6xk7UZvFK1c8eR4A0sUpzVGr2KdrWKj80ET_R/s1600/IMG_5758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6pqVDeZTGstQM6FCV4XhHeBjs1h1QBflvKblGGFuh94G3hH2cbn-xLXaUqk3-Vxhs_B1PqAWwzCwv2mrlMSfYj5m7pKFAM4L45PUeecB6xk7UZvFK1c8eR4A0sUpzVGr2KdrWKj80ET_R/s400/IMG_5758.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two newly completed frame bags intended for urban adventures in the 'Steel City'. Or maybe a GAP/C&O Tour. Or beyond...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPeX6KiwK9MZE_8DSargia45ar2opoIVseI-3a_gDHbH6gvrC4LJ_9LbomUnY1bluoQh9O7k8fBU9OTYJHMcbIOYeu_NOqQO3C5EGbNUV8o1q5jt9LAauRwOUGJcq5lXWONQf-uknmGpk/s1600/IMG_5759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPeX6KiwK9MZE_8DSargia45ar2opoIVseI-3a_gDHbH6gvrC4LJ_9LbomUnY1bluoQh9O7k8fBU9OTYJHMcbIOYeu_NOqQO3C5EGbNUV8o1q5jt9LAauRwOUGJcq5lXWONQf-uknmGpk/s400/IMG_5759.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the side opposite the main opening, you will find a small zippered pocket for random small things. I don't think it will fit a ferret. We'll have to work on that. The grey bag is intended for a bike with downtube shifters therefore the zippers are located further back from the nose.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1t-xpNeQ9MCRHdLJlamKNGp09e4YPfPvafM7LABRfQTkbfEE-RVWjg-sg1F_x8BzZzYCNrHh8RbOAYKx61nhXEXp4Y4eWsUTxGBBglBHoY6DA6FHUT1zwqH949NH0BcLOKCbBMEXlY-i/s1600/IMG_5760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1t-xpNeQ9MCRHdLJlamKNGp09e4YPfPvafM7LABRfQTkbfEE-RVWjg-sg1F_x8BzZzYCNrHh8RbOAYKx61nhXEXp4Y4eWsUTxGBBglBHoY6DA6FHUT1zwqH949NH0BcLOKCbBMEXlY-i/s400/IMG_5760.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bags are lined in a color of their owner's choosing. Here you can see a large black Velcro divider that keeps items from sloshing back and forth and keep the sides of the bag from ballooning out when you have it stuffed with too many Cheetos.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj6rM7dUTe_tgnBEQBNyvifjqiHt9C0ZhWmj3SL4HQtuiPuPgSbNmcSxJAHMragP5uiuMpK4FWbMk7n-F31rAZduY-mny9H2dWAgu9Yxx3x4Lp88slGQVcBuZW8fwJge_ZW2wmc7dfsYcp/s1600/IMG_5762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj6rM7dUTe_tgnBEQBNyvifjqiHt9C0ZhWmj3SL4HQtuiPuPgSbNmcSxJAHMragP5uiuMpK4FWbMk7n-F31rAZduY-mny9H2dWAgu9Yxx3x4Lp88slGQVcBuZW8fwJge_ZW2wmc7dfsYcp/s400/IMG_5762.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This bag could also double as a handy garden tool organizer that you hang from your fence. Or you can go biking with it. You choose.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bZCf25AaJupGOGzX1oMSAnP4GHTgXDPzS3BiOzY3jDic0fUNDO-wkYGU-f-OnjtQn3Pke-gh6YW4nsE8EJDH6k3xLckZb4uRqe_c0r_px06DLt53XedhLoqsrNroknUb8fkBhYJBF-B8/s1600/IMG_5764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bZCf25AaJupGOGzX1oMSAnP4GHTgXDPzS3BiOzY3jDic0fUNDO-wkYGU-f-OnjtQn3Pke-gh6YW4nsE8EJDH6k3xLckZb4uRqe_c0r_px06DLt53XedhLoqsrNroknUb8fkBhYJBF-B8/s400/IMG_5764.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is going on a zippy road bike, but would equally be at home on a mountain bike, blending in amongst the trees.</td></tr>
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<br />I am excited to be making great products for great people intended for good healthy fun! I will keep you updated on future progress with my business. As always, if you're interested in a frame bag, panniers, or any other custom sewn work don't hesitate to reach out in the comments below or find me on Facebook at @thewilddork.<div>
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Peace,</div>
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Tom<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-86924434209505668652016-02-03T10:51:00.001-08:002016-02-03T10:51:37.799-08:00Framebag goodness!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So about three years ago, I <a href="http://wilddork.blogspot.com/2012/08/montanas-y-montana.html" target="_blank">ran into a guy named Joe</a> in Rawlins, WY while biking across the US. He and his girlfriend were biking the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route at the time. Joe had made the framebags for their bikes and was considering making them for sale once back home. I took his email address and duly emailed him a few months later to order a framebag for my Surly Long Haul Trucker. Joe never emailed me back. Jerk.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxUrCKf5wbGPDXgCA6xTwcoFVllBeCemPopg0HBDg4_0dHu0ShF8kl1K2XJ7Ai3Fcw7yl7X6J4JfF6ZlRA3H0XOvnCGkwztA1TLepzpHFvLhOP15dTnEHyUWX3vLrl8IYXXQ-CNlV5pg7/s1600/P1030121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxUrCKf5wbGPDXgCA6xTwcoFVllBeCemPopg0HBDg4_0dHu0ShF8kl1K2XJ7Ai3Fcw7yl7X6J4JfF6ZlRA3H0XOvnCGkwztA1TLepzpHFvLhOP15dTnEHyUWX3vLrl8IYXXQ-CNlV5pg7/s400/P1030121.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pam's custom framebag</td></tr>
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Naturally I thought to myself, "Heck, I can do that." Two years passed. Whoops. Then Pam and I began to plan our own trip of the GDMBR. Of course you need to carry all sorts of various stuff to stay alive and comfortable whilst biking through the middle of nowhere for months. Framebags are a pretty handy way to do this. I already had one for my bike made by <a href="http://revelatedesigns.com/" target="_blank">Revelate Designs</a> but Pam needed one. Pam didn't relish the thought of paying a couple hundred dollars for one in the face of not receiving a paycheck for a few months. I had no experience using zippers and began to hypothesize about a roll top closure instead. Lo and behold, a week or two later I saw an early <a href="http://review%20of%20the%20orbiter%20framebag/" target="_blank">review of the Orbiter framebag</a> made by <a href="http://www.porcelainrocket.com/" target="_blank">Porcelain Rocket</a>. Rather than reinvent the wheel, I studied the pictures in the review and made my own, mimicking the design. Utilizing old nylon fabric from a boat cover, I laminated that with Tyvek and used assorted buckles and Velcro I acquired. It probably cost $15. The bag has lasted several thousand miles of riding. Pam was pleased.<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LbuREg1ys9E/VrI_wWsFa4I/AAAAAAAAGMI/Dh_6C1XEGiU/s1600/IMG_5691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LbuREg1ys9E/VrI_wWsFa4I/AAAAAAAAGMI/Dh_6C1XEGiU/s400/IMG_5691.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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Now I am setting out to make more custom framebags and other outdoor equipment solutions. First up, was a Cordura framebag for my road bike. Of course I have some improvements to make to the design and improve my interior seam finishing work, but it turned out quite nicely if I may say so.<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LvXATbs3nPc/VrI_w7JzExI/AAAAAAAAGMI/qilCu0Au7ss/s1600/IMG_5693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LvXATbs3nPc/VrI_w7JzExI/AAAAAAAAGMI/qilCu0Au7ss/s400/IMG_5693.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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It is a single compartment, single zipper design. A big honking #10 zipper allows access to the interior.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is lined with coated nylon which makes it pretty water resistant, but not waterproof. The interior is a lighter color, red, which allows you to spot things like Snickers bars, bear spray or whatever you're rummaging for.</div>
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The points where the bag contacts the frame consists of ballistics nylon and are foam padded. There is a port along the downtube where a hydration tube can snake out of the bag.</div>
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It is wide enough to carry more stuff than necessary within the diamond of your bicycle frame, but narrow enough to not inhibit your feet and legs and give plenty of chainring clearance.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at those purty seams and corners!</td></tr>
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<br />My plan is to make a few more prototypes to work out any design flaws, but then I will begin accepting inquiries for custom work. I have access to all of the high falutin' fabrics and materials that all of the other bag manufacturers do so I am looking forward to making some sweet bags and accessories to help folks go have some adventures.<div>
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Thanks for looking and let me know what you think!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-76580574205848364562016-01-10T09:01:00.000-08:002016-01-10T09:01:22.019-08:00Oh hail!<i>In the summer of 2015, Pam and I bicycled from Banff, AB to Steamboat Springs, CO along the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. I wrote about the beginning of the trip up until Whitefish, MT and then failed to write anything else. I'm going to post some small scenes from the trip to catch up. I am working off of memory so of course it will be entirely factual with no embellishment whatsoever (I also have a journal that we kept at the time). To be honest, I also just made a pot of espresso with our recently acquired $6 thrift store espresso pot so that may affect my memory too...</i><br />
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The highs and lows of bicycle travel can be truly schizophrenic, changing rapidly from one extreme to the other in short order. And situations that you (or a more sane person) might otherwise find discomfiting are "THE BEST THING EVER" in the moment and cannot be reasonably explained. If you're telling a story and your listener's eyebrows keep arching up and up or they look queasy like there may be immediate need of a trashcan, you wrap it up with the quintessential storyteller's line: "You had to be there." In a period of 24 hours in southern Montana, Pam and I had one such experience.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYf59avUi92TZSFnnovNnS3KKu-viDdXJRJjsEs1nluQVHQYUzOl71jISpw_jucMD-IjqSEuVZpHO_ws-ptvxUWZm51YCpiDCOtG2rBpfQXepxkmv-H10lE9dFntpozqEI1jVkqU0vQif-/s1600/P1070169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYf59avUi92TZSFnnovNnS3KKu-viDdXJRJjsEs1nluQVHQYUzOl71jISpw_jucMD-IjqSEuVZpHO_ws-ptvxUWZm51YCpiDCOtG2rBpfQXepxkmv-H10lE9dFntpozqEI1jVkqU0vQif-/s400/P1070169.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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July 14th, 2015</div>
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At some point during the day, Pam's odometer read 900 miles of cycling so far on the trip. We had been riding now for one month exactly. The route had thrown plenty at us thus far, but today's ride just slowly sapped our strength. 45 miles of rolling hills gained us 2000' of elevation gain from our starting point, but with all of the ups and downs, we actually climbed considerably more. A note from my journal reads, "good gravel turned to hard dirt to shitty, rocky washboard, and eventually it just turned into rutted mud". Additionally, the last mile of climbing to top of the watershed divide was considerably steeper, nothing that a topographical relief map does justice. We just pushed the bikes up the last half mile of mud and loose rocks to be greeted by whipping winds and what appeared to be a building storm. </div>
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No chance to appreciate the view from the top of the divide crossing, we rode two or three more miles to our planned camp. Essentially, Pam and I found ourselves in a several mile wide grassy river valley. Much of it is private ranch land that you can travel through by road, but not camp on legally. To camp, we needed to figure out what was public land. It turned out public land was 1/4 mile up a rocky path, through a gate in one of the ubiquitous barbed wire fences, and in a grassy field that looked identical to the hundreds of square miles surrounding us. Our water source for the night was another 1/4 mile away: a "stream" no wider than my hand, hidden below the aforementioned grass and so full of sediment and cow shit that it clogged our water filter to a standstill.</div>
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We slept pretty soundly that night.</div>
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July 15, 2015</div>
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The day dawned clear and sunny and cool amongst the grass and sagebrush. Both of us were looking forward to riding into Lima (pronounced LIE-muh like the bean not LEE-muh like Peru) which was about 35 mostly downhill miles away. We didn't know much about the town beyond the fact that there was an Exxon station there which spawned our rallying cry of "DR. PEPPERS! AND GATORADES! AT THE EXXON GAS STATION!!" that carried us through the day. Come to think of it, that became our rallying cry for the rest of the trip. All packed up, we descended through the river valley on ever improving dirt roads. After a bit, the valley abruptly narrowed to a tight canyon. Neither the guidebook nor other travelers had given us any expectation of this. The next ten miles were some of our favorite of the trip. The road paralleled a beautiful trout stream. High, soaring rock walls hemmed us in. The road squiggled back and forth like a mess of spaghetti. And tucked here and there amongst the rocks were small, ruggedly built cabins, any of which Pam and I would have gladly adopted. At some point we stopped at a small BLM campground in the canyon for lunch.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The storm is moving left to right. Fortunately/unfortunately, we are about to turn right in a mile or two.</td></tr>
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<br />We have only ridden for several minutes after lunch when the canyon starts widening a bit to where we can see more of the sky. It's turning grey and there is a bit of wind picking up. The distinctive smell of rain greets my nostrils. Both of us don our rain jackets expecting just a little passing shower like what we've ridden in previously on the trip.<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqIUR_NaKoV40tLIuKTSA9Snzmr2uERBIt4VS7lUs7NCzh2aQkymdEx5QVzRELdm-MeqbB4cTQU48yTWzo4QU5-VPv7X7_9HbdD0Ty_nNWmpg1nmLP2HHnlNas4VlCyd2wcRtRNNm9WgU/s1600/P1080176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqIUR_NaKoV40tLIuKTSA9Snzmr2uERBIt4VS7lUs7NCzh2aQkymdEx5QVzRELdm-MeqbB4cTQU48yTWzo4QU5-VPv7X7_9HbdD0Ty_nNWmpg1nmLP2HHnlNas4VlCyd2wcRtRNNm9WgU/s400/P1080176.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I believe Pam was saying something to the effect of "Bicycle touring is so stupid. And I love it!"</td></tr>
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<br />The canyon finally gave out entirely and we could see for miles and miles out in front of us. What greeted us was a wall of black clouds dropping sheets of rain and sprouting occasional lightning bolts to the north and moving south at a fast clip. There is nowhere to take shelter for miles and we have to travel ten more miles south to get to Lima. Shit. This clearly feels like one of those scenarios in a wilderness first aid class or outdoor leadership course where you analyze what people did wrong. The storm catches us right as we reach a paved frontage road that parallels Interstate 15 into town. We've got 8 miles to go.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty soon we get waaaaaay apart from one another.</td></tr>
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<br />At first it's just a steady rain. But the storm clouds behind us are increasingly darker and angrier. And they're catching up. Pam shouts to me that it's best if we ride 50-100 feet apart from one another. Why? If one of us gets struck by lightning, hopefully the other will be out of range and can administer to the other. Hey, if you're gonna be dumb and ride around in thunderstorms, you better be smart about it! The two of us are biking about as fast as we can maintain comfortably, knowing that we have about 8 miles left. And that's when the hail starts.<div>
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It begins as pea sized hail, just lightly here and there. The hail gains intensity. Pam is laughing at the ridiculousness of our situation. There's not much else we can do at this point as we haven't seen any form of shelter for miles. This goes on for many minutes. Then the storm rapidly gains strength and the hail falls even faster. The spheres of ice increase to about an inch in diameter. Both of us instinctively attempt to make our entire bodies shrink beneath our bike helmets, the only source of protection. The problem is, one still needs to have a hand on the handlebars of the bike. I can still hear Pam laughing interspersed with a surprise yelp as another big hail chunk hits the back of her unprotected hands. It sounds like someone is dumping buckets of marbles onto the road from great height whilst someone else is throwing gravel at you. Over the din, we communicate that we must find <i>some</i> shelter and at long last spot an abandoned feed shed off the side of the frontage road.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hail and cowshit.</td></tr>
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<br />We try as fast as we can to get off of the road, find a break in the fence and navigate a yard of tall grass, haphazard coils of barbed wire and indistinguishable abandoned metal parts in order to take refuge under the sheet metal shed. It only affords us about a four foot overhang and hail is still blowing up under, but it's much better that being out in the midst of the storm. The clanging of the ice falling on the sheet metal roof is a dull roar. And after ten minutes of waiting, the storm moves on and the hail and the rain and the winds let up.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow in July?</td></tr>
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Pam and I drag our bike out from under the feed barn and pedal back to the frontage road. We have only about 4 miles of riding left to Lima. As we ride through actual snowdrifts of hail collected on the road, we can help but smile and laugh and appreciate what an odd and beautiful day it has been. We roll into Lima which is no more than a motel, a restaurant and a gas station offering an exit to motorists on I-15. To us it is a bonanza. We rent a room at the Mountain View Motel and immediately take hot showers and put on what dry clothes we have left. Next stop is Jan's Cafe where we get cowboy burgers (beef patty with ham, bacon and cheddar on top) with fries and a side of gravy. Over our sumptuous meal, Pam and I rejoice over the highs and lows of the past day. It has felt like a whirlwind.</div>
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Then we go to Ralph's Exxon station and get our Dr. Peppers and Gatorades. </div>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-887084265399500832015-06-27T14:25:00.000-07:002015-06-27T14:28:02.620-07:00Here fishy, (White)fishy!Greetings from Whitefish, Montana! Pam and I are currently hogging a couple of computers in the public library to catch up on two weeks worth of electronic communications. Two weeks of incommunicado in the Information Age? We may as well not exist anymore!! Best rest assured, we are alive and well and having the trip of a lifetime.<br />
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The bus ride from Richmond, VA to Banff, AB took over three days. We both felt like it would never end but at last it did, depositing us at the train station. It took us a couple of hours to debox our bikes and reassemble them, pack up and figure out where the heck we were in town. Pam and I spent a day wandering about only to develop a slight claustrophobia and itchy feet, so it was terrific to hit the road/trail on Sunday morning. Although we started in the wrong place, rode around confused for a half an hour, and then linked together a couple additional trails to get us onto the correct one. But hey, we got there! "Town" followed us for the first ten miles of trail with day bikers and hikers riding all about us. It was a relief to get further away and the crowds dissipated to replaced with bear poop. Yes, we knew to watch out for bears, but now we kept extra alert singing random tunes and talking extra loud. (Ask one of us to do a rendition of "The Star Spangled Bear" which is the national anthem with "bear" liberally peppered into the lyrics). Quite tired, but overwhelmingly happy with our beautiful surroundings, we camped on the edge of Spray Lake.<br />
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The following day was even more riding along the edge of Spray Lake with more bear (and moose!) poop littering the way. Leaving the lake, we found ourselves pushing the bikes up some short but incredibly steep rocky inclines and then rocketing down through the woods on old logging roads. Eventually 20 miles along a dusty gravel road brought us to our next campground. Note: Rednecks in pickup trucks on gravel roads respond identically to cyclists in Canada as in the US.<br />
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The third day brought our first crossing of the Continental Divide! Ten miles of climbing on dirt roads took us up to the top of Elk Pass and into British Columbia. The payoff for our early labors was another ten miles of downhill on dirt roads. We occasionally stopped to cross small streams or rutted sections formed by runoff. Here we also saw our first grizzly bear track, which is humbling to say the least! Another twenty miles of the gravel Elk River Rd to the Blue Lake campsite. There our tranquil settings were interrupted by a dozen trucks full of folks in the twenties arriving to have a raucous party until the wee hours of the morning. Fortunately we were so tired that even their thumping bass couldn't deny us sleep. Waking up in the morning, we saw the last partyers drag themselves to their vehicles and depart. Then it rained. And kept raining. And it was chilly. Which made even the dozen miles into Elkford suck. We arrived soaked, cold and hungry to the motel where a local commented in the most Canadian of accents, "Bit of a rainy day for biking, eh?" Yes, brilliant observation. We retired to the motel, jacked up the heat in our room, did laundry, pillaged their restaurant, and slept so well.<br />
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From here, we decided on a detour from the Great Divide route to head over to Waterton and Glacier International Peace Park. We biked over the Continental Divide again over Crowsnest Pass and back into Alberta and in Coleman we had one of the best bacon mushroom cheeseburgers ever. Ever. Also, gravy on fries, poutine, whatever you want to call it, is awesome. While Pam and I regretted being on pavement along with all of the cars and trucks, the next route served up a truly memorable day after that. Finally a sunny day, we biked about 15 miles pleasantly. Then the crosswinds and headwinds began that made us work for the rest of the day! On one uphill section, a passing truck stopped to warn us of a bear ahead. Right and that moment, we saw a quite large grizzly gallop across the road 100 yards ahead of us. Close enough for me! Several miles further along, we saw what looked like a riderless horse herding cattle. Instead it was a cow moose scaring cattle and running in circles in a field looking for an escape. Coming into Pincher Creek, tailwinds from a storm got us up to about 30 mph (I dunno, my computer is broken...) only to be frighteningly hit with crosswind gusts. That can tire your arms out trying to stay straight. Thoroughly frazzled, we stopped at a grocery store for supplies and directions to the campground. A kindly customer gave us directions only to end up meeting us twenty minutes later at the campground to invite us to her house. Sally and Brent (who happens to be a minister) gave us a warm welcome into their home letting us shower, do laundry, and preparing a delicious dinner. They regaled us with stories of their own trips and then we left to watch Brent referee a kids' soccer game nearby. The night was capped with a driving tour of town and the wind turbine fields (Pincher Creek is pretty windy) and ice cream. Thanks guys!<br />
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Heat and headwinds and consistent uphills combined for an energy sapping ride into Waterton Lakes park, but once there it was gorgeous! We took a day there to relax and explore and for me to strip part of Pam's crankset in an attempt to fix it. Whoops. We also saw a red fox on one of our walks. The next day we left the park and did several steep long climbs in the rising temperatures that eventually brought us back into the USA. Thankfully we were able to refill our water partway through from the Belly River. Later on we entered open range. Imagine two hot, tired cyclists yelling at a group of cows to try and move them off the road. It's funny if you're not one of the cyclists. It's funny if you're one of the cyclists too, I guess. More headwinds and more people who should have their licenses revoked livened up the last miles into Babb, MT. (Cue another cheeseburger and a cheesesteak and cold soda.) The next day was a short one taking us into Glacier National Park (Pam's first time there) and the Rising Sun Campground. There we psyched ourselves up with gin rummy, burritoes, and an early bed time for the next day's riding: Going to the Sun Road.<br />
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The day that Pam and I rode Going to the Sun Road through Glacier ranks as one of the best days of biking ever. We woke at 4 am with the first hint of dawn and were on the road at a little after five. We had the road to ourselves as we biked steadily uphill gawking at the mountains around us awash in a reddish orange glow of the rising sun. It was magical. We eventually gained Logan Pass only having been passed by a handful of cars. After a second breakfast at the pass and watching the parking lot explode with cars, we boogied. Going to the Sun Road is literally cut into the faces of mountains and only a two foot high stone wall separates the road from a plunging drop of thousands of feet. On a bike, you glide effortlessly down from the pass through hairpin turns around which is another breathtaking view of natural splendor. It truly defies written explanation. Along the way we passed several bicycle tourists laboring uphill. Pam and I mistook a hoary marmot for a rock on the road and Pam narrowly skimmed past it. We stopped to see a pair of mountain goats grazing. Just marvelous! All good things don't have to end because we biked to Apgar Village and at the campground, we met Ben, Naomi, Josh and Becca, fellow cyclists. We spent two evenings there having broad ranging discussions over dinner with Ben and Naomi who are Australians.<br />
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Yesterday, we pried ourselves away from the park and made our way to Whitefish, MT. There a new crankset awaited us to remedy my earlier mistake. Also, our friends Bill and Kathy welcomed us into their beautiful log house (so jealous) with a majestic view of Whitefish Lake. It has been a pleasure to spend time with them talking about their travels, fixing bikes and admiring life in Whitefish. It will be a shame to leave tomorrow, but the trip must continue!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally, off of the bus!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tunnel Mountain CG, Banff. Don't like the weather? Wait two seconds.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wait. Where are we? Lost before the first mile...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A beautiful lunch spot on the first day of riding.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First bear poo sighting.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first of 1001 ways to prepare tuna. Remember the shrimp dialogue from "Forrest Gump"?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spray Lakes West Road- Day Two</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We definitely have a bear fetish.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a0_pp-EW25k/VY8CF5APjhI/AAAAAAAAF7w/Yu2hd4Hh9rY/s1600/P1030030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a0_pp-EW25k/VY8CF5APjhI/AAAAAAAAF7w/Yu2hd4Hh9rY/s400/P1030030.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rightly, so. Coming off of Elk Pass.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UB3YneAXwOI/VY8CFw48IKI/AAAAAAAAF7w/LiyUIBpl500/s1600/P1030031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UB3YneAXwOI/VY8CFw48IKI/AAAAAAAAF7w/LiyUIBpl500/s400/P1030031.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We also have a cabin fetish, but this one was creepy and mouse infested so we didn't stay here in the Elk River Valley.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V09GthPnEd0/VY8CFx6OAEI/AAAAAAAAF88/rKlBWtCKmSM/s1600/P1030033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V09GthPnEd0/VY8CFx6OAEI/AAAAAAAAF88/rKlBWtCKmSM/s400/P1030033.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bagel with peanut butter, honey, and crushed salt & vinegar chips. Yep, it's a thing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--971sFygFso/VY8CF_zlxrI/AAAAAAAAF9M/HzFLJvARrKQ/s1600/P1030035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--971sFygFso/VY8CF_zlxrI/AAAAAAAAF9M/HzFLJvARrKQ/s400/P1030035.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elk River Road. It goes for a ways. Watch for logging trucks. And bears.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wz0dHzoBKis/VY8CFyKbVII/AAAAAAAAF7s/ehR65y7dW50/s1600/P1040036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wz0dHzoBKis/VY8CFyKbVII/AAAAAAAAF7s/ehR65y7dW50/s400/P1040036.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who likes biking in 50 degrees and rain? This girl!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZRLRg--KDNI/VY8CF-ubtzI/AAAAAAAAF9c/7OHVKNfkU7s/s1600/P1050045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZRLRg--KDNI/VY8CF-ubtzI/AAAAAAAAF9c/7OHVKNfkU7s/s400/P1050045.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the biggest dump truck I have ever seen. Sparwood, BC</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gCXLcugo-To/VY8CF_EhEQI/AAAAAAAAF7w/w-W4F9rwqqA/s1600/P1050046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gCXLcugo-To/VY8CF_EhEQI/AAAAAAAAF7w/w-W4F9rwqqA/s400/P1050046.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocky Mountain Sheep in Crowsnest Pass.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uBKeIrRipJU/VY8CF5PQh8I/AAAAAAAAF9s/AdZE2ymDK3A/s1600/P1060050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uBKeIrRipJU/VY8CF5PQh8I/AAAAAAAAF9s/AdZE2ymDK3A/s400/P1060050.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coleman, AB</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pKXynKaAfAk/VY8CF1N4fjI/AAAAAAAAF7w/VRK2lXFelbU/s1600/P1070052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pKXynKaAfAk/VY8CF1N4fjI/AAAAAAAAF7w/VRK2lXFelbU/s400/P1070052.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entering Waterton Lakes National Park</td></tr>
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Somehow, my pictures from Glacier didn't upload correctly. Since, it took me about a half an hour to get these to upload and I have twice exceeded my 1 hour time limit at the library, I may have to stop short and post those pictures next time. Sorry!<br />
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-59171616888856487312015-06-07T18:45:00.000-07:002015-06-07T18:45:34.125-07:00The Dork Rides Again!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ORAmR4PbMlQ/VW4LZB4qsvI/AAAAAAAAFsI/Pht66vkFIUk/s1600/P1010037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ORAmR4PbMlQ/VW4LZB4qsvI/AAAAAAAAFsI/Pht66vkFIUk/s400/P1010037.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your trusty field correspondent, the Wild Dork.</td></tr>
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IN less than 48 hours, Pam and I board a bus for a three day bus ride to Banff, Alberta in order to go ride the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route (GDMBR). When I tell people this they are typically more taken aback that we're riding Greyhound for three days than by the idea of biking 2700 miles through the Rockies. Either way I guess we sound dumb.<br />
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BUT you dear reader have already heard of my long love affair with bus travel and bicycle touring, so this comes as no surprise. Please follow along on our three month odyssey as we poke along the tracks and trails of the Continental Divide. Our cameras will be coming along and hopefully we can post updates complete with pictures. I have been led to believe that the route we're taking gets a little... remote, so that might not happen too readily. Although at odds with my staunch Luddite values (I am not kidding, ask to see my $10 cell phone and my paper maps), we will be making at least one attempt at reason and carry a <a href="http://findmespot.com/en/">SPOT</a> personal locator beacon. Of course we hope to never utilize its emergency services feature, but it should allow you to follow our progress. On the right sidebar of this page you should see a map which is a link to another map. The first map is just something I stole from elsewhere. The map you link to shows where we are, updated something like every 60 minutes. Bike touring is a slow means of travel. The only way to possibly make it look slower is to chart your position every hour... (Editor's note: We'll actually only be updating about once a day. It turns out you have to pay another $50-100 to update every 60 minutes. $50-100 can buys lots of ramen and gummi bears.)</div>
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RIGHT now, Pam and I are checking through our bags and making sure everything is packed. We just finished cramming the bikes into cardboard boxes for the bus trip. (Did I mention that boxed bikes ride FREE on Greyhound?) We've got our loonies (Canadian funny money), maps, camping reservations in Banff, and a vague schedule for the months ahead. Any seasoned traveler knows that the moment that you make a really detailed plan and itinerary there are two outcomes. You either avoid spontaneity (which is where the best stories come from) or that carefully assembled agenda gets shot to hell. So we went ahead and avoided that. At some point we will make it to the Mexican border (hopefully not a Tijuanan jail). It's gonna be an awesome ride!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AND AWAY WE GO!</td></tr>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-67785402785593258862015-01-28T12:05:00.000-08:002015-01-28T12:05:34.320-08:00The Dork Speaketh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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No. I am not dead, confined to a cell, or living completely off the grid a la Dick Proenneke (but wouldn't that be nice?). I'm just lazy. That's why I haven't updated this blog in over a year. Or I've been really busy. Sometimes I confuse the two.<br />
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So why blow the dust off of this site and begin assailing you, dear reader, once again? A few of my more loyal vistors may remember a couple of years ago when <a href="http://wilddork.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-not-so-great-divide.html">I said I was going to ride the Tour Divide</a>. These same readers may also remember that I in no way did that. A few things came up such as making money again after not working for a year and/or the realization that I didn't want to attempt racing 2700 miles but instead enjoy myself. Either way, it never happened.<br />
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But now, in the summer of 2015, my girlfriend, Pam, and I are planning to ride the <a href="http://www.adventurecycling.org/routes-and-maps/adventure-cycling-route-network/great-divide-mountain-bike-route/">Great Divide Mountain Bike Route</a>! The GDMBR is a bike route that follows trails and forest roads along the Continental Divide from Banff, Alberta to the Mexican border. We have already begun reading through books and websites, cringing at topographical maps of the route, gathering bits of gear and taking rides. But as anyone who has prepared for a trip such as this knows, there's plenty more to do! Moving forward, I will share more of our plans as well as the "shakedown" trips that we take to prepare. Then I will make my best effort to bring you along for our ~2.5 month trip along the Great Divide.<br />
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So yeah. There it is. Oh man I am so excited!<br />
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But what would be a blog post without some pictures? So here's a couple from 2014 that I dug up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5raq48qixJY/VMktYVg9SDI/AAAAAAAAFf4/PD8MGOamo9A/s1600/P8110071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5raq48qixJY/VMktYVg9SDI/AAAAAAAAFf4/PD8MGOamo9A/s1600/P8110071.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the middle of the summer, I visited Pam out near Seattle, WA and we packed up a rental car to spend a week out on the San Juan Islands.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ydUIFeWBGiE/VMktmL4baNI/AAAAAAAAFkc/o-poTDRRe1Y/s1600/P8130081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ydUIFeWBGiE/VMktmL4baNI/AAAAAAAAFkc/o-poTDRRe1Y/s1600/P8130081.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pam and I went sea kayaking off of San Juan Island to go look for orcas ("killer whales"). We saw a pod while we were out there. This was the first time I paddled a tandem and first time I paddled in the ocean so I was trying really hard not to screw up.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IHjr3Rf0EKk/VMktvETAgtI/AAAAAAAAFig/sKsQ19MrQsg/s1600/P8150092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IHjr3Rf0EKk/VMktvETAgtI/AAAAAAAAFig/sKsQ19MrQsg/s1600/P8150092.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The San Juan Islands from the top of Mount Constitution on Orcas Island. Of course I referred to it as Mount Constipation the entire time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q5AlYWUePos/U-J8Z2PAtQI/AAAAAAAAFkU/5h88W5_kd0s/s1600/P7310011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q5AlYWUePos/U-J8Z2PAtQI/AAAAAAAAFkU/5h88W5_kd0s/s1600/P7310011.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I visited State College, PA again for my friends', Clay and Britt, wedding. While there I took a few days to tour the back roads of Rothrock State Forest and ride trails with Eric and Jeef.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lB_vSm18oJA/U-J8xaPzapI/AAAAAAAAFX8/lfz2-L7Hr8U/s1600/P7310030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lB_vSm18oJA/U-J8xaPzapI/AAAAAAAAFX8/lfz2-L7Hr8U/s1600/P7310030.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can never have enough campfires.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BfmH8nVDKwM/U-J9a9yJm8I/AAAAAAAAFaM/SvalbYlFLl8/s1600/P8030048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BfmH8nVDKwM/U-J9a9yJm8I/AAAAAAAAFaM/SvalbYlFLl8/s1600/P8030048.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bought a Surly ECR for extended shenanigans and it will accompany me on the Great Divide. Here it is with a beautiful Rothrock vista behind it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ui3UWXLPFFk/VMk69JYHgSI/AAAAAAAAFk4/1wug6CMU-Us/s1600/P1010105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ui3UWXLPFFk/VMk69JYHgSI/AAAAAAAAFk4/1wug6CMU-Us/s1600/P1010105.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pam and I took a road trip of nearly the entire Outer Banks of North Carolina. At one point, we paddled out to Cape Lookout. Let's just say I was slightly intimidated at this point.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tqymK5UlNp8/VMk7CJRCABI/AAAAAAAAFlY/9WCn0uXXpGY/s1600/P1010109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tqymK5UlNp8/VMk7CJRCABI/AAAAAAAAFlY/9WCn0uXXpGY/s1600/P1010109.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camping for the evening on Cape Lookout with Pam.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NqsfjxYFxTk/VE-arB5eQyI/AAAAAAAAFeE/KF3jxPa9KVQ/s1600/P1230128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NqsfjxYFxTk/VE-arB5eQyI/AAAAAAAAFeE/KF3jxPa9KVQ/s1600/P1230128.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pam bought a Surly Troll for the Divide!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IBXzwAKRhxE/VE-a2siXoKI/AAAAAAAAFek/2AyslN9CEEY/s1600/P1230132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IBXzwAKRhxE/VE-a2siXoKI/AAAAAAAAFek/2AyslN9CEEY/s1600/P1230132.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Although the Triangle is a busy place, there are still adventures to be found. And hermits.</td></tr>
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<br />Oh yeah. Something else I forgot to mention. I started making caps in order to combat my seasonal affective disorder. I was gonna start out and make myself a pair of pants or a shirt, but then my mom reminded me that a) those garments are really hard to make and b) I hadn't touched a sewing machine in a decade. Moms are always so smart. At her suggestion, I started off with a hat and so I have made a couple of cycling caps. My first few are definitely a large/x-large right now to fit my large Mrotek head. I will soon scale it down for normal people. Besides providing me with encouragement, my mother, Dolores, is also supplying me with reclaimed wool fabric in a vast assortment of patterns, plaids and different colors. Below is one of the first I made out of reclaimed wool with a brim made of plastic from a popcorn tub. Stay tuned if you are interested in one.<div>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-25457293787134427022013-11-16T06:39:00.000-08:002013-11-16T06:39:10.216-08:00Bike Camping Durm-style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes (read that as "always") I tend to get caught up a little too much in my day to day activities. You lose track of any larger picture, going about your daily routine and before you know it, a day/month/decade has passed you by. That's when it's nice to interject a small interlude into your week. And that's where a bike camping overnight comes in. I won't waste my finger strength blathering about why you should ride a bike, etc. because it's self explanatory. What I would like to do is showcase an overnight bike camping trip my friend, Jon, and I took in the Durham, NC (pronounced "Durm") area yesterday in hopes that others will be inspired.<br />
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If there ever was a dependable and eternally enthusiastic friend, Jon is it. I have frozen my ass off on subzero ice climbing trips with him, shared a tent for a month during which neither of us showered, and tied into the same climbing rope innumerable times. We shared a whole lot of other times together that I will abstain from entering into the written record for fear of later legal ramifications. Jon can be bleeding profusely from both shins due to ill fitting mountaineering boots, be looking at the kiddie box of raisins that constitutes his day's rations and flinching at the sound of bus sized seracs falling off a mountain and he'll still muster a big smile and say "Let's do this".<br />
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Of course when I mentioned to Jon on Wednesday that I was planning to bike from Durham to <a href="http://www.ncparks.gov/Visit/parks/jord/pics/parkmap.pdf">Jordan Lake</a> the next day and spend the night, he was immediately on board. Sometimes I have to be skeptical about Jon's enthusiasm because he currently works the third shift on some odd rotating schedule. It would render almost anyone continually sleep deprived. Jon can sometimes appear zombie-like in his motions after long work stints. (And he usually smells like rotting flesh just as a zombie would, but that's an entirely different matter) We both needed to work Friday afternoon, so Thursday evening was prime pickins for a camp out.<br />
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If you have yet to bike or walk on the <a href="http://www.triangletrails.org/">American Tobacco Trail</a>, then you are certainly missing out. It served as a comfortable and convenient route out of downtown Durham for us. The trail begins adjacent to the Durham Bulls baseball park (no... not the original of movie fame, but that one still stands fairly close by) and runs through urban neighborhoods about 7 miles south to where Interstate 40 currently interrupts it. A dedicated overpass for pedestrians and cyclists is under construction and should hopefully be complete sometime this spring. With all of the construction delays that have happened in the past though, we may be seeing winged bacon before we see the overpass. Fayetteville Rd parallels the ATT and so you can ride on it for a couple of miles to cross I-40, but keep in mind that you're going through several stoplights with on/off ramps and passing Southpoint Mall. Not impossible, just be careful. From there you can reconnect with the ATT and ride another 13 miles south to where it ends. There we switched over to very quiet country roads that wind their way west to the man made Jordan Lake.<br />
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Being model citizens for once, Jon and I elected to camp in a designated campground of which there are about 6 or so circling the lake. Some shut down for the colder months, but two are open year-round. Of course the campground was a ghost town this late in the year, but the hot water was still running in the bathrooms so who cares? We were able to scrounge some free firewood abandoned by a previous camper and build a cheery fire to combat the low of 32 degrees that night. Most folks that we talked to in the area considered it stupid or suicidal to camp out in such temperatures since it doesn't get much colder than that this far south. (My friends in Pennsylvania are currently laughing...)<br />
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The night passed quietly and we both slept soundly despite everyone's concerns. The brisk morning air called for a quick breakdown of camp so that we could start moving about and riding however. One gas station on US 64 advertised breakfast starting at 5:30 am and that was a siren song to our wind nipped ears. After a few breakfast sandwiches, Jon and I decided to go our separate ways. He would retrace our route back up the ATT to Durham and I would take Fearrington/Farrington/etc. Rd across the lake and back up to Chapel Hill, NC to work later in the day.<br />
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This trip is a great ride for anyone living in the Triangle. Once the overpass for the American Tobacco trail is completed, I think that even a novice cyclist would feel comfortable riding the 30 mile stretch that we did. There are plenty more opportunities for overnight bike camping trips in the area and I'll continue to post them as well as the biking friendly routes that I take.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NiIj5RnNvQo/UodrzU7httI/AAAAAAAAFNk/9Y1nnDaazOU/s1600/IMG_0112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NiIj5RnNvQo/UodrzU7httI/AAAAAAAAFNk/9Y1nnDaazOU/s400/IMG_0112.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It being his first bike tour of any kind, Jon is double checking the list outside his apartment. Gummi bears? <i>Check. </i>By the way, he lives in a renovated toy factory. I'd say that suits him.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pyMLGq7f-dc/Uodr3bDOerI/AAAAAAAAFN0/LOADDzi9hP4/s1600/IMG_20131114_142723_476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pyMLGq7f-dc/Uodr3bDOerI/AAAAAAAAFN0/LOADDzi9hP4/s640/IMG_20131114_142723_476.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The American Tobacco Trail starts as a paved trail in downtown Durham and includes several bridges over busy streets.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tYM5AXBWAXU/Uodr7K4m3VI/AAAAAAAAFOM/a7sewznSZ4w/s1600/IMG_0115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tYM5AXBWAXU/Uodr7K4m3VI/AAAAAAAAFOM/a7sewznSZ4w/s400/IMG_0115.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once you cross Interstate 40, it gets a little bit more rural and has an unpaved shoulder as well which is presumably for horses.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qsrO3M9izjo/Uodr8eyKgcI/AAAAAAAAFOU/eUHFLt-1ibE/s1600/IMG_20131114_154058_681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qsrO3M9izjo/Uodr8eyKgcI/AAAAAAAAFOU/eUHFLt-1ibE/s640/IMG_20131114_154058_681.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The southernmost 7 or so miles of the ATT are not paved but are so firmly packed that any road bike can still easily travel on it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mkVhcoVndVY/Uodr-3-5a7I/AAAAAAAAFOk/DI1YOgBqlXE/s1600/IMG_0117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mkVhcoVndVY/Uodr-3-5a7I/AAAAAAAAFOk/DI1YOgBqlXE/s400/IMG_0117.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jon is smiling even though his Brooks leather saddle is still hard as a rock.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YosBcrE0SSI/UodsHmCVCRI/AAAAAAAAFPU/Yv1jM0cMKjs/s1600/IMG_0121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YosBcrE0SSI/UodsHmCVCRI/AAAAAAAAFPU/Yv1jM0cMKjs/s400/IMG_0121.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We arrive with even some daylight to spare... but not much.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zd4_W_aMyuI/UodsEeHwtrI/AAAAAAAAFPE/CjRZ_sPd1rw/s1600/IMG_20131114_164907_260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zd4_W_aMyuI/UodsEeHwtrI/AAAAAAAAFPE/CjRZ_sPd1rw/s640/IMG_20131114_164907_260.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With all of the leaves having fallen, some beautiful views of Jordan Lake are available from the campsites.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p7Duo0AlqoQ/UodsT_0HKII/AAAAAAAAFQQ/BL2Gamo0i50/s1600/IMG_20131114_171043_031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p7Duo0AlqoQ/UodsT_0HKII/AAAAAAAAFQQ/BL2Gamo0i50/s400/IMG_20131114_171043_031.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jon has just finished telling me that his touring bike is now "one of the five best purchasing decisions" he's made in life. Even I am afraid to inquire as to the other four.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Vow6rDHKt0U/UodsZ33lJkI/AAAAAAAAFQ8/sGgN6PCjK9I/s1600/IMG_0133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Vow6rDHKt0U/UodsZ33lJkI/AAAAAAAAFQ8/sGgN6PCjK9I/s640/IMG_0133.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The water in the bathrooms is absolutely scaldingly hot. I guess to handle peak tourist season when it gets diluted. Instead of going to the trouble of boiling another pot of water, we get the bright idea of just making tea with the water straight out of the tap. It is hereafter referred to as "sink tea".</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9PzbrNDKPt8/UodsOHDkkdI/AAAAAAAAFP0/xIs1e7JR_Lg/s1600/IMG_0125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9PzbrNDKPt8/UodsOHDkkdI/AAAAAAAAFP0/xIs1e7JR_Lg/s400/IMG_0125.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The men's bathroom in Loop A of Crosswinds Campground has some pretty sweet murals in it. Yes, I checked the women's too. It was a deer. And an owl.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nIUAwM_qFqA/UodscwCIAcI/AAAAAAAAFRM/lRIen_blaOY/s1600/IMG_0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nIUAwM_qFqA/UodscwCIAcI/AAAAAAAAFRM/lRIen_blaOY/s400/IMG_0135.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I admire their detail.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_hzcUIfwWDc/UodseDsEeUI/AAAAAAAAFRU/8uP5NUhXJwU/s1600/IMG_0136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_hzcUIfwWDc/UodseDsEeUI/AAAAAAAAFRU/8uP5NUhXJwU/s640/IMG_0136.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't happen to see any windsurfers out on the lake that day.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P2T9F0A1FAo/Uodsid2BVGI/AAAAAAAAFR0/CdFjPEc9IVI/s1600/IMG_0140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P2T9F0A1FAo/Uodsid2BVGI/AAAAAAAAFR0/CdFjPEc9IVI/s400/IMG_0140.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jon taught me how to play gin rummy then promptly kicked my ass. What a friend. Incidentally, all of these photos were either taken with an iPod Touch or a smartphone so I apologize if their not up to your standards. This one was taken with the iPod and a headlamp held aloft for a "flash".</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hoa8ZbGrFVw/UodskycgK3I/AAAAAAAAFSE/GBbvoZ6BRyc/s1600/IMG_0142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hoa8ZbGrFVw/UodskycgK3I/AAAAAAAAFSE/GBbvoZ6BRyc/s400/IMG_0142.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The following morning, hot breakfast sandwiches were indeed welcomed. For those of you who have yet to sample "country style ham" in the South, you are missing out. It contains approximately 1000% of your daily recommended sodium intake and would balance any electrolyte/salt deficiency on the hottest of days.</td></tr>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-76439747013534184232013-05-29T11:24:00.000-07:002013-05-29T11:24:45.544-07:00Shrandonneuring<i>Opening disclaimer: This event is in no way officially recognized, endorsed, encouraged, or promoted by the Sheetz corporation. Yet. Hopefully, the same company that has the sense of humor to erect billboards with the slogan "Grab life by the meatballz" can appreciate the spirit in which I do this and won't send me a cease and desist letter.</i><br />
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<b>PART ONE</b></div>
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On the <a href="http://rusa.org/">Randonneurs USA</a> website, we find the following definition of randonneuring:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #45818e; font-family: inherit;">Randonneuring is long-distance unsupported endurance cycling. This style of riding is non-competitive in nature, and self-sufficiency is paramount. When riders participate in randonneuring events, they are part of a long tradition that goes back to the beginning of the sport of cycling in France and Italy. Friendly camaraderie, not competition, is the hallmark of randonneuring.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e9aTOnlY4ro/UaZEgmaljXI/AAAAAAAAFIc/aLiEuYgsrBE/s1600/P4080006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e9aTOnlY4ro/UaZEgmaljXI/AAAAAAAAFIc/aLiEuYgsrBE/s400/P4080006.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eric and I out on a characteristic 100+ mile ride including lots of gravel forest roads. We had set out after lunch with no route planned. Note the setting sun. We still had 30 miles of gravel to ride and a house party to crash.</td></tr>
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As my friends and enemies will agree, this describes my cycling (and running, mountaineering, etc.) habits fairly accurately. On a day of riding, I like to strike out with only the vaguest notion of where I will end up. Still keeping the 21st century at arms length, I will shove a paper map or two into a back jersey pocket along with a non "smart" cellphone, a $20 bill, and my ID. Throw a banana in for good measure. Top off your water bottles and ensure your headlight is charged and you're set. Now all that is left is to pedal 60-100 miles in an indeterminate loop. Any appealing side road, inviting diner or friendly local is a welcome diversion. A day without a plan is one ripe for new discovery.</div>
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Some folks just call this "riding a bike" and don't need the benefit of a definition. But in an age where many cyclists I talk to are on specific training regimens for their next "tri" (or triathlon) and question me on what cycling app I use, I am heartened to see a side of the sport devoted to getting out, riding a long distance just for the hell of it, and having fun. Randonneuring is the neighborhood pickup football game of cycling. Except instead of only playing one game at a time, you're playing three in a row. Or twelve.</div>
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<b>PART DEUX</b></div>
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For those of you living in the mid-Atlantic United States, especially central and western Pennsylvania, the <a href="https://www.sheetz.com/">Sheetz</a> chain of gas stations needs no introduction. For those of you who are still unawares, Sheetz is a chain of gas stations. The thing that sets them apart is that they have a smorgasbord of made to order food that tastes divine. While some may argue about the healthiness of some of the items on the menu, no self-respecting long distance cyclist is going to think twice about devouring one of everything. Especially not this string bean cyclist. The company began in central Pennsylvania and now extends into several neighboring states. I can remember twenty years ago, going into a Sheetz and writing down my submarine sandwich order on a paper slip, which was one of maybe three offerings on their menu. Now you stroll in and their touch screen ordering systems has about 100 different options for breakfast, lunch and dinner.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bicycle gets 20 milez per donut.</td></tr>
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It should come as no surprise that when I lived in Pennsylvania, these stores were a favored stop on my long bicycle rides. Early in the morning, I would stop at one closest to my house and pick up some breakfast Schmuffins and coffee. (Sheetz adds the "Sh" prefix to many of their foods' names and pluralizes with the letter Z as in "Would you gentleman like some donutz along with your coffeez?") Later in the day and 50 miles into the ride, you could get a sub or whatnot. And of course when you're still riding well after dark and fighting off exhaustion and sub-freezing temps, you can fill the gas tank with hot chocolate and some fryz. Don't get me wrong, I like to stop in small local eateries and try new places, but nothing beats seeing the red awning of a Sheetz down the block and knowing that you can dependably refuel.</div>
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<b>AND NOW I GET TO MY POINT</b></div>
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While I am content to blithely ride about the countryside with nary a plan, it's hard to get other people to rally around this concept. This is where the idea of a <i>brevet</i> comes in: a predetermined ride of 200+ kilometers with checkpoints, but in the spirit of randonneuring where everyone is self sufficient and enjoying one another's company. There are preexisting randonneuring groups in the Durham, NC area where I now currently live with annual events as there were in Pennsylvania. But what I am interested in is a really low hassle, low cost ride that everyone can enjoy. And Schmuffins.</div>
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For these events you must check into a control at certain spots to make sure that you're on course and sticking to certain time restrictions. Since I don't want to bother with any volunteers at control points or officials (or bother with anything really) I realized that some place (e.g. Sheetz) could serve that purpose for me. When you order food at Sheetz, the receipt that you get is time stamped. Voila! Obviously you're going to want to eat every so often when you're riding 120, 200, 600 miles. Order some scrumptious edibles, save your time stamped food receipts and present them at the end of the ride. While I didn't get this idea off of the ground when I lived in the Pennsylvania heartland of Sheetz, I realize that my dream can still become a reality with their empire now reaching the Triangle area of North Carolina. </div>
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If you are interested in participating in such an event in the greater Durham/Raleigh/Chapel Hill, NC area, send me an email at<span style="color: red;"> tfmrotek AT gmail DOT com</span>. Time and date have yet to be determined. I have one 120 mile route that I am going to scout next week as a possible first event. Categories for awards or prizes have yet to be determined. Actually nothing has really been done yet beyond writing this inane post. So if you wanna get in on the ground floor of this, let me know. The first ride will be around 200k/120mi travelling through both rural and urban areas and hopefully include some gravel portions just to annoy folks on really skinny tires. Steel bikes and alter egos are always encouraged.</div>
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P.S. For anyone who thinks that <a href="http://www.wawa.com/WawaWeb/">Wawa</a> warranted even an honorable mention in this post, just go home. No one cares. Sheetz rules.</div>
Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-83957010383001096492013-03-04T20:09:00.001-08:002013-03-04T20:10:57.544-08:00The ListYesterday, I went climbing indoors at the <a href="http://www.trianglerockclub.com/">Triangle Rock Club</a> with my friend, Jon. Okay, before we go any further, here's a picture of Jon so y'all know what you're dealing with:<br />
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Climbing with Jon may seem rather not remarkable, but in a way it is. You see, Jon and I met in college in Pennsylvania and climbed together during our formative years with the sport. We used to live and breathe climbing, travelling with one another and friends around the continent in search of new challenges. But now for one reason or another, neither of us have really climbed much in the past year. And both of us find ourselves living in Durham, NC of all places.</div>
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The climbing session went by without a hitch. Our hands tied the necessary knots without a second thought. We efficiently belayed one another with movements firmly ingrained in our muscle memory. The two of us fell into a casual banter that reflected our comfort with one another borne from years of climbing in infinitely more committing situations. And we slightly sucked at climbing. The technique, the footwork, the movement was still there. Endurance and finger strength had obviously ebbed over time.</div>
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By the end of two hour's worth of climbing, my forearms were inflamed. I found my hands hardly able to maintain grip on the bulbous holds of a 5.6, a route I could have done blindfolded and in clown shoes in previous years. Jon and I resolved to get stronger and get out of doors. We began reminiscing about previous exploits in the mountains. We even ran into another climber we recognized from our haunts at Seneca Rocks, WV. The three of us parted ways promising to explore the vertical bounds of North Carolina together.</div>
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Just today, I was cleaning out my wallet. Movie stubs, receipts, stacks of women's phone numbers... anything but money of course. That's when I came across a list that I wrote to myself back on the eve of a new year entitled "GOALS FOR 2010". I cannot remember the exact circumstances under which I wrote it, but from knowing myself all too well, I must have been feeling particularly unmotivated at the time. The list was comprised entirely of climbing goals and would make for a busy year. What really stands out for me is that out of eight goals, I think I only accomplished one that year.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtb2uReiWUWfomSCELoarXfPLbaLvG7JtU5Zdqu993Uu7-35EstS9knSPfvpQZVQNhAsEKr5RnuMEfnSWzsGo_Kmpm4FrUXxQcwpvJ_BpFAIBr6kghRiIduhAxhyphenhyphenDo8UusAWKavIiQ6WX/s1600/photo+(6).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtb2uReiWUWfomSCELoarXfPLbaLvG7JtU5Zdqu993Uu7-35EstS9knSPfvpQZVQNhAsEKr5RnuMEfnSWzsGo_Kmpm4FrUXxQcwpvJ_BpFAIBr6kghRiIduhAxhyphenhyphenDo8UusAWKavIiQ6WX/s400/photo+(6).JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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The year 2010 was the last year that I really devoted to climbing. It was a great year. I led some of my hardest routes. I earned a Single Pitch Instructor certification from the American Mountain Guides Association. But boy oh boy did I majorly fail in terms of the goals I set for myself. Looking at the list, I slowly remembered the reasons (or excuses) that made me miss each.</div>
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<b>MOJO - </b><i>Mojo</i> is a classic bouldering problem at a climbing area in central PA called Hunter's Rocks. It is an overhung prow of rock with large bucket holds along the underside to a height of 10-15 feet, whereupon you must climb up a vertical face and finally mantle the finish at about 20 feet off of the ground. I think it is rated a V0 at Hunters. It would probably be rated a bit harder at other areas, but who knows. My weak upper body strength combined with the problem's reputation of twisted/broken ankles for those who botch the top out always had me worried. In truth, I had climbed the route a couple of times before 2010. I distinctly remember the first occasion, pulling up onto the vertical face, scared, and realizing it was safer to finish than to try and back off. My friends Brandon, Kim, and Erin cheered me to the topout. I can only guess that I put it on the list just to scare myself once again. That or I meant to climb the "second pitch" of <i>Mojo,</i> which some argue is especially fun when bolstered with certain herbal supplements.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me. Bouldering somewhere. With a sweet afro.</td></tr>
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<b style="text-align: left;">5.10 SPORT ONSIGHT - </b><span style="text-align: left;">My partners and I typically only climbed trad at moderate grades, so this should have been a pretty good goal. </span><span style="text-align: left;">Unbeknownst</span><span style="text-align: left;"> to me, I had already ticked this box as well in the past. Jon actually reminded me of it yesterday. In a neglected corner of the Lower Quarry at the Bellefonte Quarry, there lies a short, dirty, overgrown limestone slab. On each square yard of its surface emerges a polished limestone orb which led my friends and I to refer to it as "the Boob Wall". If we were more PC than juvenile at the time, we would have called it the Knob Wall or something. I'm just reporting history here. There I led a 5.10 sport route named </span><i style="text-align: left;">Buried Treasure</i><span style="text-align: left;">, a reference to the amount of cleaning the first ascencionists performed before climbing it, no doubt. But, as the sole "goal of 2010" that I actually completed, I also onsighted a 5.10+ in Birdsboro Quarry within the year 2010. Kevin and Denise watched me lead the seemingly holdless face of </span><i style="text-align: left;">Welcome to Safe Harbor Direct</i><span style="text-align: left;">. Whenever I attempted to repeat the feat on toprope however, I was as mystified as them.</span><br />
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<b>TRIPLE S ONSIGHT - </b><i>Triple S</i> is actually an acronym for <i>Shipley's Shivering Shimmy</i>. The only guidebook for Seneca Rocks where this notorious and difficult 5.8 corner crack is located lists the name in all capitals: TRIPLE S. So, you can always tell a newcomer to the area when they say they're "just gonna go climb a 5.8 called 'Triples'." Invariably you see that same climber later, completely cowed, having been shut down on "just a 5.8." I have always wanted to lead the route onsight and turned down many offers to follow it. In 2010, I had climbed most of the classic 5.7s. On a ridiculously hot day with my friend Aaron belaying, I onsighted <i>The Burn</i> and <i>Discrepancy</i>, both softer 5.8s. I should have gone for <i>Triple S</i> right then, but I didn't. On the drive back home, both of the front wheel bearings in my truck blew out. I don't know if I drove back to Seneca that year.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sexy and I know it. Ellingwood Arete emerges directly from behind my head like a giant dunce's cap.</td></tr>
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<b>ELLINGWOOD ARETE - </b>The Ellingwood Arete is a classic multipitch 5.6 deep in the Wind River Range of Wyoming. In fact, it is one of the 50 Classic Climbs of North America. It is a knife edge ridge that continues straight up for about a thousand feet. On my first trip into the Winds, my friend Jeff and I planned to climb it. We took a rack of hexes, some cams and nuts along with us. Those never saw much use since we stuck primarily to 3rd class and snow climbing. Since neither of us had climbed a multipitch rock route before, perhaps it was better that we didn't get to the Arete. On my third trip to the Winds, I hiked to within sight of it on a rest day when I went trout fishing in Indian Basin. On my second and fourth trips to the range, I climbed in the Cirque of the Towers, 40 miles to the south. I didn't even get to the Winds in 2010.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I ever do get to Rainier, at least I already know what altitude sickness feels like from climbing Pico de Orizaba in Mexico.</td></tr>
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<b style="text-align: left;">MT RAINIER - </b><span style="text-align: left;">Um, I didn't get to Rainier either. The closest I had even gotten to Washington State was the year before when my boss and I tried to climb Mount Hood on the tail end of a business trip. Two days of whiteouts led to us poaching lines at the Timberline Lodge on our backcountry skis instead. In 2011 I was offered a job guiding on Rainier for the summer by </span><a href="http://www.alpineascents.com/" style="text-align: left;">Alpine Ascents International</a><span style="text-align: left;">. Stupidly, I turned the job down. In 2012 as I biked down the Pacific coast, I finally saw Mount Rainier for the first time from about 50 miles away. It is big. I wanna go back.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coming off the Columbia Icefield and down the Athabasca Glacier. Jon is behind me.</td></tr>
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<b>N FACE OF ROBSON - </b>Mount Robson is the tallest mountain in the Canadian Rockies. Its North Face is another route included in 50 Classic Climbs in North America. Back in 2007, I went climbing in the Canadian Rockies with my friends Jeff and Jon. We climbed Mounts Athabasca and Columbia in preparation for driving 50 miles or so north to go tackle Mount Robson's North Face. At the Athabasca Glacier, a ranger told us that <i>no one</i> had climbed Mount Robson by any route that year because of dangerous conditions. We went to the Tetons instead. I have since returned to Canada in order to fish for northern pike, but alas no mountaineering. I still have my passport. I still gaze longingly at pictures of the mountain.</div>
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<b>GLASS MENAGERIE - </b>I'm not even sure which <i>Glass Menagerie</i> I was writing about here. Was it the Grade 4 ice route at Roadside Gulley in Lockhaven, PA? Or the multipitch aid route on Looking Glass Rock in western North Carolina? I actually led the ice route, <i>Glass Menagerie</i>, the following year. I was pitifully slow. Now that I am living in NC, I'm a lot closer to the other route. Too bad I gave all of my bigwall gear away whenever I divested myself of belongings to bike across the country... I guess I will have to work on that.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nvYT7lR4hu0/Tuo-6H5SfZI/AAAAAAAABAI/-SIWsft2j6c/s1600/DSCF0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nvYT7lR4hu0/Tuo-6H5SfZI/AAAAAAAABAI/-SIWsft2j6c/s400/DSCF0005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is pretty par for every ice climbing trip I've taken to New England. Sleeping in a parking lot after driving until 4 am.</td></tr>
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<b>3 GULLIES IN A DAY - </b>This refers to climbing three different routes in Huntingdon Ravine on Mount Washington of New Hampshire in one day. I really thought that I was going to get this one since I was familiar with a couple of routes. I had already climbed <i>Pinnacle Gulley</i> with my friend Seth as my second ice climb ever. On another trip, I climbed <i>Odell's Gulley</i> with my friend Ieva. That would be the same one where George, the eccentric caretaker of the Harvard Cabin, kept asking her if she wanted to spend the rest of the winter there with him. Each time he asked, she would barely suppress her laughter while I tried to divert his attention with Oreos and Wild Turkey. It worked. Barely. In early 2010, the ice season was terrible. Even so, I managed to finally organize a group to head to Baxter State Park in Maine and climb Mount Katahdin (another longtime goal). On the approach to the mountain, I caught a ski edge on some ice and fell while wearing a 100lb pack, dislocating my arm. No more ice season for this guy.<br />
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My day of thrashing at the gym and the surprise unearthing of my list from 2010 make me want to dust off my climbing gear and get back out into the mountains. But even more than that, it highlighted the importance of conspiring with old friends and setting goals for oneself. Whether they're written down or not, I always have several goals on my mind. All are outdoors related. Sometimes I achieve them. Sometimes I fail big time. But they always serve to sustain me. Motivate me. Challenge me. Right now I have undocumented ideas that propel me to keep trail running, riding and tuning up my bike, paddling my packraft, and perhaps even trying to remember <i>un poquito </i>of my high school Spanish... We'll see what comes of such ideas.</div>
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I wonder what others set as goals for themselves.</div>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-75622675068975291962012-12-09T08:32:00.000-08:002012-12-09T12:19:15.723-08:00Let it snow?<a href="http://protectourwinters.org/">Protect Our Winters</a> and the <a href="http://nrdc.org/">National Resources Defense Council</a> recently released a study detailing the negative economic impacts of reduced snowfall due to climate change. A copy of the report can be downloaded <a href="http://protectourwinters.org/climate_report/">here</a>. To vastly summarize the report, a few key findings are:<br />
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-winter temperatures are expected to rise 4-10 degrees F by the end of the century if no changes are made to climate change contributors<br />
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-this could cause a 25-100% reduction in snow depths in the west and reduce the length of the northeast's snow season by half<br />
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- the US wintersports industry is currently valued at approximately $12.2 billion<br />
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-over the past decade, the downhill ski resort industry lost $1.07 billion which resulted in a loss of 13,000 to 27,000 jobs<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whitetail deer in Pennsylvania's Laurel Highlands. I think I took this picture about a decade ago. Will this eventually be a sight of the past?</td></tr>
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Well, sufficed to say, I think that sucks. I am sure that many people in the wintersports industry and wintersports enthusiasts would agree with me. I like to go cross country skiing, ice climbing and build snowmen. For many years, my paychecks were largely made from selling equipment and clothing for winter time activities. But at the same time, many of my other actions contributed towards the progression of climate change. I drove my car to the ski hill and the state forest. I flew in a plane to go climb a volcano and note it's receding glaciers. I also took planes 3 or 4 times a year to attend national outdoor and ski industry trade shows along with thousands of others who had done the same.<br />
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Here, quoted in full, is the last paragraph from the conclusions of the above report:<br />
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<i>We must safeguard our winters and with them, a way of life for thousands of communities, a global winter sports industry, and local business across the United States. We can do this by supporting clean-energy and climate policies that reduce our carbon pollution, and opposing attempts to block such policies from moving forward. We need to protect the laws we have, specifically the Environmental Protection Agencyās authority under the Clean Air Act to set carbon pollution standards for major polluting industries. And we need to put in place policies and standards for the longer term that will ensure that vibrant, prosperous winters endure </i><i>for generations to come.</i></div>
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I think these are all correct and admirable goals to combat climate change and our disappearing winters. There are plenty of industries and societal practices that produce large amounts of carbon emissions that we need to address. But I think that we as wintersports lovers also need to be honest and not ignore our own contributions to climate change as well. What do I mean by that?</div>
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-just about every snow film in recent history that I see at the Banff Film Festival world tour involves someone flying to Alaska and then getting helicoptered to the top of a peak, again and again</div>
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-the outdoor and snowsports industries host numerous national (and international) trade shows each year where thousands of folks fly and drive great distances to attend</div>
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-snowmobilers drive trucks the size of tanks into the state forest and then run their snowmachines for the entire day</div>
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-folks fly from areas of little or poor snow to the West and go skiing</div>
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-areas with poor snow run snowguns that draw electricity for long stretches of the winter</div>
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And why do I bother to mention this? I don't like to see lovers of winter only point their finger at someone else, be that big industry, coal, cars, etc. While those are very real and significant contributors to global warming, I would ask people to keep in mind that just about no one is innocent in this problem. <b>And I unequivocally include myself as a contributor to global warming as well. </b>So I am asking is that all of us that love winter and want to see it stick around in our lifetimes, remember to look inward as well as outward. Not only do we owe it to ourselves so that we may keep skiing and boarding, but I would argue that we owe it to future generations of skiers and snowboarders.</div>
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Okay. I'll shut up now.<br />
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-21486900628165285512012-11-13T16:11:00.001-08:002012-11-13T16:11:19.205-08:00The SpoonIn late October, I rode my bike from central Pennsylvania to southern, southern Virginia where my parents own a farm. They are in the process of renovating the farmhouse that sits on the property and I traveled down in order to assist. I've spent the past two weeks patching and sanding and painting and putting up molding and all of the sorts of things that you do to old houses to give them new life. Yesterday, as I finished a couple of hours of scraping 50 year old carpet glue off of a staircase, I decided to take a little break. An aside if you will. I was going to make a spoon.<br />
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A spoon? Yeah, I'll bet you didn't see that one coming. Well, if you know me or you've read enough of my ditherings, you already know that logical transitions aren't my strong suit. But let me explain myself...</div>
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Just about everyone at some point in their life, be it as a child or an adult, thinks to themselves, "Wouldn't it be great to just go off in the woods and build a cabin and live there and forget about the 2012 election/terrorism/my 401k?" You can silently muse about this, but once you voice it aloud, your mother/husband/rabbi quickly tells you that this is not possible. And that's precisely when (hopefully) you also hear about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Proenneke">Dick Proenneke</a>. Dick was dropped off at a lake in the interior of Alaska in 1968 where he went about building a cabin by hand, alone. He also constructed much of the other items necessary for daily living out of natural materials or castoff packaging. Proenneke would live by himself in the cabin for about 30 years (aside from occasional visits from a float plane and a couple of trips back to the lower 48 to see family). Whilst he went about all of this, he filmed himself and kept a lengthy journal which were the basis for the documentary <a href="http://www.dickproenneke.com/alone_in_the_wilderness.html">Alone in the Wilderness</a>.</div>
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Whenever I am hanging out with my friend Ieva, conversation begins with a normal discussion of how things are going and how much we have or have not been climbing/biking/running. With pleasantries aside, we switch to the important stuff: building cabins, goats, sewing your own clothing, persistence hunting, etc. About a month ago, we got together in order to watch <i>Alone in the Wilderness</i> as I had still never seen it. Upon watching it, I felt like all of life's troubles were washed away. I knew what to do with myself. To seal the deal, we also watched the sequel, <i>Alone in the Wilderness II</i>. Ieva and I were understandably excited to go out and immediately build a cabin, but we let logic prevail and decided to start with something simpler: making a wooden spoon.</div>
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In <i>Alone in the Wilderness II</i>, Proenneke shows the process of making a spoon. As he is a superb craftsman, he makes it look really easy. Also they edit out all of the laborious parts to shorten the footage. We felt like this gave us some idea of what was going on and set about finding the necessary tools. One implement called for is a gouge (a rounded chisel) and Ieva and I went to two different hardware stores and searched around town, but couldn't find this specialty tool. The effort sort of lost steam at that point. My father is a devout woodworker so I asked him to locate a gouge for me while I was bicycling down to the farm. When I arrived, a gouge was awaiting me and I thus had the tools I needed. So, without further <i>adieu</i>, I give you the process for making a wooden spoon by hand.</div>
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Select a young tree that is slightly bigger in diameter than how wide you want to make your overall spoon. Chop it down. I don't have my copy of <a href="http://www.foxfire.org/thefoxfirebook.aspx">The Foxfire Book</a> on me but it has a good discussion of what wood to use for what purpose. I selected an oak because there were a lot of oak around. (Before anyone decries me for cutting down a healthy tree instead of using deadfall, you should know that "green" wood is much easier to cut and shape. You can now return to reading this post inside of your house made of 2x4s.)</div>
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Next, "limb" the tree. That is, cut the protruding limbs off of the trunk. I really like to use the <a href="http://www.gransfors.com/htm_eng/index.html">Gransfors Bruks</a> Scandinavian Forest Axe for this. Its large enough to fell a tree and limb it and light enough to use for small shaping functions later in the process. During all of this cutting, be <b>EXTREMELY CAREFUL </b>that you do not cut your foot, leg, hand, fingers, etc. You can do a lot of damage with a sharp axe. And then as Gem says in <i>The Town</i>, "there goes college soccer".</div>
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Haul your tree trunk out of the woods to your cabin/yurt/commune and put it up on sawhorses. Okay, Dick Proenneke would have used a tripod made of other tree sections, but I didn't want to make my parents apoplectic by cutting down the entire forest. Get yourself a carpenter's saw.</div>
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Cut a blank for your spoon. It should be relatively straight and free of large knots. You want it to be a bit longer than your desired spoon length and a touch wider. This blank that was about 20 inches long and 3 inches in diameter yielded a finished spoon of 12"x2".</div>
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Flatten one side of the blank with your axe. A small hatchet could make this easier (and perhaps safer).</div>
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Continue by flattening the other side taking care to try and make the sides parallel.</div>
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Draw the outline in pencil of your overall spoon shape and the area where the "bowl" or concave portion should be.</div>
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Begin cutting out the bowl of the spoon using a gouge. I was using a #7 sweep 3/8" gouge which is good for small and medium sized spoons. For a larger "serving" sized spoon I might use a wider gouge.</div>
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Continue chiseling until you have the concavity as deep as necessary. Don't worry about how thick the "walls" of the spoon are at this point.</div>
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With your axe, now rough out the top profile of the spoon around the bowl and along the length of the handle.</div>
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Then draw the side profile of the spoon in pencil and then rough it out again with your axe. Leave the "walls" of the concavity thick still. Trying to shave too closely with the axe at this point can ruin your whole project.</div>
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Next, step in side. Cozy up to the fire. Put on some NPR or some folk music. Make yourself a mug of tea. And get out your hunting knife. I suppose you could use some sort of carving knife, but that's just unnecessary baggage when you're taking a float plane in to your homesite. Start slowly whittling the spoon towards its final form. Go slowly. Use your index finger and thumb as "calipers" to gauge how thin you're making the bowl of the spoon.</div>
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After you've gotten it to where you're happy with it, break out some sandpaper and smooth out the surfaces of the spoon. Yes, Dick had sandpaper with him. I found that it was ineffective to sand the wood while it was still quite "green" and damp, so I am letting it season and dry for a few days before giving it a proper sanding.</div>
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And voila! You have a fully functional spoon that you made with your own hands. Proenneke finished his spoons with shellac or varnish or something that I cannot recall. I'm fairly sure that the health industry would frown upon that these days. My friend Lauren teaches youth in the outdoors and occasionally they make spoons as an activity. She said that they finish them with a cooking oil. Makes sense to me. Once this gets its final sanding, I'll rub a light coat of olive oil on the spoon to protect the wood.</div>
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For my first attempt ever at making a spoon by hand, I think it turned out pretty well. I believe the scoop portion of the spoon should be deeper and the walls should be thinner. I was a bit timid with the chisel and later whittling as I didn't want to make them too thin and ruin the spoon. Rome wasn't built in a day and even Dick Proenneke probably didn't make a perfect spoon the first time. But, this first one is perfect for putting dollops of sourdough batter on your cast iron fry pan to make pancakes, as Dick would do. I believe that my friend Liz, upon hearing of Ieva and my intentions to make spoons, laid claim to the first one that I made. Hopefully she'll put it to good use. Kindling is not a "good use".</div>
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If you've read this far, you probably need no justification on why you should make a spoon. But there's probably someone out there thinking "Why waste your time?" It was fun. I hate eating with plastic. It's rewarding to actually make something in this day and age. Or in the words of the cashier at the consignment shop in Mount Joy, PA who rang me out for a Foxfire book and a guide on bowmaking, "the way the world's heading these days, you're gonna need to know this stuff". In either case, I hope that you enjoyed the step-by-step explanation and are perhaps inspired to make something yourself!</div>
Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-39483988579023536192012-11-05T17:46:00.000-08:002012-11-06T14:34:59.276-08:00J.A. Stein Mini Cassette Lockring ToolWhat follows is a review of a really esoteric and very specific piece of bike equipment. If a thousand people read this post, perhaps one might find it useful. Which is excellent. Except probably only four people read this blog. Oh well.<br />
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On a recent multi-day ride, a friend and I pulled off of the road into a the parking lot of an Italian restaurant buried in central Pennsylvania. Our chains were dry and shrieking for want of lubrication and it was sorta time for a lunch break too anyways. My friend rummaged through his panniers and happened upon the correct one with his repair stuff in it. As he removed everything to find a bottle of chain lube, I noticed something wrapped up in a grocery bag.</div>
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Me: "Is that a chain whip?"</div>
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Him: "Yep."</div>
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Me: "I really wouldn't want to carry that."</div>
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Him: "Yeah, me neither. But what are you going to do if a drive side spoke breaks and you need to remove your cassette?"</div>
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Me: "Commit seppuku with a tire lever."</div>
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First off, I am not criticizing my friend. Both of our bikes (and wheelsets) have over 10k miles on them. We carry lots of heavy stuff in our rear panniers. We ride over things like rough trails, the cataclysmic streets of Baltimore, hippies, etc. Prime situations to break a rear spoke. And we do all of this often at great distance to a bike shop. If you break a spoke on the drive side of your rear wheel next to the cassette, you need to remove the cassette in order to replace the spoke. The usual necessary tools are a chain whip, a cassette lockring tool and a crescent wrench. Unless you're my friend who opted to carry these along, you're not likely to find such specialized tools outside of a bike shop while out touring.</div>
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I have always been aware of this potential situation. For many thousands of miles of touring, I simply adopted the "I hope that a rear spoke never breaks but if it does make it right by a bike shop" mentality and tried not to think how royally screwed I might be in certain places. Perhaps somewhere like Wyoming's Great Divide Basin. I assure you that I am not alone in this mindset. Actually, I'll bet that many cross country cyclists have never even considered the predicament I just laid out. But right then and there, in the parking lot, I promised my friend that I'd determine a solution. We had both heard of "emergency" lockring removers, but hadn't purchased one since they cost about $40 and we had no idea how they worked.</div>
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The only such tool in current production that I have heard of is the <a href="http://www.jastein.com/Html/Tools_for_Wheels.htm">J.A. Stein Mini Cassette Lockring Tool</a>. It's been recommended by other long distance cyclists, but I could not find anywhere that clearly explained how the tool operates. I ordered one through <a href="http://harriscyclery.net/product/j.-a.-stein-stein-mini-cassette-lockring-tool-1214.htm">Harris Cyclery</a> for $35.95 and I would urge you to call them and try to negotiate their $10 shipping fee since what I received could have been essentially mailed in an envelope. For your forty odd dollars, you receive a small plastic bag with several loose metal bits and you begin wondering if you've been swindled.</div>
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Now, I have the advantage of having removed my cassette a couple of times to replace it. I used the ubiquitous Park Tool <a href="http://www.parktool.com/product/freewheel-remover-fr-5g">Cassette Lockring Tool</a> and <a href="http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000029314060&pid=59349WC&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.campmor.com%2Fpark-tool-1-chain-whip.shtml&usg=AFHzDLvuEQZ_SoIi9w2s11VKDXxLy0Utkg&pubid=594236" rel="nofollow">Chain Whip</a> and a crescent wrench. This gave me an overall expectation of what had to happen here. If you haven't removed a cassette using conventional means, it would probably behoove you to ask for a demo at your local bike shop before playing with the Stein tool. But once you look at the Stein tool, you will note that the larger plate has splines machined on it much like a conventional lockring removal tool. With your skewer removed, you engage the splined plate with the lockring on your cassette. Then with a 3mm allen key, you attach the smaller arm to the plate. With the wheel in your bike's dropout, you reinstall the skewer, clamping down the slotted end of the arm. As you rotate your crankarms in the easiest gearing, the tool rotates until it contacts the frame whereupon further crankarm rotation causes the lockring to be loosened by the now immobile tool. By changing the orientation of the tool slightly, you can tighten the lockring back on by rotating your rear wheel backwards by hand.</div>
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This may sound quite complicated. I assure you it isn't. It's just hard to put into words. If you have experience with a usual cassette removal procedure, you will be able to follow the directions that come along with the tool. You will need to be carrying your own 3mm allen key and if you are the type to carry an emergency cassette remover then it would stand to reason you're also packing a multitool. The tool worked fabulously once I read through the instructions. I had to remove a bolt holding one of the fender arms on that would have blocked the tool's rotation. In order to get the lockring to "break free" I sat on the bike and pushed down on a pedal with my foot. I doubt that handstrength on the crankarm alone would be enough force. And likewise, reinstallation of the lockring was a snap too (albeit with one caveat that I will describe below). I can absolutely recommend carrying the Stein tool along on bicycle rides that take you far away from the bicycle shop or your home workbench. Just remember to bring extra spokes as well, otherwise this is all for naught.</div>
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<b>DISCLAIMER </b>for <a href="http://surlybikes.com/bikes/long_haul_trucker">Surly Long Haul Trucker</a> owners: I have an LHT and by my observation, a heck of a lot of other cycletourists do too. When I went to reinstall/tighten the cassette lockring, the directions are at odds with the LHT dropouts. When reinstalling, you set up the tool with the arm pointing 180 degrees in the other direction and thus the arm contacts the frame by the chainstay, instead of the seatstay as in the loosening operation. If you look at the above photo where the tool is installed for the <i>loosening </i>operation, you'll see a flange of sorts where the chainstay meets the dropout. If you follow the tools directions, when you are tightening the lockring back on, the arm of the tool will ride up onto this flange and get bent. I know because I did it. I was able to hammer the arm back flat and I'm sure it will work fine in the future. What I would do next time is allow the tool to contact the back of the derailleur hanger instead of the chainstay. The directions clearly say that you should <i>not </i>do that as you may damage your derailleur. With that in mind, I would probably unbolt my derailleur first since it isn't necessary for the tightening function to avoid damaging it. Again, if you own an LHT and are using a Stein tool, this will make immediate sense when you're sitting there looking at it. <b> </b></div>
Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-48707769272401430492012-10-17T18:51:00.000-07:002012-10-17T18:51:52.237-07:00The Bicycle Luggage DebateThe one thing that I have noticed folks get really wrapped up in when bike touring is how to carry their stuff. Specifically, people love to argue the merits and drawbacks between panniers and trailers. Everyone is convinced that whichever they've picked is correct and the other is inferior. Well the other thing that I have noticed is that typically these same people have only ridden with one system thus making their claims biased and unfounded. To satisfy my own curiosity and to inform you, fair reader, I decided to ride with both setups.<div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well why don't you cry about it, <i>Saddlebags</i>!?! (Obscure <i>Ace Ventura</i> reference... sorry) Panniers work great.</td></tr>
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When I say "ride with both setups" I don't mean write some crappy magazine review in which I borrowed something for an afternoon and took it along when I got coffee. (Although I drank lots of coffee whilst using both panniers and trailer.) No. I mean I tested the heck out of this. I rode across the country (approx. 5,000 miles) this summer using Ortlieb <a href="http://www.ortliebusa.com/prod-29.htm">Back-Roller Plus</a> and <a href="http://www.ortliebusa.com/prod-28.htm">Front-Roller Plus</a> panniers. Just a couple of weeks ago, I went on a 750 mile tour using the same front panniers and a BOB <a href="http://www.bobgear.com/yak">Yak</a> trailer. In both cases, I was also using an Ortlieb <a href="http://www.ortliebusa.com/prod-151.htm">Ultimate5 Plus</a> handlebar bag. During both trips, I got opportunities to ride pavement, gravel, dirt, long climbs, steep climbs, fast descents, windy straightaways, car-choked urban environments, and just about every other condition imaginable. I'd say it was a pretty darn fair test.</div>
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Since I had toured so much with panniers, I had my biases against trailers somewhat going into the second tour. I thought it would be slower. I thought it would "pull me back" on steep ascents. I thought on extended gravel and dirt it would just add drag. I thought it would suck weaving around cars in the city. I thought I would <i>instantly</i> be disgusted. And what happened? I didn't really notice any difference. Nope. I was just as happy pulling a trailer as I was with panniers. In fact, on the last day I forgot that I was using a trailer. As Porky the Pig says, "That's all, folks!" Get over it.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y1mdWHkl5v8/T9UJeYc8XWI/AAAAAAAABZk/_b9l51NGqTE/s1600/P6070065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y1mdWHkl5v8/T9UJeYc8XWI/AAAAAAAABZk/_b9l51NGqTE/s400/P6070065.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trailers work great too. Don't worry. They don't make you spontaneously yardsale in plazas.</td></tr>
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But seriously, the debate is just silly. There's a simple series of questions that can make this an easy decision for you. I should have drawn some sort of Venn diagram or flow chart, but I never took graphic design. Microsoft Paint sucks to use with a laptop touchpad mouse too. So I guess I'll just write this out longhand.</div>
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-If you already own a bike that won't accommodate racks, buy a trailer and go touring. Ignore all of the pannier geeks.</div>
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-If you're on a strict budget, you may want to choose the trailer. A BOB Yak Plus which includes a waterproof duffle will hold 94 liters and goes for $359. My panniers hold 25 liters (front) and 40 liters (back) and I'll say that I strap 30 liters of stuff to the top of the rear rack to make the volume capacity the same. Those bags plus my front and rear racks amount to about $460. Yes you can certainly get cheaper panniers, but Ortlieb bags are the <i>de facto</i> choice for most cross country riders by my observations.</div>
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-If you want to haul random stuff like packrafts, beer kegs, mule deer, etc. the trailer is more versatile for that.</div>
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-If you're also using buses/trains/planes in your travels, panniers are a lot easier to get around with.</div>
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-If you're wheedling your bike around in urban spots, taking it on elevators, carrying it up stairs, etc. it's a lot easier without the added length of the trailer.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkDU2zYpZYOyi2MEBMfRGy6VGGQrFLf9m2wZMRbP8_ZAldgPVMTZAomD8c_vLlIzGgpgA60Ei3fExOTHq_bV9Dlgg0WsV3nw6mlqRYxh5lo8NDkSFnAxLngzkq542hKeEYujPmbyZO4jMd/s1600/photo-717614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkDU2zYpZYOyi2MEBMfRGy6VGGQrFLf9m2wZMRbP8_ZAldgPVMTZAomD8c_vLlIzGgpgA60Ei3fExOTHq_bV9Dlgg0WsV3nw6mlqRYxh5lo8NDkSFnAxLngzkq542hKeEYujPmbyZO4jMd/s400/photo-717614.JPG" width="400" /></a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then again, why choose at all? Just overload your bike beyond all reason and go have at it. Okay... don't do that.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Of course, these are just some of the bigger questions to be mindful of. I'm sure you can think of minute differences or situations where <i>only X will do!</i> But the point of this post is to say that it really doesn't matter in terms of handling. I tested that. If you can ride a bike and make panniers weigh equally side to side you can figure that system out. My brother who had never even seen a bike trailer slapped a loaded one on his road bike and was racing the taxis of Pittsburgh within minutes. Either one is fine. The important thing is that you choose a system, throw some stuff in there and get outside.</div>
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A special warning: Do not choose a double wheeled trailer. They won't track as well behind you and when you're riding suspect roads, the right side wheel will invariably be hitting all of the nastiness by the curb/shoulder/road edge despite your best intentions. Riding through Baltimore last week, if I hadn't been using a single wheeled trailer that followed my bike's tires <i>exactly</i> through the miasma of broken concrete, grates and trash, I may very well have died. I'm not exaggerating that. The only exceptions are if you are hauling a child in a two wheeled trailer or if it's just crucial because you cannot balance a single wheeled variety correctly.</div>
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I leapfrogged across the country this summer with two families that were biking on tandems with double wheeled trailers. They chose these because when you're asking an 8 year old and a 15 year old to bike together on a tandem, they cannot deal with the added frustration of balancing a single wheeled trailer. But each and every one of the group of 12 still took turns cursing the two wheeled versions for the aforementioned drawbacks.</div>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-70858681382236063642012-09-28T09:54:00.000-07:002012-09-28T09:54:22.289-07:00Simple joyI spent this spring and summer riding my bicycle around a bit of the United States coming across many beautiful natural and urban scenes. High elevation, low elevation, no elevation, forests, plains, streams, ocean, cottages, skyscrapers... I saw a lot. But as the old saying goes, "There's no place like home."<div>
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<div>
Unbeknownst to me, it would take over two weeks to get my bike shipped from the Oregon coast to Pennsylvania. Two weeks of me wandering around town, not getting more than a handful of miles away from my friend's house where I was crashing. For many of you, this confinement would be similar to having your car in the shop for two weeks. But at long last, I received the bike and quickly reassembled it. The beginnings of autumn in Pennsylvania awaited me.</div>
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<div>
Yesterday, I took the opportunity to ride up to Black Moshannon State Park carrying my Alpacka Raft <a href="https://www.alpackaraft.com/index.cfm/store.catalog?CategoryID=53&ProductID=68">Denali Llama</a> packraft on the rear rack. My plan was simply to ride up some big hills to the park which sits atop a plateau and paddle around in the bog area there. As I have tried to advocate <a href="http://wilddork.blogspot.com/2011/09/adventure-is-state-of-mind.html">before</a>, stuff doesn't have to be complicated to be fun. The simpler the better. Certainly biking around the country is great, but there are still magical experiences to find in your backyard.</div>
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<div>
Consider the day: Meet a friend for breakfast, talk about fishing and drink enough coffee to leave us shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Ride twenty odd miles along quiet, damp back roads under overcast grey skies. Shoot the breeze for a bit with the park rangers as one of the few weekday visitors. Paddle through acres of bog, complete with lily pads and old stumps, in complete silence save the dipping of paddle blades and the occasional frightened fish. Contemplate incoming storm clouds after hours of paddling and head for shore. Ride the asphalt roller coaster of ridges back home to a hot shower and fresh burritos.</div>
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Simple joy.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2WvSm_lG9Zc/UGWi6xX2hfI/AAAAAAAAE2M/174SEw52zKo/s1600/P4060018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2WvSm_lG9Zc/UGWi6xX2hfI/AAAAAAAAE2M/174SEw52zKo/s400/P4060018.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This. This is exactly what I love the most in Pennsylvania. Quiet back roads in the fall. Whether its for fishing, hunting, climbing, biking or whatever, I never get enough of them. Riding up Beaver Road towards the top of the Allegheny Plateau</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mrPYOT5eTP0/UGWi7neNPdI/AAAAAAAAE2Y/WBLENa7hZyo/s1600/P4060019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mrPYOT5eTP0/UGWi7neNPdI/AAAAAAAAE2Y/WBLENa7hZyo/s400/P4060019.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My able vessel is inflated and ready to go. Their website mentions this, but it warrants a reminder. The floor is just a single sheet of material so it is well worth padding and insulating with something like a 3/4 length self inflating sleeping pad. Which you'll obviously already have with you on your backcountry overnight packrafting adventure.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NvlVqMPDHBk/UGWi8k4V46I/AAAAAAAAE2o/aqNaxWzaNss/s1600/P4060021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NvlVqMPDHBk/UGWi8k4V46I/AAAAAAAAE2o/aqNaxWzaNss/s400/P4060021.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out on the open waters as the only boater in sight.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uYaw_-2ENUY/UGWi9RetX5I/AAAAAAAAE2s/HSenDjCNwX4/s1600/P4060022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uYaw_-2ENUY/UGWi9RetX5I/AAAAAAAAE2s/HSenDjCNwX4/s400/P4060022.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the not so open waters of the bog area. As you paddle through areas of lily pads, they make a faint rushing, scratching sound below you. At any pause in the paddle stroke, the vegetation grabs at the hull, gently bringing you to a halt.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VNYzjoPON8w/UGWi-bw6BUI/AAAAAAAAE28/3GG6H3gjfNo/s1600/P4060035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VNYzjoPON8w/UGWi-bw6BUI/AAAAAAAAE28/3GG6H3gjfNo/s400/P4060035.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking out across the acres of lily pads, water lilies appear here and there like errant ping pong balls scattered about.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xDriTI2aSTI/UGWi_vZC8qI/AAAAAAAAE3M/LXvL4Yc1_js/s1600/P4060048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xDriTI2aSTI/UGWi_vZC8qI/AAAAAAAAE3M/LXvL4Yc1_js/s400/P4060048.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bog awaits all those that care to visit. Make sure that you do. I would certainly welcome company the next time that I go.</td></tr>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-46730129386563534782012-09-15T17:36:00.000-07:002012-09-15T17:36:51.584-07:00The "Not So Great" DivideIt's been less than a week since I returned to State College from riding across the country on my bicycle. In an effort to reduce expenses and my carbon footprint, I decided to take a bus from Newport, Oregon which is on the Pacific Coast all of the way to Pennsylvania. Most people will shake their head and laugh at how stupid I am to choose a three day bus ride over a antiseptic, quick flight. Greyhound buses have the advantage of maintaining stations in many small towns that you bike through and accepting any sort of items as luggage. My bike is still in the process of getting shipped back, but I could easily throw things like a camp stove, a knife, etc. into my bags with nary a second thought. Also, the more relaxed schedule and pace of travel by bus doesn't create the anxieties of TSA, tight connections and enclosed airline cabins that flights incur.<div>
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A cross country bus trip is not without its odd occurrences though... For brevity's sake, I will only recount incidences of police being involved and leave out all of the other strange stuff:</div>
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Saturday 9pm Boise, ID <i>An extremely drunk passenger had repeatedly tried to open the emergency escape windows. He is arrested and led off by the police.</i></div>
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Sunday 8:10am Ogden, UT <i>A man misses the bus when it stops at the station. He catches up with the bus on a freeway overpass, drives in front and blocks the bus's lane. After several minutes of standing outside demanding to be let on the bus, the police arrive and cuff him.</i></div>
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Sunday 11:45am Evanston, WY <i>Two state police SUVs are awaiting the bus at the next scheduled stop. All passengers are ordered to exit the bus. The police search the bus with dogs for drugs possibly left by a passenger that was arrested the night before.</i></div>
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Sunday 8pm Denver, CO <i>A guy yells across the bus terminal, "Hey! That's not your f**king bag!" The target of his outburst is an extremely drunk man urinating directly onto the first man's luggage which sits out in the middle of the terminal. The urinater is put in an armlock by security, taken away and arrested.</i></div>
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Monday 2am Colby, KS <i>A woman starts verbally abusing the bus driver because she wants to smoke another cigarette before the bus leaves. The police are called and they escort her off of the bus with her two children. Some other passengers are irate over her treatment, however it was observed that the woman had loudly told her kids earlier, "I can't wait til I get you two home so I can go out and get drunk."</i></div>
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Despite these disruptions, I still made it back to State College safely and surprisingly on schedule. After only approximately 12 hours, I started getting edgy. After a day, I knew that I needed to give myself a new all encompassing goal to focus on and work towards. I made the mistake of watching <a href="http://www.ridethedividemovie.com/">Ride the Divide</a>, a documentary about the Tour Divide mountain bike race. The race entails riding approximately 2,750 miles along the Continental Divide from Banff, AB to the Mexican border in New Mexico. The route follows Adventure Cycling's <a href="http://www.adventurecycling.org/routes/greatdivide.cfm">Great Divide Mountain Bike Route</a>. The current course record is something like 15 days which works out to about a 180 mile per day average. During my cross country ride this summer, I had paralleled the route on pavement for over half of it's length and I had often thought about riding the Divide.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I decided to (try and) race it next year.</b></span></div>
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Do I know what I'm in for? No. Am I in shape for it? No. Do I have the gear for it? Nah. Is this going to completely destroy me? Yep. Am I looking forward to the biggest challenge ever? Yes. Do I expect to place on the podium? No. Am I going to try and have fun with it? Certainly.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fQ6VsP94EIs/UBVPF-NgZ7I/AAAAAAAADoE/HLtUp_b5F0c/s1600/P2050021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fQ6VsP94EIs/UBVPF-NgZ7I/AAAAAAAADoE/HLtUp_b5F0c/s400/P2050021.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Great Divide Basin is one of many, many long desolate and lonely sections that the race takes you through. I had the pleasure of riding through it this summer on the few paved roads that cross it. So I have some idea of what I'm signing up for. Scratch that. I have no idea what I am signing up for.</td></tr>
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<br />I am calling my effort Not So Great Divide 2013. The route is great mind you. It's my style of riding it that will probably be "not so great". But that's the fun of it. Picking a seemingly impossible challenge and working towards it and hopefully making it look a little less impossible. I will strive to document the process of starting from scratch, getting my equipment together, detailing the planning and logistics and training harder than I ever have before. Actually I don't train for much so this will be a new experience too...<div>
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So join me for the fun and games. It's gonna be a long, bumpy ride.</div>
Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-76032339787301750482012-09-07T15:59:00.000-07:002012-09-07T15:59:50.506-07:00The final finest milesI decided to end my tour today. This may sound a bit abrupt, but it was not induced by a sudden panic attack or anything. I was never quite sure how long I would continue riding. Truth be told, I had been entertaining the idea of riding down the Pacific Coast and then riding back to Pennsylvania for months. But as I cycled through the early morning fog of the Oregon coastline on Highway 101, I realized that the tour was over for me.<br />
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Initially my concern was that I would be disappointed with not riding an even greater distance, even possibly back to the East Coast. But I realized that I achieved what I set out to do and that is bike across the United States under my own power. The challenge for me was really a mental one when I look back on it since I've biked around plenty and new my capabilities there. It was keeping myself motivated and cheerful day in and day out and not let my anxieties get to me. Those of you that know me well know what a challenge that was for me. But after leaving Seattle (which had been my earliest stated goal) I just couldn't honestly drum up the same gusto for travel. I rode to Newport, OR today and realized the mental fire wasn't stoked anymore.<br />
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That's not to say that the riding along the Oregon Coast was disappointing. Not by a long shot! You can ride miles along the coast within sight and sound of the booming surf. The scenery is out of this world and a post card photographer could make their living within 20 miles of shoreline. In the midst of this beauty, I really wanted to be sharing the experience with someone else. After riding 5,000 miles largely alone, I knew that I needed to be around a friend or two to add the spark back. Sure there was a chance I might bump into someone to tour with, but I really didn't want to ride on that notion for more days, weeks or months.<br />
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With this trip's success, I am not hanging up my bike touring hat or my adventure hat either (they're both sweet looking hats by the way). I learned a whole lot more about long distance bike touring and about travelling with myself for company. This knowledge will help in future plans and adventures. Which I don't necessarily want to do alone, that much I know. But for now, I am content to return to State College where I know plenty of folks and the Pennsylvania countryside where autumn is approaching. I dropped off my bike at <a href="http://www.bikenewport.net/">Bike Newport</a> to get shipped back and booked a three (yes, you read that correctly) day bus ticket back home. Three days on a bus may sound utterly horrible to some of you. But consider that I spent 100 days on a bicycle seat covering the same route!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o7H917-tLQI/UEldZ8yLVpI/AAAAAAAAErg/5y7kw2JHhLE/s1600/P3150001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o7H917-tLQI/UEldZ8yLVpI/AAAAAAAAErg/5y7kw2JHhLE/s400/P3150001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Highway 101 bridge leading out of Astoria was cloaked in fog. This is where bright clothing and reflectors come in handy!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z43or26zXLU/UEldhyKm0bI/AAAAAAAAEtQ/TQl9pGzlNsk/s1600/P3150015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z43or26zXLU/UEldhyKm0bI/AAAAAAAAEtQ/TQl9pGzlNsk/s400/P3150015.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first beach that I came to in Orgeon, Arcadia Beach, was similarly clad in fog. I took my shoes off to walk through the sand and saltwater. The sea was far colder than I expected. All of you who where hoping for skinny dipping photos will be disappointed.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dqcRiViyDJs/UEldi-LpivI/AAAAAAAAEtg/myk8F5uZsf8/s1600/P3150017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dqcRiViyDJs/UEldi-LpivI/AAAAAAAAEtg/myk8F5uZsf8/s400/P3150017.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, definitely don't skip pushing the button. It sets off flashing lights at either end of the tunnel that alert drivers to the fact that some idiot is riding their bike through the dark tunnel. Regardless, you may still be passed by a semi. Or a logging truck. Or two. And they are louder than heck in a tunnel. A little unsettling, but all in a day's ride!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tstCriJt-U4/UEldjQYAMSI/AAAAAAAAEto/8S0PQm0U8vM/s1600/P3150018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tstCriJt-U4/UEldjQYAMSI/AAAAAAAAEto/8S0PQm0U8vM/s400/P3150018.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you're not riding right down by the ocean, you will find yourself riding up over a cape and gaining a high, scenic perch. This is looking down at the beach at Manzanita. Somewhere down there is a guy kite surfing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WmBDmGr9ec8/UEldmdXd71I/AAAAAAAAEuQ/kOWt6M7u_b0/s1600/P3150023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WmBDmGr9ec8/UEldmdXd71I/AAAAAAAAEuQ/kOWt6M7u_b0/s400/P3150023.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upon arrival at a city campground in Bay City, OR, the campground host handed me a freshly cooked crab leftover from her dinner. Said crab did not survive for very long.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4_fmjbRXVec/UEldnZXnkSI/AAAAAAAAEu4/pwpIfJwdlXQ/s1600/P3160025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4_fmjbRXVec/UEldnZXnkSI/AAAAAAAAEu4/pwpIfJwdlXQ/s400/P3160025.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scenic Route. Always choose the scenic route. Except this time the scenic route included multiple 800' climbs in the cold fog to panoramas that were entirely obscured by dense fog. Okay, so maybe you shouldn't <i>always</i> take the scenic route.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pqq194bEekI/UEldoK58-pI/AAAAAAAAEuw/U3MRE4Dq45o/s1600/P3160027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pqq194bEekI/UEldoK58-pI/AAAAAAAAEuw/U3MRE4Dq45o/s400/P3160027.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did I mention there was fog?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fYust2MCy8/UEld82duKQI/AAAAAAAAEvk/O-hG-YC8uTU/s1600/P3160028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0fYust2MCy8/UEld82duKQI/AAAAAAAAEvk/O-hG-YC8uTU/s400/P3160028.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holy smokes! In Pacific City, I was able to reconnect with Henk and Marja, my Dutch cycling companions. The last time that I had seen them was in Berea, KY approximately 4,000 miles ago! We had been playing a game of cat and mouse with them trailing me by approximately a day until I headed north in Missoula. They continued west to complete the TransAmerica route and this resulted in us riding into one another on the coast.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9JQ8n7Lt2GU/UEld9VGjH4I/AAAAAAAAEvo/TYJgDo_Oq-g/s1600/P3160029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9JQ8n7Lt2GU/UEld9VGjH4I/AAAAAAAAEvo/TYJgDo_Oq-g/s400/P3160029.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this sign. The road is closed, but someone thought it was necessary to add "No Way through for Bikes or Cars".</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QOuPsU415_U/UEld98lLOvI/AAAAAAAAEvY/jQzTU7mIxOM/s1600/P3160030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QOuPsU415_U/UEld98lLOvI/AAAAAAAAEvY/jQzTU7mIxOM/s400/P3160030.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Necessary indeed if you look closely. I probably would have tried to ride through too.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NBYHEm0kDMc/UEptzKgE7yI/AAAAAAAAExo/li5NTiZAjY0/s1600/P3170001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NBYHEm0kDMc/UEptzKgE7yI/AAAAAAAAExo/li5NTiZAjY0/s400/P3170001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the pounding surf at Boiler Bay, I realized that I was content with how far I had come. The Oregon coast is a terrific place to cycle. I want to return in the future with a friend to share the experience.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UJHFrDv3CcU/UEpt1uMmEwI/AAAAAAAAEyE/aAVYJOzCJr0/s1600/P3170005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UJHFrDv3CcU/UEpt1uMmEwI/AAAAAAAAEyE/aAVYJOzCJr0/s400/P3170005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And then I rode through more cold, damp fog. Are you sensing a trend yet? I'm told that it isn't always like this. Maybe.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5NhVNoeGXk/UEpt2b2CwfI/AAAAAAAAEys/_vRvPEZryOY/s1600/P3170006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5NhVNoeGXk/UEpt2b2CwfI/AAAAAAAAEys/_vRvPEZryOY/s400/P3170006.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have come to the metaphorical end of the road for my trip. Except for right here where the edge of the road crumbles off a thirty foot seacliff. That's more like the physical end of the road.</td></tr>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-45281574331568929492012-09-04T14:33:00.000-07:002012-09-04T14:33:48.750-07:00The Coastest with the MostestRight now I am listening to <i>The Final Countdown</i> by Europe, a favorite glam metal ballad of mine, so excuse me if I write like a over caffeinated schizophrenic who's rocking out. Because I just finished several cups of coffee too.<br />
<br />
The past several days were spent forging my way through western Washington and to the coast of Oregon. Between Bremerton, WA and Astoria, OR the Pacific Coast route (as mapped by <a href="http://www.adventurecycling.org/routes/pacificcoast.cfm">Adventure Cycling</a>) keeps you well inland with no hint of an ocean. The terrain made me think of Pennsylvania with its continuous rolling hills and small farms. That and the dogs. One day around Centralia (it's a coal mining region, like the one in PA) I was chased by at least 7 dogs and nipped by one. It felt like I was back in Kentucky for a moment. Mostly unscathed though, I plowed on to Oregon and the coast.<br />
<br />
Well, to be honest, I still haven't even made the true coast. I am at the port town of Astoria, which is in the mouth of the Columbia River. But tomorrow, I'll be taking US 101 south and have the ocean off of my right shoulder. Whooo! Still, with its huge container ships and seagulls and sea lions it feels much more like the coast than when I visited the beach for the first time at Anacortes. More or less every cyclist that I have spoken to has said that the Oregon coast line is the iconic, archetypal, best riding of the whole route. With that overwhelming expectation in my head, I'll continue south.<br />
<br />
There was a small moment that I thought I may not make it any further however. Up in Bremerton, I had an anxiety attack suddenly consume me. For those of you that have never experienced one, basically with no warning or justification whatsoever, anything that has gone wrong in the world and everything that can go wrong in the world manifest themselves in your mind in unison. It can scare you shitless and it can also preclude you from any meaningful thoughts about what's actually going on around you. For me this is usually accompanied by a bit of depression too. So up in Bremerton, I have the sudden chain of thoughts, "What the heck am I doing/Why am I doing this/I'm wasting money/Where am I going to sleep tomorrow night/I miss my friends/Whoa that car passed really close!" This resulted in me sitting down and researching bus and train tickets home and trying to remember why I was sitting on my bicycle in the middle of nowhere.<br />
<br />
At times like these, I just have to laugh, take a deep breath and pull my head out of my ass. Years ago, a psychiatrist prescribed medication to stave off this sort of thing, but I prefer to employ the "snap out of it" method instead. Once I get myself moving again, all of the negativity leaves me and I remember why I quit my job to aimlessly ride my bicycle around the country by myself. Because it is fun. And why to I bother to tell you about this mental jibber jabber of mine, dear reader? I dunno. It's all part of my trip. It's not always sunshine and roses for me, but keep the pedals turning and I'll find them again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WzidJTBAaqA/UEWGpRUMqdI/AAAAAAAAEg4/aLrdiFwcg68/s1600/P3100008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WzidJTBAaqA/UEWGpRUMqdI/AAAAAAAAEg4/aLrdiFwcg68/s400/P3100008.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A good day indeed. Really, what is there to worry about? I'm riding my bike around for fun. I ate yesterday and I will eat again today. I won't get shot, robbed or thrown in prison for no reason either. Great. Now I am talking to a bar of soap.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XTR49ls1xmk/UEWGtgSVgSI/AAAAAAAAEhw/SvrZBJzm3jw/s1600/P3110015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XTR49ls1xmk/UEWGtgSVgSI/AAAAAAAAEhw/SvrZBJzm3jw/s400/P3110015.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When leaving Bremerton, a stranger named Scott felt absolutely compelled to give me directions despite my polite refusals. He took about 20 minutes to draw an illegible tangle of lines on a piece of paper, make random markings on my road map, and mutter incomprehensible cues under his breath. I made no attempt to use the fruits of his labor. Sorry, Scott.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IU3cRdAi_9Y/UEWG0jjhW_I/AAAAAAAAEiA/YHw9IfnRr2M/s1600/P3120002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IU3cRdAi_9Y/UEWG0jjhW_I/AAAAAAAAEiA/YHw9IfnRr2M/s400/P3120002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One thing that western Washington does have are really big volcanoes. I was riding along through farmland and minding my own business. Imagine my surprise when I looked over and saw a snowy Mount Rainier dominating the skyline!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HMZcab2QNmM/UEWG1MAU94I/AAAAAAAAEiI/zStEEABg7FQ/s1600/P3120003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HMZcab2QNmM/UEWG1MAU94I/AAAAAAAAEiI/zStEEABg7FQ/s400/P3120003.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the same vantage point, Mount Saint Helens, of explosion fame, was also visible.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mRC_hdXCP2o/UEWG4S_bh1I/AAAAAAAAEig/gH8ebTy9PQg/s1600/P3130006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mRC_hdXCP2o/UEWG4S_bh1I/AAAAAAAAEig/gH8ebTy9PQg/s400/P3130006.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding a bridge over the Columbia River onto Puget Island. Cathlamet, WA</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H92ekclPEcI/UEWG6DchdqI/AAAAAAAAEi4/63tXSnLLwGY/s1600/P3130009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H92ekclPEcI/UEWG6DchdqI/AAAAAAAAEi4/63tXSnLLwGY/s400/P3130009.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And then waiting for the ferry off of Puget Island over to Oregon. I had to wait for about 40 minutes for the next ferry service to run. It was really hot. In order to feel less sorry for myself, I tried to imagine how Lewis and Clark must have felt when they finally got to this point.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p98QJqyBJIg/UEWG7KL8lGI/AAAAAAAAEjA/RGhAIHAvxvk/s1600/P3130010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p98QJqyBJIg/UEWG7KL8lGI/AAAAAAAAEjA/RGhAIHAvxvk/s400/P3130010.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was amused to see that once in Oregon, I would be riding US 30 to Astoria since it runs within about 5 miles of my childhood home in Pennsylvania. It felt weird to be riding on the same road all the way out here. Toiling up a few 600' climbs on Route 30 made me feel like I was back in the Laurel Highlands for a couple of hours.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cmSNtVUBYEg/UEWG8kWAdqI/AAAAAAAAEjQ/c0WJBID1bso/s1600/P3130012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cmSNtVUBYEg/UEWG8kWAdqI/AAAAAAAAEjQ/c0WJBID1bso/s400/P3130012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upon arriving in the port town of Astoria, I heard some mysterious barking sounds echoing around the piers. I strained my eyes to locate the source of the noise.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gBfBkvIMgpE/UEWHAPUHNEI/AAAAAAAAEjw/ITIdA1wxWPo/s1600/P3130016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gBfBkvIMgpE/UEWHAPUHNEI/AAAAAAAAEjw/ITIdA1wxWPo/s400/P3130016.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Are those what I think they are? I had to get out on the pier to confirm my suspicions!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pxe9DPsKXNE/UEWHEXl_tgI/AAAAAAAAEl0/CvzMKBryi4U/s1600/P3130021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pxe9DPsKXNE/UEWHEXl_tgI/AAAAAAAAEl0/CvzMKBryi4U/s400/P3130021.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, it's a bunch of sea lions lazing about, soaking up the sun and making an awful racket.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VLrIbv6eo8w/UEWHFFWT0jI/AAAAAAAAEkg/RDxuBSBUQb8/s1600/P3130022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VLrIbv6eo8w/UEWHFFWT0jI/AAAAAAAAEkg/RDxuBSBUQb8/s400/P3130022.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know what Bon Jovi's next album will be titled.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VvFAy5euqH0/UEWHIu69HoI/AAAAAAAAElI/fw5mc-VdvnU/s1600/P3130027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VvFAy5euqH0/UEWHIu69HoI/AAAAAAAAElI/fw5mc-VdvnU/s400/P3130027.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Container ships hanging out for their turn at the mouth of the Columbia River. Astoria, OR</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-trn3a9wxvLk/UEWHLVgxNZI/AAAAAAAAEl8/unogEOrIai4/s1600/P3130031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-trn3a9wxvLk/UEWHLVgxNZI/AAAAAAAAEl8/unogEOrIai4/s400/P3130031.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Astoria is billed as the oldest American settlement west of the Rockies. Much of the downtown has been preserved in a 1920s era feel. Which means there's a lot of old storefronts and signs for me to admire. I spent the evening in the Norblad Hotel, which now operates as a hostel.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ChoVRMkJ8e8/UEZceaDNlrI/AAAAAAAAEpY/NQ1U3gKJ7Xo/s1600/P3140003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ChoVRMkJ8e8/UEZceaDNlrI/AAAAAAAAEpY/NQ1U3gKJ7Xo/s400/P3140003.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite all of the ship and vehicle traffic present, forests of old rotting pilings hint at some amount of industry lost and overtaken by tourism.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mXuASW0HZJg/UEZcgF2WheI/AAAAAAAAEp8/8zHQLIsKc1g/s1600/P3140006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mXuASW0HZJg/UEZcgF2WheI/AAAAAAAAEp8/8zHQLIsKc1g/s400/P3140006.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">US 101 beckons off in the distance.</td></tr>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-36185989284875142002012-08-29T23:17:00.001-07:002012-08-29T23:17:11.023-07:00Travelling habits of the city-bound human<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've long felt that cities are my wilderness, my unknown. When I am out in the woods or the mountains or the open road, sure there are plenty of things that can happen that you cannot wholly prepare for. But I feel ready for most situations and can calmly rationalize my way through others. Having lived my life in suburban or rural areas though, cities are a bit of an adventure for me.<br />
<br />
A few months ago I had ridden through the hearts of Baltimore and Washington D.C. From there though, the ensuing months only saw me travelling through tiny towns and cities. Sure I had hit Pueblo, CO with a population of about 100k, but the new norm for me was towns with populations numbering in the hundreds. So you may imagine my shock when the Bremerton ferry deposited me right in the midst of Seattle's downtown. Riding right off of the ferry and through the terminal and then BAM! you are at 1st and Yesler with speeding cabs and tour buses and pedestrians. The towering buildings around you form narrow gorges that leave you disoriented and you receive scant help from the streetsigns. And at some point, you need to pick a direction to move in.<br />
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When visiting a new city, many folks might make a list of popular attractions to visit. Or jump in with a tour group. Have a friend show them around. Undoubtedly in this day and age, they will have their smartphone tuned in to tell them where to move, where to eat and what to look at. Just as I spent a week in D.C., I pick a street unknown to me and start riding. No real idea where it will take me or what I will see. I'll carry a paper street map of the city stuffed into my back pocket. At a stoplight I might whip it out and quickly confirm a turn that I want to make, but largely I travel on serendipity. <br />
<br />
Sometimes this can lead to trouble. In Seattle, the real problem has been taking small streets that go up gut wrenching hills that other thoroughfares would have avoided, had I taken the time to think. NW 65th Street comes to mind. With all of my touring gear still on my bike I found myself crawling uphill in my smallest gear and hallucinating that I was back in eastern Kentucky. In D.C. such aimless wandering can easily deposit you on a limited access freeway. One day my brother, Andrew, and I wanted to ride "over there" to Teddy Roosevelt Island. Without stopping to plan or look at a map, we found ourselves on a bridge, six speeding lanes of traffic across with jersey barriers preventing our escape. My bad.<br />
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But largely, just going with the flow usually pays off. I want to find the places that haven't been recommended and sought out by every visiting tourist. I want my eye to be caught by a random neon sign and get drawn inside. I mean, this is how I figured out what was going on in every little bitty town across America so why should Seattle be any different? One of the hidden gems that I found in my travels was <a href="http://www.rodcycle.com/index.html">R+E Cycles</a>, a custom bike building shop and home to the Rodriguez and Erickson brands. It was a treat to look at their scads of beautiful frames including tandems with S&S couplers, a style I secretly covet. They have been building bikes there for over 30 years and there's plenty of history on display at the shop. I also like to avoid urbanspoon or any of the other restaurant recommendation sites, opting instead for Lady Luck to guide me. In Manhattan, I was strolling the streets after dark and went into a nondescript Mexican cantina. I was the only Caucasian in the joint and Spanish was the only language in use. The meal was one of the best I've had in a long while. Similarly, my friend, George, and I ducked into a Himalayan joint in Salt Lake City once on a passing whim. This was quite literally was a "hole in the wall" as rooms were joined by big holes crudely hammered through the brick walls. Not really knowing what to expect from the cuisine, we were both extremely pleased.<br />
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Of course, I still visit popular tourist areas like the museums and parks and shopping avenues. I'll take the suggestions of friends or complete strangers that I've struck up a conversation with. My friend, Lisa, told me that I "had to see the seals chomping down on salmon at the locks". Yeah, you can't pass up a spectacle like that. Or when my brother tells me which Smithsonian museum is his favorite I am definitely going to take the advice and visit. But by and large, I enjoy experiencing and feeling a city by making my own choices, taking wrong turns and getting lost. I love entering the current of rush hour traffic and letting the flow whisk me along, all of the city on display with its attendant sounds and smells and pulse. Eddy out on a sidestreet when something cool crops up. Maybe I miss some really great sights, but I'll sacrifice that for the taste of adventure.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XI6XCOu67mg/UDfOwPAB3xI/AAAAAAAAEQE/uyrlgbD0hN0/s1600/P3030077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XI6XCOu67mg/UDfOwPAB3xI/AAAAAAAAEQE/uyrlgbD0hN0/s400/P3030077.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lot of people always ask how many sets of tires you used riding cross country. Also, a large proportion of traffic to this blog is from folks researching Schwalbe Marathon Mondial tires so I thought I'd give an update. This is what the tread looks like on my tires after almost 7,000 miles of riding.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wp4yw3DwoAE/UDfO0GIfAzI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/LUYzZ4CZK0c/s1600/P3030083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wp4yw3DwoAE/UDfO0GIfAzI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/LUYzZ4CZK0c/s400/P3030083.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In 7,000 miles I have only gotten two punctures. This is the front tire where a shard of glass cut through within the first 1,000 miles of riding. As you can see, the rubber has not eroded away from the cut and the lug remains largely intact. I also got a bit of wire in my rear tire that resulted in a slow leak. Both tires exhibit those micro cracks from sun damage presumably.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cjo_4wHpAc8/UDfO2pzHbbI/AAAAAAAAERY/_jUtW-HlK2I/s1600/P3030087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cjo_4wHpAc8/UDfO2pzHbbI/AAAAAAAAERY/_jUtW-HlK2I/s400/P3030087.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right at the bottom edge of the reflective striping, there is a little bit of separation now in places. I would guess this is where the tread overlaps the casing? In any case, it's not sufficient to make me worry although I am carrying a spare folding tire at this point.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iOxjnp7kI0k/UDrerzWfzeI/AAAAAAAAEU4/BshLymWMKis/s1600/P3040003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iOxjnp7kI0k/UDrerzWfzeI/AAAAAAAAEU4/BshLymWMKis/s400/P3040003.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Olympic Peninsula and the Olympic Mountains off in the distance. I am on Whidbey Island and will take a ferry to Port Townsend and onto the peninsula.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gS0hWe3xCcM/UDrexqqDuiI/AAAAAAAAEVo/xiJeywxIeJg/s1600/P3050009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gS0hWe3xCcM/UDrexqqDuiI/AAAAAAAAEVo/xiJeywxIeJg/s400/P3050009.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know this snapshot sucks but I needed to remember this moment. I was minding my own business on the streets of Port Townsend when I saw some folks struggling to lift the bow of some sort of boat out a door. I proffered my help and took up a spot at the bow. What eventually emerged from the restaurant's door was a 30 foot wooden rowing shell for 4 or 5 people. It was so long it had us doing acrobatics lifting it over parked cars and stopping both lanes of traffic to get it completely out of the building. The owners stored it as decoration in the restaurant, but they needed to get it out for a wooden boat festival that weekend.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RhzfzXECr_w/UDrezLVxmRI/AAAAAAAAEVw/nDSCsdFbcLw/s1600/P3050010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RhzfzXECr_w/UDrezLVxmRI/AAAAAAAAEVw/nDSCsdFbcLw/s400/P3050010.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Break out your low tech maps. It's time to go to the city!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-m3Gi7jWKBvk/UD0D6bnMgSI/AAAAAAAAEZU/ZZ8u-SgnQ9k/s1600/P3060002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-m3Gi7jWKBvk/UD0D6bnMgSI/AAAAAAAAEZU/ZZ8u-SgnQ9k/s400/P3060002.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you get on a ferry, roll your bike up to the front of the cargo bay and tie it to a wall. Then go up top to enjoy the sights around you. This was the ferry from Bremerton to Seattle.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ey83ove0kUY/UD0EHqQb6wI/AAAAAAAAEY8/NhtaFNmxojA/s1600/P3060009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ey83ove0kUY/UD0EHqQb6wI/AAAAAAAAEY8/NhtaFNmxojA/s400/P3060009.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sighting the Seattle skyline for the first time</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-edJq2WZfTCg/UD0EKA-_kkI/AAAAAAAAEZE/Zqi10WF9w_E/s1600/P3060010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-edJq2WZfTCg/UD0EKA-_kkI/AAAAAAAAEZE/Zqi10WF9w_E/s400/P3060010.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tom, prepare for Seattle. Seattle, prepare for Tom.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F7h229jpavU/UD2kWUWh_jI/AAAAAAAAEbo/4kwbTTJKuJc/s1600/P3070008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F7h229jpavU/UD2kWUWh_jI/AAAAAAAAEbo/4kwbTTJKuJc/s400/P3070008.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All sorts of commercial and recreation craft can be spotted in the Chittenden Locks that allow passage from Puget Sound into Lakes Union and Washington. Here's the commercial variety.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z7z6xuQZJJ8/UD2kZe6457I/AAAAAAAAEdA/1jqh1Val-AI/s1600/P3070012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z7z6xuQZJJ8/UD2kZe6457I/AAAAAAAAEdA/1jqh1Val-AI/s400/P3070012.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is decidedly of the recreational variety.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7seDlN8xnGI/UD2kZl-yDsI/AAAAAAAAEcQ/VOyT1xHN_q0/s1600/P3070013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7seDlN8xnGI/UD2kZl-yDsI/AAAAAAAAEcQ/VOyT1xHN_q0/s400/P3070013.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Discovery Park is a large greenspace on the western part of town looking out towards the sound and complete with lighthouse. I rode around for a couple of hours on the trails there that varied from smooth pavement to grassy singletrack. It wasn't until afterwards that I discovered you weren't supposed to bike on most of them. Whoops. The park was nearly empty during the week so no harm, no foul.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6okmFmAnkyE/UD2kbClHwtI/AAAAAAAAEcw/nYCxztesSRs/s1600/P3070017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6okmFmAnkyE/UD2kbClHwtI/AAAAAAAAEcw/nYCxztesSRs/s400/P3070017.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hills in Seattle rival anything that I rode in Virginia and Kentucky for steepness. If I lived here I would ride a carbon fiber bike with a triple crank. Or remember to avoid the hills. Yeah, that'd be cheaper. What am I saying? I enjoy suffering.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s5jWUnG4-Ks/UD2mOBYudbI/AAAAAAAAEdQ/8yap4-04p_s/s1600/P3070019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s5jWUnG4-Ks/UD2mOBYudbI/AAAAAAAAEdQ/8yap4-04p_s/s400/P3070019.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friend, Lisa, invited me to come and cheer her softball team one evening. I readily agreed. Before this trip, I doubt I had ever attended a softball game. Kim took me to a couple in Steamboat Springs and I found it a blast to cheer and jeer the teams.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wqHfyzruskM/UD5LW2mxMkI/AAAAAAAAEes/ncGnnIC9gN0/s1600/P3080001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wqHfyzruskM/UD5LW2mxMkI/AAAAAAAAEes/ncGnnIC9gN0/s400/P3080001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The biking infrastructure within the city is impressive with plenty of bike lanes on streets or devoted bus/bike lanes. Depicted is a pretty cool feature of their bike lanes that I've seen a couple of places before. The bright green swath of pavement is where the bike lane "flip flops" with the left turn lane. This helps limit cyclists getting cut off or sideswiped because it alerts the drivers that they should start paying a little attention.</td></tr>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-13918116458810437592012-08-23T11:08:00.001-07:002012-08-23T11:08:54.637-07:00Let's go surfin' nowI rode my bike across the country. Wow. What a succinct statement that sums up 3 months and over 5,000 miles of biking. But simply put, that is what I accomplished by rolling into Anacortes, WA yesterday. The date was August 22nd and it just so happened to be <i>exactly</i> three months from my original departure of May 22nd. I am not sure if that counts for anything, but it was neat nevertheless.<br />
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The rest of Washington state continued the trend of each day being better than the last. The central section of the state is mostly desert and temperatures were pushing into the low 100s again. Climbing a few passes in those conditions made for interesting times, but the heat of Missouri and the climbs of Colorado had conditioned me. One of the highlights of my trip came on the second to last day- riding over the Cascades. Riding to the top of Washington Pass that marks the highpoint on the North Cascades Highway turned out to be the easy part. Descending through the Skagit River Gorge was pretty breathtaking. The scenery was out of this world. The winds were as well. Under calm conditions one could rocket down the gorge and average close to 30mph. Headwinds kept me in the 10mph neighborhood. Violent crosswinds throughout the gorge made some sections a bit harrowing at times. Eventually I was disgorged (ha!) and continued along the Skagit River towards the coast.<br />
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Well, now that that is over I guess all that's left is to figure out how to get home...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uEMO0bUFzwc/UDWOHN7iNRI/AAAAAAAAD_8/WDsuyfgeYvY/s1600/P2280001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uEMO0bUFzwc/UDWOHN7iNRI/AAAAAAAAD_8/WDsuyfgeYvY/s400/P2280001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've seen plenty "fake" painted cattle guards in national forests along my ride. They are used to control the swaths of open range that the Forest Service leases. I understand the concept of physical cattle guards on roads. I always wanted to see a cow interact with a painted one and see if it actually works.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3LHvDX06Y8c/UDWObsONd1I/AAAAAAAAEMQ/xWM02jVse7c/s1600/P2280011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3LHvDX06Y8c/UDWObsONd1I/AAAAAAAAEMQ/xWM02jVse7c/s400/P2280011.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The effects of 3 months of UV damage can be clearly seen on my bike panniers. Most mornings I wore a long sleeved shirt for as long as I could bear it. Otherwise I slathered myself in SPF 50 sunscreen. Still, my glove tan is pretty impressive.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QyFvoULZ-K0/UDWOfAC2DnI/AAAAAAAAEBk/SeOBUdOytF8/s1600/P2290014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QyFvoULZ-K0/UDWOfAC2DnI/AAAAAAAAEBk/SeOBUdOytF8/s400/P2290014.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A short break in the Mazama Store was a good idea to wake up for the climb over Washington Pass. I kept hoping that Steve House, an acclaimed alpinist, would stop in for his morning coffee. He didn't. Mazama, WA</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JWb4HzIpI3Q/UDWT02sTgBI/AAAAAAAAEMk/iBZ0YYfh5Dg/s1600/P2290020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JWb4HzIpI3Q/UDWT02sTgBI/AAAAAAAAEMk/iBZ0YYfh5Dg/s400/P2290020.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was my first time through the Cascades and I was excited for the ride over them.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QjB6s8unCz4/UDWT60c9ZeI/AAAAAAAAED4/QOez2r8pSc4/s1600/P2290022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QjB6s8unCz4/UDWT60c9ZeI/AAAAAAAAED4/QOez2r8pSc4/s400/P2290022.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The views did not disappoint along the way.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jz5izlqwtqg/UDWT_hukroI/AAAAAAAAEEI/w-gMB7wuHbM/s1600/P2290024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jz5izlqwtqg/UDWT_hukroI/AAAAAAAAEEI/w-gMB7wuHbM/s400/P2290024.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup. There's still snow up in the pass! I didn't dilly dally too much right here. Those cavernous points fore and aft of my bike were formed by big blocks of snow cleaving off the bottom of the slope. The large rock that my front wheel is sitting against fell off of the cliff face above. Further up the pass, fresh rock scars could been seen along the cliffs lining the switchbacks. Newly fallen rocks lay strewn on the side of the road opposite the scars. Not the safest place for a picnic.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v5PSMcSU3VU/UDWUIR9LyBI/AAAAAAAAEE0/9DvI60CBwvs/s1600/P2290029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v5PSMcSU3VU/UDWUIR9LyBI/AAAAAAAAEE0/9DvI60CBwvs/s400/P2290029.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The North Cascades Highway snaking up behind me towards Washington Pass.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T-UVTZgAKS8/UDWUMYad4XI/AAAAAAAAEMs/tx1ch4VSBIk/s1600/P2290032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T-UVTZgAKS8/UDWUMYad4XI/AAAAAAAAEMs/tx1ch4VSBIk/s400/P2290032.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last obstacle between me and the ocean has been surmounted. Until you descend a bit and still have to climb a few hundred feet up and over Rainy Pass. But who's counting?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sjmni-ULDmk/UDWUSztCCrI/AAAAAAAAEM4/EIm4zS016BE/s1600/P2290035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sjmni-ULDmk/UDWUSztCCrI/AAAAAAAAEM4/EIm4zS016BE/s400/P2290035.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A mini Lotus Flower Tower sits at the top of the pass found me wishing I had brought my rock shoes. And a rope. And a rack. And a climbing partner. Next time. And there will be a next time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4bNsZWKQW3w/UDWUWJDCr6I/AAAAAAAAENA/JhcYAjFsax4/s1600/P2290037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4bNsZWKQW3w/UDWUWJDCr6I/AAAAAAAAENA/JhcYAjFsax4/s400/P2290037.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending towards Rainy Pass</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KgPAW8FltGA/UDWUaoQ9C0I/AAAAAAAAEGU/a3sfmJIuYu4/s1600/P2290041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KgPAW8FltGA/UDWUaoQ9C0I/AAAAAAAAEGU/a3sfmJIuYu4/s400/P2290041.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And then descending from Rainy Pass towards the Skagit River Gorge. The steep part of the descent would go on for about 30 miles. This was while it was still fun in the sun. Then the walls closed in and the winds kicked into high gear. I stopped taking pictures.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UgO-GlqoI5o/UDWUdZqm1EI/AAAAAAAAEGk/d-hWsOwi82A/s1600/P2290043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UgO-GlqoI5o/UDWUdZqm1EI/AAAAAAAAEGk/d-hWsOwi82A/s400/P2290043.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gorge is so narrow in points that the road travels through a couple of tunnels. That's a good way to spice things up!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VKl1-vvkH1s/UDWUeEhMHAI/AAAAAAAAEGs/lxX9BhxLaJw/s1600/P2290044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VKl1-vvkH1s/UDWUeEhMHAI/AAAAAAAAEGs/lxX9BhxLaJw/s400/P2290044.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know what that means. But I am sufficiently intrigued. Marblemount, WA </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GWcj-fqGD08/UDWUhBzeAQI/AAAAAAAAENQ/r7k-2xt_GTY/s1600/P2290047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GWcj-fqGD08/UDWUhBzeAQI/AAAAAAAAENQ/r7k-2xt_GTY/s400/P2290047.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spent the night in Marblemount at Clark's Skagit River Resort. At the side of the bathhouse, I saw this sign. What?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l0DbCBaf9mE/UDWUgG9A0cI/AAAAAAAAENM/NM45z96v9Fg/s1600/P2290046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l0DbCBaf9mE/UDWUgG9A0cI/AAAAAAAAENM/NM45z96v9Fg/s400/P2290046.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uh, looks like about two dozen loaves of day old bread...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W2foNA2DEBI/UDWUjBaaU1I/AAAAAAAAEHU/EzYFbip-VTY/s1600/P2290049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W2foNA2DEBI/UDWUjBaaU1I/AAAAAAAAEHU/EzYFbip-VTY/s400/P2290049.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turns out that one of the hallmarks of Clark's is the rabbit population hanging around. I asked the owners how many rabbits were around and they said "no fewer than twenty". Then I read somewhere that usually they have upwards of a hundred hopping about when they're breeding. Whoa.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YoioJbXRZZs/UDWUxlwtfzI/AAAAAAAAEIk/Duk_sLA5Hak/s1600/P3010059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YoioJbXRZZs/UDWUxlwtfzI/AAAAAAAAEIk/Duk_sLA5Hak/s400/P3010059.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once through the Cascades, it's back to low lying farmland that reminds me of Pennsylvania. Right now we're less than 10 miles away from the Pacific Ocean.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CP_okNmguwY/UDWUzJI1OAI/AAAAAAAAEIs/F3mmltBdq5I/s1600/P3010060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CP_okNmguwY/UDWUzJI1OAI/AAAAAAAAEIs/F3mmltBdq5I/s400/P3010060.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep. Just chillin' with the cows a stone's throw away from the saltwater.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uT2-wKHETas/UDWU4a4yULI/AAAAAAAAEJM/YE37I22zxzg/s1600/P3010064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uT2-wKHETas/UDWU4a4yULI/AAAAAAAAEJM/YE37I22zxzg/s400/P3010064.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fewer than 10 miles away from completion, they close the road on you. I laughed a little as I made another slight detour . It would take more than that to discourage me after so much riding.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4IjlW_6qwE8/UDWU65vFB5I/AAAAAAAAEJc/_ZYeWmspi5o/s1600/P3010066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4IjlW_6qwE8/UDWU65vFB5I/AAAAAAAAEJc/_ZYeWmspi5o/s400/P3010066.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Tommy Thompson Trail leading over Fidalgo Bay to Anacortes</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JCEEzmnTwwI/UDWVCmnuEXI/AAAAAAAAEKI/J2GTv-qMH4g/s1600/P3010071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JCEEzmnTwwI/UDWVCmnuEXI/AAAAAAAAEKI/J2GTv-qMH4g/s400/P3010071.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Down at the beach looking out towards the San Juan Islands and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Yeah, I just wanted to say "Juan de Fuca". Can't go much further west without getting wet!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q27twXY06gY/UDWVFLhMdUI/AAAAAAAAEKo/AbL_gMW1g7Y/s1600/P3010075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q27twXY06gY/UDWVFLhMdUI/AAAAAAAAEKo/AbL_gMW1g7Y/s400/P3010075.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The final tally? Five thousand and forty three miles. Plus maybe a few more from the times my previous bike computer kept dying partway through the day.</td></tr>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-39068644953787845122012-08-19T08:42:00.000-07:002012-08-19T08:47:51.236-07:00New states of beingMontana was my last "known point" and I left it approximately one week ago. Up until that time, I had already traveled through the states that I was seeing on earlier trips by car. As I have espoused before elsewhere, you see far more things crossing even the same path by bicycle. You meet new folks. The trip takes on an entirely new character. But still, even if you're biking to it, you already know what Jackson, WY is like. You know that Kansas is about 400 miles wide. Some of the mystery isn't there.<br />
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It was with great anticipation and excitement that I left Missoula, MT and began heading directly north. I was leaving the TransAmerica biking route and heading up towards the Northern Tier route, meeting it by Glacier National Park. When I turned westward just before hitting Canada, I truly felt like I was in new territory... because I was. This feeling only heightened whenever I crossed into Idaho as this was my first visit. Granted, I spent less than 24 hours in Idaho, crossing its narrow northern Panhandle, but it was a new state nevertheless. Now I am in central Washington, another new state for me. The eastern portion contained vast forests and tall passes giving way to a desertscape in the center of the state. It was really odd making that transition in about 15 miles of riding and 3000' elevation loss. The 100 degree temperatures and winds make me feel like I'm back in Missouri or Kansas. The desert atmosphere hearkens back to eastern Colorado or Wyoming. So odd.</div>
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When I begin riding tomorrow, I only have about 3 days of riding left until I hit the Pacific coast at Anacortes, WA. From there some island hopping with the assistance of ferries will get me to Seattle. It is so odd to be sitting here only days away from completing a cross country bicycle ride. On one hand, it's nigh impossible to believe that you biked across the entire United States and only have 3 days left. Then you reflect on the past 3 months of pedaling, think back to the climbs, the dogs, the miles, the junk food, the campsites and remember all of the effort that went into it. It makes it a little more believable. My sense of accomplishment is a little diminished, not because it wasn't difficult as it does take some doing. It's diminished a little because the trip was so fun with each day better than the last. It seemed like such the <i>right</i> thing to do. It's so logical to bike across the country. Somehow, with it seemingly making good sense to do, it has less of an impact on me. Odd. Don't worry. I'm still quite pleased with myself though.</div>
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FULL DISCLAIMER: For anyone who haven't followed my travels the whole way, my ride may not qualify as an "official" full cross country ride. I started in State College, PA and rode southeast first and came closest to the Atlantic coast at Baltimore's Inner Harbor. No, I didn't dip my wheel in. Since I had ridden 500 miles to join up with the TransAmerica route in Ashton, VA I didn't bother to go approximately 80 miles east to the coast at Yorktown. So, I guess I won't bother contacting Guinness... The reason I mention this is that some cyclists that I have encountered actually care about this stuff. I am not one of those people. Obviously.</div>
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Of course this is assuming that I can pull myself out of Omak, WA and finish the remaining 210 miles to the Pacific. Talk about putting the cart before the horse. Jeez, Tom! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iXuikxIdGXg/UCcNw_7M-EI/AAAAAAAADy0/HUa8Yriro_I/s1600/P2160001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iXuikxIdGXg/UCcNw_7M-EI/AAAAAAAADy0/HUa8Yriro_I/s400/P2160001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If there is one thing that I will remember my cycling partner of three days, Justin, for it will be his drinking. I mean that in the nicest way possible. I just found it so humorous for us to pair up with one another. I completely quit drinking to go on this trip. Justin was never without a beer in hand. Never. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. It just seemed a bit comical at times, the disparity between us yet how well we got along.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dyVfprHTYOk/UCcNzCMxzrI/AAAAAAAADy8/zd9u6Yom5eU/s1600/P2160002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dyVfprHTYOk/UCcNzCMxzrI/AAAAAAAADy8/zd9u6Yom5eU/s400/P2160002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Justin getting his portrait taken at Adventure Cycling headquarters in Missoula, MT. His portrait and mine will be part of the <a href="http://www.adventurecycling.org/gspg/">National Bicycle Touring Portrait Collection</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BvP9fBUMPhc/UCcN0Wx96zI/AAAAAAAADzE/igfQaJqVqXE/s1600/P2160003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BvP9fBUMPhc/UCcN0Wx96zI/AAAAAAAADzE/igfQaJqVqXE/s400/P2160003.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greg Siple, one of the original founders of what would become Adventure Cycling, taking our portraits behind their headquarters</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ebopb1yY3h4/UCcN2XKq5pI/AAAAAAAADzM/Uj7-NZ2g09w/s1600/P2160004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ebopb1yY3h4/UCcN2XKq5pI/AAAAAAAADzM/Uj7-NZ2g09w/s400/P2160004.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The moment we've all been waiting for.
Greg asked me to guess the weight of my bike and I wrote "115 lbs". As I lowered my bike on the scale, he first said "Oooh, triple digits! We don't get many of those." Then he followed it up with "Wow, this is one of the heavier bikes we've seen this year." Damn.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P0dD0S8LDI8/UCcOkK_pd2I/AAAAAAAADzU/s2UASfPLFw8/s1600/P2160005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P0dD0S8LDI8/UCcOkK_pd2I/AAAAAAAADzU/s2UASfPLFw8/s400/P2160005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The final tally? 112 lbs. Justin's bike weighed a full 20 lbs less. When I relay that number to other cyclists they usually begin making fun of me. In response, I ask "Do you remember all of those mountains? Do you remember all of those miles? Do you remember me riding them just as fast or faster than you? Did you hear me even <i>once</i> complain about how heavy my bike was?" The conversation usually comes to an abrupt halt.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lgwGI8IkYIs/UCcOoxpKy6I/AAAAAAAADzk/ANgCAsjrCoY/s1600/P2170007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lgwGI8IkYIs/UCcOoxpKy6I/AAAAAAAADzk/ANgCAsjrCoY/s400/P2170007.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The police in Missoula have a far lighter bike lock solution than I</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J_S_8gTQ3to/UCcOysfkopI/AAAAAAAAD0M/WoM1M87akNY/s1600/P2180012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J_S_8gTQ3to/UCcOysfkopI/AAAAAAAAD0M/WoM1M87akNY/s400/P2180012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drift boat fishing for trout on the Blackfoot River along the route leading north from Missoula</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3_ugjNjtlZQ/UCcO3Yaza1I/AAAAAAAAD0k/3w2KAaa690A/s1600/P2180015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3_ugjNjtlZQ/UCcO3Yaza1I/AAAAAAAAD0k/3w2KAaa690A/s400/P2180015.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's play "Spot the Wildfire"! It's not too hard. And if you win, it means you're an idiot because you're biking within sight of a wildfire. So I guess you lose. Condon, MT</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CoH2XILeANo/UCcO4SuvhvI/AAAAAAAAD0s/rxiXzI1nz6c/s1600/P2190016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CoH2XILeANo/UCcO4SuvhvI/AAAAAAAAD0s/rxiXzI1nz6c/s400/P2190016.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That isn't early morning fog. A pall of smoke from a wildfire hangs over the Swan Range.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KV7t31_91lk/UCcO6fFdtaI/AAAAAAAAD00/eyJjwUsOSBg/s1600/P2190017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KV7t31_91lk/UCcO6fFdtaI/AAAAAAAAD00/eyJjwUsOSBg/s400/P2190017.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Convenience store wisdom. So true. Swan Lake, MT</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zBUDF4vTN74/UCmc_cZsEHI/AAAAAAAAD2w/ZxY9vLtV_Ck/s1600/P2200004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zBUDF4vTN74/UCmc_cZsEHI/AAAAAAAAD2w/ZxY9vLtV_Ck/s400/P2200004.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It wasn't until I got on this gravelly backroad in northern Montana that I realized I had been riding on state and federal highways exclusively for the past 2000 miles or so. It was so nice to be on a true backroad again. This particular descent transported me to Rothrock State Forest and the descent on Bear Meadows road down to Detwiler Run. I found myself actually getting slightly emotional for a moment.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2eCvd9GXuu4/UCmdALHaKAI/AAAAAAAAD24/iQr-RCvf7UY/s1600/P2200005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2eCvd9GXuu4/UCmdALHaKAI/AAAAAAAAD24/iQr-RCvf7UY/s400/P2200005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I ran into this couple on day One of their Great Divide bike trip. How did I know it was day One? They're still smiling. Just kidding! Sort of.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nEwYKQCiud0/UCmdCz7f2tI/AAAAAAAAD3Q/3MV1Yv2AemU/s1600/P2210008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nEwYKQCiud0/UCmdCz7f2tI/AAAAAAAAD3Q/3MV1Yv2AemU/s400/P2210008.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Biker gang at Cafe Jax in Eureka, MT. The Great Divide and the Northern Tier routes intersect here so you get a number of cyclists passing through. The pancakes were delicious.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cgErXiN86j0/UCmdEJzavaI/AAAAAAAAD3g/N3IFtQ3yKgY/s1600/P2210010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cgErXiN86j0/UCmdEJzavaI/AAAAAAAAD3g/N3IFtQ3yKgY/s400/P2210010.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friend, Kipp, should be a fire marshal. He doesn't go anywhere without a bucket of fresh bacon.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Eyygywyy04/UCmdE59TXkI/AAAAAAAAD3o/KqCI5DFTu8s/s1600/P2210011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Eyygywyy04/UCmdE59TXkI/AAAAAAAAD3o/KqCI5DFTu8s/s400/P2210011.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Likewise, this stretch of road into Libby, MT made me think of the road that you take into Gemini Gullies. Same crappy road and jumbled cliffs. Same railroad and river. A woman warned me that I should be careful as the road is "really narrow and people drive really fast." Once on it, I had to laugh as it reminded me of 95% of the roads I ride in central PA. I felt quite at home actually.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EjZ9Shi3J-Y/UC5rNok1pBI/AAAAAAAAD5Q/TRQ6emf4k4Q/s1600/P2220004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EjZ9Shi3J-Y/UC5rNok1pBI/AAAAAAAAD5Q/TRQ6emf4k4Q/s400/P2220004.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shores of Lake Pend Oreille in Idaho. It's pronounced "Pawn du Ray". Get it right or people will snub you. I asked while I was still in Montana.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r6MBYU9U7ZU/UC5rXbtmALI/AAAAAAAAD6I/g2AMiyy1dVE/s1600/P2220011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r6MBYU9U7ZU/UC5rXbtmALI/AAAAAAAAD6I/g2AMiyy1dVE/s400/P2220011.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same lake and beach again at dusk.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WRJnAL9uisA/UC5rbD3mEEI/AAAAAAAAD6Y/geEESq9D35Q/s1600/P2230013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WRJnAL9uisA/UC5rbD3mEEI/AAAAAAAAD6Y/geEESq9D35Q/s400/P2230013.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indeed.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d1oK8uSkwZc/UC5rdeQh0DI/AAAAAAAAD6g/9etXeT4xn00/s1600/P2240014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d1oK8uSkwZc/UC5rdeQh0DI/AAAAAAAAD6g/9etXeT4xn00/s400/P2240014.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't want to sound cocky, but the zero shoulders and coal trucks of Kentucky make Washington feel like you're on a separate bike lane with Matchbox cars passing you. But it was nice that they posted a warning. Overall, the state feels much more accepting of cyclists.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VO1WiSpst00/UDB26ifa2XI/AAAAAAAAD8U/PWUbqbmdB04/s1600/P2250001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VO1WiSpst00/UDB26ifa2XI/AAAAAAAAD8U/PWUbqbmdB04/s400/P2250001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As I was biking 4000' feet up Sherman Pass on a 95 degree day a couple who had ridden sections of the Northern Tier stopped their van. They put out quite the spread for me!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Eq81YRYKlcI/UDB-u3wcQ7I/AAAAAAAAD98/77ccXfYzKGw/s1600/P2250005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Eq81YRYKlcI/UDB-u3wcQ7I/AAAAAAAAD98/77ccXfYzKGw/s400/P2250005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think that while it certainly wasn't the steepest, Sherman Pass was the most difficult climb overall on this ride. It rose 4,000' in 25 miles or so. It was really hot. There were two construction zones on the uphill. But I carried on and the descent more than made up for it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RSWl8nFBx4Q/UDB_aTuI4CI/AAAAAAAAD-k/EVClVpA4j00/s1600/P2250010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RSWl8nFBx4Q/UDB_aTuI4CI/AAAAAAAAD-k/EVClVpA4j00/s400/P2250010.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did you smear cupcake frosting all over your hat again, Tom? Nope. That's all sweat- the fruit of my labors over Sherman Pass. I'm going to visit Outdoor Research in Seattle. I'll commend them on their hats' sweat crusting technology.</td></tr>
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-75847987642729182012012-08-17T19:05:00.000-07:002012-08-17T19:05:31.777-07:00Car(e)freeAs I was interminably riding 4,000 feet continuously uphill today, I had some time to think. My $7 FM radio couldn't tune in any Top 40 hits so there was no real opportunity to just zone out. And it occurred to me that <i>it's been one year that I have lived car-free</i>! Yes, that's right viewers/listeners/readers. I sold my 2001 green Chevy Silverado 4WD extended bed pickup truck one year ago and haven't purchased a motor vehicle since then.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2y0hsib3KRs/TjsN4H20QMI/AAAAAAAAAqI/HsUUcIUyN5U/s1600/P7270070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2y0hsib3KRs/TjsN4H20QMI/AAAAAAAAAqI/HsUUcIUyN5U/s400/P7270070.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Chevy truck in question, moments after its fuel pump quit in the middle of Rocky Mountain National Park</td></tr>
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"Why, oh why, would you have gotten rid of it and not replaced it with another one?" you may ask. Well here goes:<br />
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1) Environment- I won't elaborate on this one since unless you live under a rock you've heard arguments of why cars suck for the environment. You either believe it or don't. Anything I write won't convince you otherwise. Personally I cannot reconcile the paradox between my desire to enjoy the outdoors and driving a gasoline powered vehicle that aids in destroying said environment. I've tried to not care, but I can't avoid it anymore. In fact, now I attempt to only use mass transit if I need to get somewhere far away and don't have 3 months to do it (more on that later). And by that I mean bus. No airplanes.</div>
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2) Cost- My friend, Eric, and I have talked at length about this one. When you tally up the initial cost of a vehicle, repairs, fuel, insurance, inspection, registration, parking and all of the other expenses associated with it, it's a lot of money. A lot. We both figured if you eliminate that expense, you can either work less or spend the money on cooler stuff, like Twinkies and copies of <i>Point Break</i>. Personally, I'd rather work less and have more fun.</div>
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3) Insulation- What the heck do I mean by "insulation"? Vehicles insulate you from the world. They insulate you from the people around you. They insulate you from the sounds, smells, and sights around you. They shrink distances. They blind you to geography and topography. If you like the fact that you can leave your air conditioned home, step into an air conditioned car and blitz past all the shit you don't care about until your air conditioned destination arrives, good for you. But there's those of us who don't. Like me.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nope. Still don't need a truck.</td></tr>
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"Well obviously you haven't accomplished as much without a car." you will protest. No. Not really. I will admit to needing to make a lifestyle change though. You need to relax. You need to transport yourself back to an era where you cannot get anywhere around town within minutes. Or zip around the world. You need to plan ahead a little bit better when you go out running errands and make sure that you leave yourself more time before making appointments or get togethers. You may choose to walk. You might choose mass transit. I chose to bike a lot.<br />
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And on my bike, I don't think that I have made any compromises. In the past year, I've gone on climbing trips. I've gotten out on my packraft. I've attended a wedding that was 250 miles away (suit in tow) and attended another reception. I set up a trade show booth at a convention using my bike trailer. I've gone and picked up beer kegs. So far this summer I have ridden 4,500 miles and am sitting in central Washington as I type this. That's more than can be said for my shitty truck that couldn't conquer the Rockies. While riding my bike even on routes that I had driven hundreds of times, I met new people, saw new and interesting things and appreciated my surroundings far more than was possible by car. I am in better physical and mental shape than when I drove around. I love not having a car.</div>
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Am I suggesting that everyone does this? Not necessarily.</div>
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Do folks have legitimate reasons that this wouldn't work for them? Maybe.</div>
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Have there been situations in the past year that I rode in or operated a car? Sure.
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Are plenty of folks going to want to discredit my lifestyle? Definitely.</div>
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Do I care? Nope.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Places your car won't take you- Exhibit A</td></tr>
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Seriously. I don't care. This is my blog and I am writing about me. While I doubt anyone will take the time to fully read this let alone comment on it, the only comments that I want to see are questions concerning how you can make your own lifestyle "car light" or "car free". I'll be happy to discuss it with you. Any disparaging comments can be saved because I really don't care. You love cars? You live 65 miles away from your job and are certain that a car is the only answer and I'm a jobless hippy? You have 5 kids to get to soccer practice and flute lessons? Good. Great. Leave me to my delusions.</div>
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In the end, I am just psyched to announce that I have made it one year in our very car-centric nation without owning a gasoline powered vehicle. I had my doubts when I first decided to do it. But now, all that I can think about it all of the cool stuff that I am going to do without one.<br />
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Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-8114524999960663722012-08-08T07:11:00.001-07:002012-08-08T07:11:30.005-07:00MontaƱas y MontanaFor those of you who don't speak Spanglish like me, that's "Mountains and Montana". 'Cause that's what my last couple of weeks have been. Except for the post-apocalyptic, <i>Mad Max</i>-like Great Divide Basin... but we'll get to that.<br />
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I'm pretty sure the last point that I updated y'uns on my travels was from Rawlins, WY. That's pretty much down in the southern part of the state along I-80. The TransAmerica route takes you diagonally north and west alongside the Wind River range (my favorite), into the Tetons and Yellowstone National Parks and then you kinda sneak up into western Montana. This entails many, many crossings of the Continental Divide which aren't too bad unless there is wind. And there's always wind.<br />
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I have discovered a humorous situation: the national parks that everyone loves the most and find the most scenic turn out to be my lesser enjoyed spots and don't seem as scenic. The spots that I have come across in the national forests are significantly more beautiful and impressive and serene. I know that the parks are still beautiful, but the crowds just turn me off. Being narrowly passed by hundreds of lumbering RVs piloted by folks who don't know the first thing about them and trying to sleep in obnoxiously loud campgrounds kinda sours you on the parks. I didn't even take a single picture in Yellowstone this time. The same goes for the towns that you pass through. The larger "destination" towns that have been gussied up for tourists don't seem too inviting. But when you get to the small dusty outposts with a handful of residents, those are worth stopping at because they have real character.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-et7ZejlqjMQ/UBHaY2iXr9I/AAAAAAAADlc/qrwM7N_44ok/s1600/P2030001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-et7ZejlqjMQ/UBHaY2iXr9I/AAAAAAAADlc/qrwM7N_44ok/s400/P2030001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at this pair of Trolls. I was referring to the bikes. This is Joe and Rhea whom I met in Rawlins, WY outside of a grocery store. Minutes earlier, you would have been hard pressed to see them smiling. Joe had lost a cleat bolt for his shoe (which helps clamp your shoe on your pedal for riding) and had been riding for 200 miles without it. The bike shop in Rawlins had closed down. When I produced a bolt and a spare for him out of my parts kit, they both smiled like kids on Christmas. They are cycling the Great Divide route south.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joe is a serious backpacker and has hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, the Continental Divide Trail, and the Appalachian Trail. In doing so, he's gotten adept at making his own gear. He decided to make his own framebags, which I though turned out quite well. He may go into business making them when he's done riding. I'll be one of his first customers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pL2DcO6AqL8/UBVO5C4qHZI/AAAAAAAADmU/7IJmwx3dUBU/s1600/P2040007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pL2DcO6AqL8/UBVO5C4qHZI/AAAAAAAADmU/7IJmwx3dUBU/s400/P2040007.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the Great Divide Basin which rests between two "branches" of the Continental Divide. It comprises a stretch of ~120 miles between Rawlins and Lander where there is <i>nothing</i>. There are a couple of places that one could make a stretch and call it a "town" and there may be one business open. Most people I know would be afraid to drive a car through here let alone bike. It was awesome.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-krLxWCfc3wg/UBVO6PaQYLI/AAAAAAAADmc/JIObqYSvnTA/s1600/P2040008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-krLxWCfc3wg/UBVO6PaQYLI/AAAAAAAADmc/JIObqYSvnTA/s400/P2040008.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeffrey City is one such "town". In a 100 mile stretch of road, it is the sole habitation and contains maybe 50 residents. This old uranium mining town has only one business, a bar, still open unless you count the pottery studio that is on the other side of the road. The owner of the studio, who another cyclist referred to as "a modern Hunter S. Thompson" allows people to camp in his yard, or sleep in an old RV with a door that always accidentally locks you inside, or stay in his disheveled abode. I have heard so many awesome stories from folks who have spent the night. While at the bar, I was invited to wait around til the next day for the Twig & Berries festival- all you can eat bratwurst and Rocky Mountain oysters and all you can drink for $10. Unfortunately I missed this scene of debauchery.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sehe7NdnPVk/UBVPBELVjiI/AAAAAAAADpk/7JaAObWKgUE/s1600/P2040016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sehe7NdnPVk/UBVPBELVjiI/AAAAAAAADpk/7JaAObWKgUE/s400/P2040016.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One night I camped at the Mormon Handcart Historic site in Sweetwater Junction, WY. It's actually the only thing there. Young Mormons from around the world come to relive their ancestors experience of pulling a handcart west to the fabled lands of Salt Lake. It was actually a pretty interesting spot.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vU3xHR2xZ1s/UBVPEeV5tXI/AAAAAAAADpw/XuOHguNPQ4k/s1600/P2040019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vU3xHR2xZ1s/UBVPEeV5tXI/AAAAAAAADpw/XuOHguNPQ4k/s400/P2040019.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spent that evening with another cyclist, Lance. Lance was in his late 60s and retired and knew how to relax. He was also full of great information about touring. One of his sayings that he came up with on the spot was "The wind taketh and the wind rarely giveth back". So true in Wyoming.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AoWk68HaSWE/UBVPFSD2V1I/AAAAAAAADn8/CJ8k4_r-pN8/s1600/P2040020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AoWk68HaSWE/UBVPFSD2V1I/AAAAAAAADn8/CJ8k4_r-pN8/s400/P2040020.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another one of Lance's sayings was "If you're not eating good food, then what's the point?" Lance made me pancakes with peach mango jam and coffee one morning. I couldn't argue with his logic after that.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lTKTzpLxe1A/UBVPQ2ioPmI/AAAAAAAADpU/PYeu2HhNsiE/s1600/P2050031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lTKTzpLxe1A/UBVPQ2ioPmI/AAAAAAAADpU/PYeu2HhNsiE/s400/P2050031.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In Lander, I could finally find fresh produce and prepare some good eatin'. I know that everyone who has ever lived with me is saying, "Why doesn't he go to that effort at home?"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pkr7L6TWeXE/UBiaGtZZ7JI/AAAAAAAADq8/UDk9HcCIqb0/s1600/P2060001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pkr7L6TWeXE/UBiaGtZZ7JI/AAAAAAAADq8/UDk9HcCIqb0/s400/P2060001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleepy time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PDfzBj4ESRU/UBiaJcL0TeI/AAAAAAAADrE/LAWom4A4Qx0/s1600/P2070002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PDfzBj4ESRU/UBiaJcL0TeI/AAAAAAAADrE/LAWom4A4Qx0/s400/P2070002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Wind River Range peeking out from behind the Wind River Indian Reservation.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w1Areqt8__g/UBiaLhLXUdI/AAAAAAAADrM/6dtIGi00KMM/s1600/P2070003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w1Areqt8__g/UBiaLhLXUdI/AAAAAAAADrM/6dtIGi00KMM/s400/P2070003.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh how I love Mexican Coca-Cola. It's bottled in Mexico and they still use real sugar cane so it tastes much better than the stuff in plastic bottles. Typically you can't find it back East anywhere.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1ef-oqJs_H0/UBiaNfqqGxI/AAAAAAAADrU/7MG6IaNdbTg/s1600/P2070004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1ef-oqJs_H0/UBiaNfqqGxI/AAAAAAAADrU/7MG6IaNdbTg/s400/P2070004.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There are two families of six riding the TransAmerica route together. They are riding tandem bikes with trailers. I last met them in Booneville, KY months ago and then we were finally reunited here in the middle of the reservation. The children's ages range from about 15 down to 7. Yes, 7. And he still pedals.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jx817oxkHtI/UBiaRKq6ghI/AAAAAAAADrc/MAzluYJhMQ0/s1600/P2070005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jx817oxkHtI/UBiaRKq6ghI/AAAAAAAADrc/MAzluYJhMQ0/s400/P2070005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here are their rigs. All <a href="http://www.co-motion.com/">Co-Motion</a> tandems made in Oregon with two wheeled Burley trailers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-thMXnXLwmqQ/UBiabBgdDGI/AAAAAAAADr8/nGpXOBDnYEY/s1600/P2070009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-thMXnXLwmqQ/UBiabBgdDGI/AAAAAAAADr8/nGpXOBDnYEY/s400/P2070009.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know. I know. I'm thinking the same thing. Worst campsite ever. This was at the top of Togwotee Pass heading towards Grand Teton National Park. The ride up to the top at twilight was magical and camping in the national forest was the best night I've had on the trip yet.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gjMpid17r6I/UBialp2H8uI/AAAAAAAADsU/6NV7wfj2jek/s1600/P2070012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gjMpid17r6I/UBialp2H8uI/AAAAAAAADsU/6NV7wfj2jek/s400/P2070012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset over Togwotee Pass.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zs7q59rr8Zo/UBia1AHv17I/AAAAAAAADss/eL4ONLeOBos/s1600/P2080015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zs7q59rr8Zo/UBia1AHv17I/AAAAAAAADss/eL4ONLeOBos/s400/P2080015.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending Togwotee, you run dab smack into the Tetons. There was so much haze from wildfires in the area that I never got a really good picture of the Tetons. I assume you've seen better pictures elsewhere so I'll spare you.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uZySQQaJXro/UCCNcXzw70I/AAAAAAAADuk/EIy4zAcVVsQ/s1600/P2090002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uZySQQaJXro/UCCNcXzw70I/AAAAAAAADuk/EIy4zAcVVsQ/s400/P2090002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry, Ieva. I was going to stage a photo shoot to appease your love of livestock. I ran into a procurement issue. Jackson, WY</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c9Fabq2RlFs/UCCNiVMY3vI/AAAAAAAADu8/t2AEJ-nnqrs/s1600/P2100005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c9Fabq2RlFs/UCCNiVMY3vI/AAAAAAAADu8/t2AEJ-nnqrs/s400/P2100005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the national parks, you put <i>everything</i> that could possibly smell into the steel bear boxes provided. I don't want to be woken up by Yogi Bear. He'd probably want to talk about his baseball career all night and wrangle my Fig Newtons.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-trhy6KhKMFE/UCCNkhN3PeI/AAAAAAAADvM/x1tqkl0weOI/s1600/P2100007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-trhy6KhKMFE/UCCNkhN3PeI/AAAAAAAADvM/x1tqkl0weOI/s400/P2100007.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friend, Jon, put me in touch with his friend Amanda in Jackson where she put me up for the night. Upon seeing me for the first time, she promptly bought me lunch and continued to try and fatten my up. When I left, she gave me a loaf of fresh banana bread. It didn't make it out of the Tetons alive.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PRFTd4ATidE/UCCNr2xpljI/AAAAAAAADv0/Y_Q-n0Gpqrk/s1600/P2130012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PRFTd4ATidE/UCCNr2xpljI/AAAAAAAADv0/Y_Q-n0Gpqrk/s400/P2130012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to Montana. First bighorn sheep sighting of the trip! I tried getting a photo of him squaring off with me in the road, but I wasn't fast enough.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y1Jx3kkYsnM/UCCNukiN80I/AAAAAAAADwM/_yUksaND0gQ/s1600/P2130015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y1Jx3kkYsnM/UCCNukiN80I/AAAAAAAADwM/_yUksaND0gQ/s400/P2130015.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding through the Madison River gorge and valley is so... <i>Montana</i>. I really don't know how to describe it otherwise.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6GWq67AtiDg/UCCNykV00kI/AAAAAAAADws/VYuS9JL4KOI/s1600/P2130019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6GWq67AtiDg/UCCNykV00kI/AAAAAAAADws/VYuS9JL4KOI/s400/P2130019.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kurtis is 75 years old and riding around the country by himself. I told him that there was no way he was 75 for the great shape he was in. "Cycling keeps ya young," he replied. He showed me his license for proof.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aHght20oBCY/UCCN0gKYzWI/AAAAAAAADw8/ngxpOT5aOoc/s1600/P2140021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aHght20oBCY/UCCN0gKYzWI/AAAAAAAADw8/ngxpOT5aOoc/s400/P2140021.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I started cycling with Justin for a few days in Montana until we part ways in Missoula. We were talking to a very interesting guy in Twin Bridges who told us we had to get the best Mexican food in the northwest. It's a school bus converted into an eatery in Dillon, MT. It was pretty good indeed.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YybkbwlUcE0/UCCN2vJVhvI/AAAAAAAADxM/RERgCmmU7rc/s1600/P2140023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YybkbwlUcE0/UCCN2vJVhvI/AAAAAAAADxM/RERgCmmU7rc/s400/P2140023.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like where this bus is headed.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bry0dZYGoaM/UCCN3huvYJI/AAAAAAAADxg/0lHKrKa1wqQ/s1600/P2140024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bry0dZYGoaM/UCCN3huvYJI/AAAAAAAADxg/0lHKrKa1wqQ/s400/P2140024.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's Justin laboring up towards me at the top of Badger Pass. The one day between Twin Bridges and Jackson, MT, we rode about 80 miles and climbed over two large passes with headwinds the entire way. We were pretty beat at the end to say the least. It was good to be riding together this day to keep spirits up. There was lots of swearing, cursing the wind, and talk of what food and beverages we hoped to find in Jackson.</td></tr>
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<br /></div>Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-26248963709179674812012-07-29T09:18:00.000-07:002012-07-29T09:18:09.774-07:00Tom's Guide to Camping in Town ParksWhen one is riding any of the <a href="https://www.adventurecycling.org/">Adventure Cycling</a> routes and using their maps, finding places to stay for the evening is usually pretty easy. Besides campgrounds and motels, often times there will be a note that cyclists can camp in a town's park. For the thrifty traveler (I try to be thrifty but then my pancake and omelet binges wreak havoc on my budget) these are just the ticket. Now while you may think it's as easy as throwing down your sleeping pad and getting some shuteye, there are a few guidelines or tips that I would like to share with you.<br />
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1) GET PERMISSION<br />
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I can't believe that I need to state that, but you would be surprised. Most parks explicitly state that they are closed after dark. It sucks being woken up by the police at 2am. It sucks having parents think you're a potential pedophile or something. If the notes on the Adventure Cycling map says "check in first with police", check in with the police. It not only makes what you're doing legal, it shows courtesy on the part of cyclists. I have met cyclists in Kansas who had not <i>once</i> checked in with the local authorities since leaving Boston. My only exception to this rule is if 2 or more townspeople tell you "Oh, it's just fine to camp in the park, honey."</div>
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2) SELECT YOUR TENTSITE</div>
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In the above photo, you will note that I am camped on dead grass. "What a jerk," you're thinking. "He's just gonna kill the grass further." There's a reason there is dead grass and lush green grass: automatic lawn sprinklers. I lost count of the number of cyclists who recounted being woken up in the wee hours by a sprinkler shooting water in through an open tent door.</div>
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Of course if there is a pavilion, then you're set. Just don't yardsale your stuff all over the place. Citizens of the town may want to use their park as well. This saves you the hassle of setting up your tent. Sometimes conditions warrant setting up the body of your tent anyway. Like the time I saw a skunk moseying around the pavilion at twilight.</div>
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3) CHECK THE BATHROOM</div>
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Is there a bathroom? Is it unlocked? Did you check in with the police who will gladly unlock it for you? Is there toilet paper? These are all important things to reconnoiter <i>before</i> you should need to utilize the facilities. I travel with a spare supply of toilet paper just in case. Which reminds me- Is it general practice in Mexico to provide your own toilet paper? The first few days of travelling there I found myself being rather inventive til I caught on...</div>
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Sometimes you will luck out and there will be a shower at the park. Many times if there is a public pool, you can go up to the counter and the teenage girls running the joint will take pity on your state and let you shower for free. Check in at volunteer fire departments too. Or just forgo a shower. The clerk at the 7-Eleven wasn't buying any of your pickup lines anyway.</div>
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4) FIND A WATER SOURCE</div>
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Is there a water source around? Are you capable of actually filling a water bottle from this source? Don't laugh. If you only have tall 24oz bike bottles, you may encounter water fountains or faucets that completely foil you.</div>
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5) GET SOME POWER</div>
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Now that you scored a free shower, you probably want to break out your hair dryer and do some styling. Or you need to charge up your iPod so that you can listen to Kenny Loggin's <i>Danger Zone </i>on repeat tomorrow as you mindlessly drift through Kansas. The best place to find some power outlets would be around a pavilion or inside a bathroom. 2% of the time the power will actually be turned on.</div>
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6) HANG YOUR FOOD</div>
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If there is any possibility of critters getting in your food or a bear being attracted, make some attempt at hanging your food out of reach. Much of the time you can easily clip it to a pavilion beam or sit it on top of a bathroom roof but you may want to carry some cord if you need to hang food from trees. Locals will assure you that there is no need to do anything with your food. You will acquiesce because you're tired from a long day of riding. You will meet the resident raccoon that is the size of a German shepherd that's opening your panniers the hard way.</div>
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7) OTHER STUFF TO STAY AWAY FROM</div>
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Do not camp anywhere near a ballfield. Ever. It may be late and you'll think, "No one could possibly start a game this late." They will. You will believe that you have been transported to Williamsport, PA for the evening- the home of the Little League World Series. They will turn on the spotlights that transform night into day. There will be an announcer. You will not sleep.</div>
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Stay away from standing water. Standing water breeds mosquitoes. Despite my best efforts, last night the mosquitoes were tapping so furiously against my tent fly that it sounded like it was lightly raining outside. If you camp at the Mormon historic site in Sweetwater Station, WY you needn't worry though. They run around camp on an ATV with an industrial mosquito fogger on it at 6am. I wish I were kidding.</div>
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Stay away from the playset. Believe it or not, there are parents that will allow their children to play unattended well after dark. It may not matter. One night in Ellington, MO I had kids concealing themselves behind my tent during a raucous game of Hide and Seek. If any parents are chaperoning their kids while you set your tent up next to the playset, they may mistake you for a vagrant and then call the police who you forgot to check in with earlier.</div>
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Stay away from the swings. Unless you really want to hear two 14 year old girls describe just how much they hate their parents and learn why Johnny Cooper is the cutest boy in school. Then lie back and relax. It's sort of like a juvenile podcast I guess.</div>
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8) BE RESPECTFUL</div>
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Treat everyone that you meet with respect. The townspeople are the ones paying local taxes that keep the park open and the water turned on. It is by their good graces that they allow you to camp there. Clean up all trash, even if it isn't your own. Close doors and gates. Don't make a lot of noise where there are nearby houses. Think of it this way: if you weren't riding a bicycle and doing something that they think is awesome, the local police would lock you up for being a homeless bum and parents would pepper spray you for saying hello to their kids. Don't screw it up for the rest of us.</div>
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Hopefully you have found this short guide to be helpful for camping in parks along your bicycle journey. It's typically the cheapest legal way to spend the night and affords you the opportunity to meet new folks all of the time. Also, a community welcoming strangers into their park in order to fulfill that cyclist's dream of riding cross country truly warms my soul. In an age where we are conditioned to fear one another and be shocked and awed by the news every morning, it's nice to see regular folks helping one another out.</div>Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-31393474068819483792012-07-26T13:23:00.001-07:002012-07-26T13:23:27.670-07:00Wind watchin'Crossing into Wyoming, one discovers the truth behind all of the rumors about the winds. Sure I had ridden through the pancake flat Kansas where nothing exists to interrupt the wind. Very often there was breeze coming from the side or directly in front. An annoyance for sure, the winds would contribute to a slow pace.<br />
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Wyoming has redefined the term "headwind" and "crosswind" for me though. Yesterday, I rode about 115 miles from Walden, CO to Rawlins, WY. I was blown about in all directions... except from behind much to my disappointment. Most of the day it was a consistent headwind that held me to only 11 mph where I should have been averaging 15 or more. After a truckstop dinner in Sinclair (of gas station fame) I encountered far more. A crippling wind hit me from the side that made a straight course virtually impossible. When the road turned into the wind, I would struggle to make 6 mph in the easiest of gears.<br />
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Although painfully slow, I made it into Rawlins, WY. It's more or less a giant truckstop on I-80 which I had the pleasure of riding for a dozen miles yesterday. Since I was feeling under the weather for much of yesterday despite regular intakes of orange juice and adding to it the energy sapping mileage I racked up, I stuck around Rawlins today. There was no way I was getting an early start. But I have studied the forecast and readied myself to wake up extra early to try and avoid the strongest winds and steal 125 miles up to Lander tomorrow.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the irony of a sticker criticizing an esoteric sport being pasted on an equally esoteric bike. I want a snowbike so bad.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TIQm43ZccSY/UAtrnvo9fWI/AAAAAAAADc0/DYPIhrOzNE0/s1600/P1270085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TIQm43ZccSY/UAtrnvo9fWI/AAAAAAAADc0/DYPIhrOzNE0/s400/P1270085.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steamboat Springs, CO is equal parts ski town...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U7ItFLQlaQY/UAtrun-96II/AAAAAAAADdU/C-vsVmi0DNA/s1600/P1290089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U7ItFLQlaQY/UAtrun-96II/AAAAAAAADdU/C-vsVmi0DNA/s400/P1290089.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and cowboy town.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ad-HzsxoLDo/UAtrrWiwAGI/AAAAAAAADdE/lVMJigsg4HI/s1600/P1280087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ad-HzsxoLDo/UAtrrWiwAGI/AAAAAAAADdE/lVMJigsg4HI/s400/P1280087.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One night was spent bar hopping with my friend, Kim, in Steamboat. In her case, it truly was bar <i>hopping</i> since she had recently chipped the end of her tibia in a mountain biking crash. She stole my bike to coast from bar to bar. I really need to work on my action photography. Jeez.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RMIQ_WGKqX4/UAtrp3d-S5I/AAAAAAAADc8/utAR-LfdLYs/s1600/P1270086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RMIQ_WGKqX4/UAtrp3d-S5I/AAAAAAAADc8/utAR-LfdLYs/s400/P1270086.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear spray. Bug spray. Don't confuse the two. The clerk at the store really didn't appreciate when I asked if I could save money and use the bug spray for both applications. Some people have no sense of humor.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UKJXtn7iUTo/UAtr4cNfPDI/AAAAAAAADeM/Z14YBwk1Zxo/s1600/P1290101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UKJXtn7iUTo/UAtr4cNfPDI/AAAAAAAADeM/Z14YBwk1Zxo/s400/P1290101.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have been in an avocado desert for so long. I finally found avocado on a menu in Alma, but when I ordered it , they were sold out. Steamboat finally delivered. That reminds me of the time that I received a suspicious USPS flat rate box in the mail from my friend, Jeff, who lives in southern CA. It turns out it was stuffed with 5 lbs of avocados that he had gleaned from the tree in his yard.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K2v97C0Proc/UAtrs5_LKqI/AAAAAAAADdM/ZpFu7hQ13I8/s1600/P1290088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K2v97C0Proc/UAtrs5_LKqI/AAAAAAAADdM/ZpFu7hQ13I8/s400/P1290088.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like I said, I hadn't seen avocados in a while. At brunch following a night on the town, it was understandable that I had the best appetite.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sTzGwwJitaU/UAtrx529CII/AAAAAAAADdk/zNveVvcRaZE/s1600/P1290091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sTzGwwJitaU/UAtrx529CII/AAAAAAAADdk/zNveVvcRaZE/s400/P1290091.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For those that care, my Schwalbe Marathon Mondial tires are still holding strong after more than 4,700 miles of riding. There are a few small cracks from sun damage like what you would expect on a car tire, but otherwise they look unblemished. I hope that I haven't horribly jinxed myself before heading into the barren regions of Wyoming.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-48YeyPJ0Q9c/UAtr-yssNII/AAAAAAAADe8/jFqK5isHDok/s1600/P1290109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-48YeyPJ0Q9c/UAtr-yssNII/AAAAAAAADe8/jFqK5isHDok/s400/P1290109.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thunderstorms and the sunset vie for attention over Steamboat.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PMguRNK9y4c/UBFdb0VFVpI/AAAAAAAADiw/kiB3nSMY7kw/s1600/P1300003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PMguRNK9y4c/UBFdb0VFVpI/AAAAAAAADiw/kiB3nSMY7kw/s400/P1300003.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well this looks like trouble. Except for the Fig Newtons. That's a whole unopened package sitting back there.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8KizW7flf48/UBFdwsjxBTI/AAAAAAAADk0/zsmkd3kwzbU/s1600/P2020020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8KizW7flf48/UBFdwsjxBTI/AAAAAAAADk0/zsmkd3kwzbU/s400/P2020020.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wyoming: Forever West & Forever Manhandled by Air Currents</td></tr>
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</div>Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1241908479908385117.post-70522430906483951802012-07-18T13:50:00.000-07:002012-07-21T01:05:30.777-07:00Refuge in SteamboatI don't have a whole lot to report to y'all, but I wanted to check in nevertheless since I passed a psychological and physical milepost by riding into Steamboat Springs, CO yesterday. My uncle, Mark, lives in Steamboat Springs as well as a couple of friends, Kim and Cat. When leaving my brother's place in Washington D.C. about a month and a half ago, I knew that Steamboat would be the first place I'd come to where I had preexisting friends and family (as I have made many friends in between on this trip). It sorta boggled my mind and I only half believed that I would actually get here. But after a 100+ mile day yesterday that included another climb up and over the Continental Divide, here I am. And as I was approaching town, my trip odometer turned over 3000 miles. Whoa.<br />
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Steamboat looks like it will be the perfect place to take several days off. My uncle readily offered up his house as a base of operations. I already have a couple of friends in town and am bound to make more quickly, what with my ravishing good looks and charm. There's an awesome, funky bike shop, <a href="http://orangepeelbikes.com/">Orange Peel Bicycle</a>, that is going to replace my broken rear shifter that admittedly did hold together admirably for 1000 miles longer. But I don't want to tempt fate... There's plenty of free concerts, events like the rodeo, shops, restaurants and a gigantic adjacent national forest to keep me busy. I think the only problem with the town is that from the moment I got here, <i>everyone</i> started an intense lobbying campaign to convince me that it was inevitable that I would never leave town. Everyone tells me "I came here X years ago for just a visit and never left". My uncle was telling me that he picked up two hitchhikers in Kansas who were trying to get to Steamboat Springs. That's how he arrived here some 30 years ago and never left. I'm hoping that I can maintain forward momentum after a bit so that I can still visit the west coast.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6vgnYtN7Asw/UAMdcq4dXOI/AAAAAAAADWA/gVQ5avK8b0c/s1600/P1230051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6vgnYtN7Asw/UAMdcq4dXOI/AAAAAAAADWA/gVQ5avK8b0c/s400/P1230051.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost there! This was my first crossing of the western Continental Divide by bicycle. Eric Durante and I biked over the eastern Continental Divide last fall on a rail trail. It's always very difficult to ascertain the grade of a climb from a photo. So far, the climbs of the Rockies are quite gentle, they just go on for a <i>really</i> long time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IwHNq-oyCWA/UAMdek8NHII/AAAAAAAADWY/2VjONa0cVzo/s1600/P1230054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IwHNq-oyCWA/UAMdek8NHII/AAAAAAAADWY/2VjONa0cVzo/s400/P1230054.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look who's sitting on top of the Continental Divide. Some other cyclists are really disturbed when I show them the laptop I am carrying, or the three books, or my giant bag of trail mix. It ain't stopping me none.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cByG070ydsc/UAMdfY4WbPI/AAAAAAAADWo/I3vpDzT6myc/s1600/P1230056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cByG070ydsc/UAMdfY4WbPI/AAAAAAAADWo/I3vpDzT6myc/s400/P1230056.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To go where others have boldly gone before.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WSqQ-sgXRPE/UAMdfGSPWWI/AAAAAAAADWg/UcO8qfY7SWE/s1600/P1230055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WSqQ-sgXRPE/UAMdfGSPWWI/AAAAAAAADWg/UcO8qfY7SWE/s400/P1230055.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thus begins the descent down into the heart of the Rockies towards Breckenridge, I-70 and really expensive houses.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-575EfVfHoBo/UAMdgqHlPtI/AAAAAAAADW4/tacfN6zfjdY/s1600/P1230058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-575EfVfHoBo/UAMdgqHlPtI/AAAAAAAADW4/tacfN6zfjdY/s400/P1230058.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes. The road actually does what the warning sign is telling you. That combined with incessant SUV traffic and loose sand on the roadside is why you check your speed down from 40mph occasionally.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fE83-nUAdJ4/UAcPpQCcJNI/AAAAAAAADXk/XQ1ud2h9GXw/s1600/P1240062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fE83-nUAdJ4/UAcPpQCcJNI/AAAAAAAADXk/XQ1ud2h9GXw/s400/P1240062.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I met Geff and Mary Anne in Vesuvius, VA when I was just beginning my ride and they were nearly finished with theirs. When they invited me to stay at their house in Frisco, CO I couldn't comprehend how I would ever actually get there. They were terrific hosts and welcomed me into their home with a warm shower, warm food and plenty of welcome conversation about our experiences on the road.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6gEP0GfNqFM/UAcPoKd0IcI/AAAAAAAADXc/PamoR4X5O8s/s1600/P1240061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6gEP0GfNqFM/UAcPoKd0IcI/AAAAAAAADXc/PamoR4X5O8s/s400/P1240061.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another cyclist passing through, Anna from Sydney, Australia, found their info on warmshowers.org and spent the night too. Here she is next to our identical blue Long Haul Truckers. She was lamenting about how much stuff she was carrying since she was encountering Hoosier Pass the next day.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5PBUKaasOm8/UAcPp3pkaNI/AAAAAAAADXs/FA7cZYO1xDY/s1600/P1240063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5PBUKaasOm8/UAcPp3pkaNI/AAAAAAAADXs/FA7cZYO1xDY/s400/P1240063.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So I left Frisco and once in Silverthorne, I checked my phone. There was a message from Lauren Reed, an old friend, saying she and her friend were arriving in Frisco that night on a thru hike of the Colorado Trail. So, I turned around and rode back. Killing a day in Frisco, I spent part of it at a pavilion at the trailhead, looking for Lauren and Brandon. This photo does not do justice to the afternoon thunderstorms that sweep through with fierce rain, thunder, lightning, hail and a 20-30 degree temperature drop. I felt bad for the two of them out on the trail.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ScwHoukbQCM/UAcPtan0PpI/AAAAAAAADZY/vG3tZu2pF-Y/s1600/P1240066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ScwHoukbQCM/UAcPtan0PpI/AAAAAAAADZY/vG3tZu2pF-Y/s400/P1240066.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All throughout the Rockies, I've been seeing the effects of the mountain pine beetle. They have been killing off massive numbers of trees. Then the Forest Service is forced to cut down the dead or dying trees. In this clearcut field, someone went to the trouble of building cairns on most of the resulting stumps.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hM7fwpaWmRA/UAcPt0wUOYI/AAAAAAAADZc/g5ElCVn8q-E/s1600/P1240067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hM7fwpaWmRA/UAcPt0wUOYI/AAAAAAAADZc/g5ElCVn8q-E/s400/P1240067.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's Brandon running the Low Heat/Tumble Dry cycle at the deluxe in-room laundromat. They had been fairly well soaked by the storms that I was able to sit out in town.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EQipHMXZrpc/UAcPwKYubzI/AAAAAAAADYk/Nc4Fw63iMG4/s1600/P1240070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EQipHMXZrpc/UAcPwKYubzI/AAAAAAAADYk/Nc4Fw63iMG4/s400/P1240070.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hadn't seen my friend Lauren in about a year or so I think. She lives in southern Utah. It was utterly random that we both arrived in Frisco, CO within one day of another- she hiking and me biking. Awesome!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qHq4cevXlF8/UAcPxKS-uHI/AAAAAAAADYs/uu_Bt9iPXiM/s1600/P1240071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qHq4cevXlF8/UAcPxKS-uHI/AAAAAAAADYs/uu_Bt9iPXiM/s400/P1240071.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Breckenridge/Frisco area is quite bike friendly with many bike paths. There are also some longer distance paths that parallel I-70 that can get you over to Vail and elsewhere. This morning (when I left Frisco for real) it was 46 degrees.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EUZDLcvA6OM/UAcPyOxMFGI/AAAAAAAADZg/QxPLWh1RhIM/s1600/P1250072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EUZDLcvA6OM/UAcPyOxMFGI/AAAAAAAADZg/QxPLWh1RhIM/s400/P1250072.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're only riding on bike paths for about 0.1% of the time though. Out west, I've been finding more instances of 4 or 6 foot wide shoulders, but very often the shoulder will be about the width depicted if you're lucky. For long stretches though, there's no shoulder whatsoever, which I'm thoroughly used to. Many other cyclists are not and they would warn me about upcoming sections. It's certainly a valid concern when traffic is doing 65-70 mph on two lane roads.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ml36RxjPEm4/UAcP0oV-_QI/AAAAAAAADY8/jv4f9XBN3c0/s1600/P1250073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ml36RxjPEm4/UAcP0oV-_QI/AAAAAAAADY8/jv4f9XBN3c0/s400/P1250073.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">F. M. Light & Sons is this awesome Western wear shop in downtown Steamboat Springs which I can't wait to visit again. I almost forgot about it. Except for the fact that between Kremmling and Steamboat Springs, there are approximately 100 signs advertising it along US 40. Keeps things interesting at least.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xJrGq0ncBg0/UAcP2LZbIVI/AAAAAAAADZI/rQk4O_Ig5fU/s1600/P1250074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xJrGq0ncBg0/UAcP2LZbIVI/AAAAAAAADZI/rQk4O_Ig5fU/s400/P1250074.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another climb up and over the Continental Divide to get to Steamboat Springs. At this point, I was deviating from the official TransAmerica route.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rn47K49ZbEw/UAcP3O13pbI/AAAAAAAADZQ/2Y0pfvyHBMM/s1600/P1250075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rn47K49ZbEw/UAcP3O13pbI/AAAAAAAADZQ/2Y0pfvyHBMM/s400/P1250075.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another view of the same spot. Since it was about 2 p.m. the requisite thunderstorm was approaching fast. Right as I snapped this photo I realized that I was photographing a thunderstorm while I stood on top of the Continental Divide next to a 25 foot tall metal sign. I guess everyone's concerns about my intelligence level are justified after all. I quickly got out of there and made the 25 mile screaming descent to Steamboat.</td></tr>
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<br /></div>Tom Mrotekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14514584875379775097noreply@blogger.com0