JULY

John's Daily Journals

We were thoroughly prepped on our 100-mile stretch for the day. Thankfully I did get enough rest in Missoula to feel ready for this marathon. It seemed that others weren’t that concerned about doing this distance. It could have been my imagination.

We were also prepped to especially enjoy the landscape because it was in this part of Montana that the Robert Redford film, A River Runs Through It. This part of the ride was probably the most scenic, peaceful and vivid countryside of the entire ride thus far. There were distant valley vistas with cottages bordered by open fields and the river. Mountain peaks overlooked the whole scene.  At times there wasn’t too much traffic to interfere with the enjoyment of the views.

It wasn’t until the last 40 miles when the landscape changed drastically back to the sagebrush pastureland that we’ve been seeing since the east side of the Cascade Mountains in Washington State.

There certainly was much rejoicing when we all reached the campground in Avon . It’s not as though we arrived together. We were probably spread out over 4 hours or so. My arrival was a wee bit delayed on the edge of Avon when a very long freight train decided to pass just as I was hoping to cross the tracks.

The people who cooked for us prepared a fine meal with pasta and vegetarian chili (for those didn’t want meat.) They also provided homemade pies which came close to those of Moody’s Diner’s fame or maybe even Sarah’s of Machias. Their champion quality is still safe though.

Date	2 July Sunday Day 11
Starting Point	Avon, MT
Ending Point	Townsend, MT
VIA	Elliston, Helena, East Helena, Winston
Mileage	63.8
Time	6:05
Terrain	rolling hills
Mph	10.4
Lodging	Townsend High School
Weather	62 in morning, warming to low 90's & mostly sunny
Cumulative Mileage	764.3
Miles to Go	3535.7
Time Out	6:35am

 

Bill Herrmann, one of the leaders, wanted to ride to the top of MacDonald Pass with me. This would be to cross the Continental Divide at 6,325 ft (1,927m). The view at the top was stunning. Fortunately it was sunny and one could see for miles. It was somewhat surprising to me that the Divide could be at such a low altitude.

The best part of riding up so high was the ride down. It lasted for 14 miles. I wasn’t going so fast as to be able to pass any cars, which, I suppose, was a good thing. Going at high speed is always a mixed thing: on the one hand it’s enjoyable to be able to coast for a long way while going pretty fast (38mph) but then the rider has to keep a sharp eye out for any animals crossing. The last thing a cyclist needs is to run over a skunk (at worst) or something larger like a wapiti. On this day, the cycling gods were benevolent and there were no animals of any kind.

The rest of the day was another day of trying to survive in intense sun (at altitude) and high temperatures (90s). An ice cream in Winston did little to solve the problem. At the store there I was tempted to buy a board game that the owner’s wife had put together. It was a sort of Monopoly but with all things “red neck.” The object of the game was to have the most teeth by the end of the game. At various points it was possible to lose teeth, for example, “Come Home at the wrong 5 o’clock. Spouse objects. Lose 1 tooth.” There were other things like “Power failure. Add one young’en. Call him “Sparky.””

I didn’t buy it only because I didn’t want to haul it all the way to Brunswick .

We’re in that part of Montana where you can see a rainstorm coming from about 30 miles away. It is possible to see the rain falling and sometimes it feels like there not a darn thing one can do about it, even though you can see it coming. Often it might change paths and not actually meet you, the cyclist. More often than not, it does. Today was another lucky day; it veered away from the path of the people near the back of the pack.

The day began with much promise because it wasn’t raining. The sky was overcast and this helped immensely in keeping the temperature down in the tolerable range. We were to bike up into Helena National Forest which was lovely terrain with a strong aroma of balsam. The odor would disappear for a while, then I would turn a corner on the way up to the summit of the gulch and the odor would reappear. After the summit, the terrain changed dramatically back to sagebrush range complete with plenty of cattle. I heard tell of some sheep somewhere but I never saw them.

There was strong encouragement from the leaders to stop at Dori’s Café in White Sulphur Springs. Its sign boasted, “Food you’ll remember.” I do remember that I had a tuna melt, a chocolate malt (which was actually enough for 2 people in my estimation.), coffee, fries and a piece of pie. It was impossible to finish the malt, though I suppose if I had had another 2 hours it might have been accomplished. The food was good and I did remember what I ate, but I wouldn’t call it a memorable dining experience. What was striking and memorable were the stuffed moose, cavallina (sp?), mountain lion, elk, badger and other animals that lined the walls of the café. One of the riders commented that it reminded him of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. I thoroughly agreed.

White Sulphur Springs was the only town we would be going through today over our 100 mile traverse. Immediately after leaving Dori’s all of the riders were subjected to a vicious attack by various insects: mosquitoes, black flies and some other really large biting fly. Personally I didn’t meet the mosquitoes, but the black flies were having a festival on my arms every time I looked down at them. I thought riding faster would keep them away. The only thing that worked was that a headwind came up. One rider was attacked so viciously (over 100 bites in 5 minutes) that she ended up in the emergency room.

I wasn’t riding with her at the time and the only reason I found out about it was that when I was relaxing at the rest stop at mile 66, a Montanan came up in an SUV and told us that one of our riders was having a reaction to a bug bite. He then proceeded to tell us that in his long experience of studying medicine, the best thing that would cure it was a tobacco poultice applied externally and alcohol given internally. Our leader, Ryan, is an EMT and he didn’t mention his experience with such poultices. I don’t think he had any.

After mile 70, it began to rain. Yes, my luck had finally run out. In the distance there was plenty of thunder and lightning. I was trying to remember the formula for figuring out how far a bolt is based on the number of seconds between the flash and the sound. It didn’t matter because by mile 80, it was clear that the thunderstorm was approaching the road we were on. I thought of riding faster so I could get in faster and I considered hiding in the ditch to keep away from lightning. A third option appeared miraculously: Bill Herrmann showed up with the luggage truck to drive in anyone who felt in danger. I took the ride. Today should have been 100 miles; it turned out to be 87. That’s close enough. I’d rather finish the whole ride in Brunswick than get fried in Montana trying to be complete!

We ate dinner at a restaurant in town whose specialty was BBQ; unfortunately because it was rodeo weekend, they had absolutely no BBQ left.

After dinner I decided to take in some of the sights at the rodeo, especially seeing that I had never been to one. It’s beyond me how someone can get on the back of wild horse and sit there while it bucks and runs over a period of 10 seconds. I suppose they would be just as aghast at someone sitting on a bicycle for 9 hours.

The server at the café had mentioned that there was a set of steps that I could use as a shortcut to get down to the event. So I went looking for them. There was a railing next to a house and I thought that might have been the sought after steps. It turned out to be just someone’s private deck entrance. As I was leaving, a youngish guy came out on the porch with a beer in hand. I mentioned to him what I was looking for. He said I’d be welcome to set on the porch with him and watch the rodeo from there. He added that he’d have to get me a beer in the bargain. I did want to get a close-up look at the rodeo so I turned down his offer. He did show me where the real steps were.

Judging by the terrain we were traversing, it seems like we’re pretty much finished with the Rocky Mountains . Therefore, one would think that we were done with significant hills until the Appalachian Mountains in Pennsylvania . These high plains still have hills of the long slow interminable kind that, in the hot pitiless prairie sun bake a rider to a fine golden brown. This day was a good example of this problem. There were two positive aspects to this day: there was a headwind that helped keep a rider cooler and the first 50 miles were more or less downhill. Despite the fact that it was July 4^th, there were still some small cafés, convenience stores and service stations open for business. This was fortunate because there wasn’t much else. This might have been the most desolate stretch of the ride so far. At times the road would go perfectly straight for miles and in the distance there was the mirage of water on the road due to the baking sun. It looked like cars and RVs were floating away on water in the distance; the same went for bicyclists.

At 9am, there was a bar sign in Ryegate that forced me to stop out of curiosity if nothing else: the “Testicle Festival.” Fortunately there was a Montanan going into the bar just as I was. She explained that every year there used to be a big potluck that all the locals would attend with various dishes made from bull testicles. It was extremely popular and well-attended, at least until the USDA stepped in and notified them that they weren’t using USDA-approved beef products. According to her, people still attend it though it is much less popular in part due to the fact that the food product needs to be purchased through approved channels and not offered in pot luck format. She didn’t seem too fond of the USDA.

Inside the bar, fortunately, there was only the bartender and the lady who explained the story to me. I had time to have a quick snack with coffee. After a few minutes, an older gentleman, who looked pretty much like a very worn-out cowboy, came in. His eyes were bloodshot and he had a ruddy complexion like one who might have been drinking the night before. It was unclear what he ordered, but the bartender expressed anger at him saying, “We went through this yesterday morning and we’re not gonna do that again!” He ordered a beer. It was about 9:10am. He asked for a pack of cigarettes and matches. It was then that I had to hightail it out of there.

Another perfect rest day: sleep late, have a relaxed breakfast, go to the post office. The plan is to go to the $1 movie house that shows non-new releases. It will be cool and out of the sun. I may follow the advice of a musical friend of mine who used to live here and go to the Pickle Barrel for lunch. She described their sandwich thusly: “made fresh to order, then wrapped (looking something like a small newborn.)”

The psychological boost of knowing that we have to ride under 55 miles is a great one. After leaving the surprisingly large city of Billings, we went right back out to the high prairie. At one point at the top of the highest hill of the day, we could look back and see Billings in the distance with the gently rolling grassy plains surrounding it.

The rest of the ride was the quickest yet. Everyone got in before noon. That hadn’t happened up to this point. So we had the rest of the day to explore Hardin, go swimming, and go to the library to check email and the like. This rest day will be a boon to us all when we are scheduled to ride 112 miles in 2 days time.

Today’s ride led us through the Crow Indian Reservation where the Little Bighorn Battlefield Monument stands. Unfortunately due to my late start, I was hesitant to go visit. This was a mistake; other riders had gone there and we actually got ahead of them. I thought that they would have either skipped it or visited it very quickly and we would just get further behind on this dry hot desolate day. It will be my task on arrival at home to read up on what I missed. According to one rider who visited, it was rather depressing because of the needless deaths of so many Native Americans.

Thankfully the staff had planned to set up rest/water stops at reasonable intervals during the day. There were no services for much of the route; that means no water, no food, no rest areas, and no shade. Even so, it was mentally grueling because of the dryness of the air and the intensity of the sun.

We passed a service station/oil company at Garryowen and I thought I’d wait until we reached Wyola to purchase a cold soda. This, too, was a mistake. In Wyola, the only evidence of any business activity was an old boarded up motel with a blank sign out by the roadway. It reminded me of the Bates Motel in Psycho except that the Bates Motel took in at least 1 guest.

Right over the border in Wyoming, there was the oasis of the Parkman Bar. I went in with some trepidation, not knowing Wyoming’s laws regarding smoking (I was hoping to avoid it, not do it!). There were 2 other cyclists, the bartender, and 1 older rancher. He wasn’t smoking at the time but he had a small pile of individual cigarettes he obviously was planning on smoking before he left for the day. According to the old rancher, there were 20 people who lived in Parkman. There were no other businesses. The view out the bar window were the vast treeless rolling hills of the high plains. In the distance there were mountains to the west that still had remnants of snow on them. Seeing the snow did help to cool down by a couple of degrees anyway.

The bar was selling t-shirts that said, “Parkman, WY – Where Custer Should Have Stopped!” They were also selling license plate frames that said, “Parkman, WY – where the whole world meets.”

Somewhere down the road a few miles before actually getting on the interstate highway yet again, a pickup truck pulled over up ahead of me. The driver got out with a spade and waved me down as I passed. He wanted to know where I was from. When I told him Brunswick, Maine, he said, “You’re a long way from home, ain’t cha?” We talked about the drought in the region. He talked about how most people retire from the farm and go to the big city. He said he had done it backwards.  He was curious about what I did for work. Sometimes so am I. He seemed pleased that I was doing this ride as a fundraiser. He wished me well and walked off across the street to dig something up.

This was supposed to have been a 112-mile day for all riders. I woke up feeling the effects of a cold; post-nasal drip, tired and coughing. I figured that it would be a fine idea to take 2 antihistamines to dry up the nasal passages and staunch the coughing. It would have been a perfectly fine idea except for the fact that I didn’t take into account a particularly relevant side effect of antihistamine: drowsiness. I took the pills upon waking and by the time I got everything stowed away in the truck and breakfast done, I was feeling dizzy, exhausted and generally lousy. I thought maybe getting a few miles in might clear my head. Another strategic blunder. It was challenging just to stay upright on the bike, much less make forward progress.

So I got a ride with the support van. I have full confidence that I’ll reach my mileage goal even though I lost 100 miles in Wyoming. In the van I missed some impressive scenery because I slept for an additional 5 hours thanks to the combination of drugs and sickness. It was admittedly disappointing to sit out this particular day. It is disappointing to sit out any day. I did manage to get one picture of the desolate landscape before I conceded to getting in the van.

In the evening I went with Martin, Judith and Lindsey to a Mexican restaurant (Las Margaritas) and got some spicy food. This helped a great deal with the illness.

Mercifully my cold receded a fair amount so that I could complete today’s ride on the bike. The terrain was not as merciful. It was barren as far as the eye could see for most of the day. At one point we did have a rest stop set up in an oasis of ponderosa pines though. We spent most of the day playing leap-frog with trains either loaded with coal or empty ones going to get filled up. It was disturbing to see just the amount of coal being shipped on this particular day. Trains were a mile long at times. It was disturbing because the emissions from all this coal are destined to end up in Maine’s air causing lung problems for vulnerable people, i.e. Children and older adults.

We were just close enough to Wyoming’s symbol, Devil’s Tower, to see it in the distance. I suppose since it was Sunday the leaders didn’t want to take too much of a chance and get too close.

There were horses, some interesting birds, and cattle to be seen now and then. There were 2 horses at the first rest stop who seemed interested in what we were doing. It was a real pleasure to be back in the saddle again on the prairie. Tomorrow we enter South Dakota.

At the daily award ceremony, Chuck was awarded the Dufus Award…he had been bicycling and singing the final chorus of the first act of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance, when he collided with the back of one of the support vans. When I sing I make sure there is no one around for miles.

For some time now I had abandoned the idea of getting up at 4am to try and beat the heat of the day. This was mostly driven by the fact that after we had crossed into the Mountain Time Zone, the sun was still not even close to rising at that hour.  Today, though, I received a surprise wake-up call. At 3:30am the staff of the Senior Center arrived to make us breakfast. That would have been fine except for the fact that I had chosen to sleep on the dining room floor along with other riders. My spot happened to be right next to the counter where diners would return their trays. When the staff arrived they pulled the curtain of that counter closed so as not to disturb us I suppose. From my vantage point I could hear every word they were saying and what they were playing on the radio. It took me a while in my half-awake state to evaluate whether I should ask them to quiet down. After some half-thought it seemed more prudent for me to actually move my sleeping bag to a place across the room instead. After all, they were there to fix us our breakfast and lunch.

I was very eager to get to the Black Hills; there would be trees and a variety of terrain and scenery that would be a tremendous relief from the flat featureless prairie of Wyoming. It was wonderful to be going up hills that were covered with pine trees. It was a great boost to be looking down into canyons and having vistas of more hills in the distance. There was clear evidence of recent forest fires (actually from 2000). Many hillsides were virtually barren of trees except for the blackened shells of what was left from the fires.

Shortly after checking in at our first safety check point where we had to be sure and make our descent away from other riders on a twisty steep downhill section, we came upon the entrance to Hell Canyon. I was gladdened by the fact that we didn’t actually have to go into it; it looked rather steep.

A few others and I make a brief side trip to check out Jewel Cave National Monument. It was tempting to take one of the cave tours. I really wanted to do the spelunking tour, but that would have meant coming in after dinner. At the entrance to the visitor center, a woman came up to me and asked if I was one of the ones biking across the country. Apparently she had heard about us on the news. It seems that there are at least 3 other groups doing this same ride: American Lung Association of Washington, Ride Across America and one other. She admitted to never having enough ambition to do such a ride and that she couldn’t imagine doing such a thing.

After leaving Black Hills National Forest we came to the town of Custer, which was a somewhat touristy town. It did have, however, a tolerably decent pizza parlor. Outside the parlor as I was getting ready to go in, a man named Bob from Illinois struck up a conversation with me. He wanted to know all about my ride and why I was doing it and so forth. He was “meandering” through the countryside with his wife to celebrate their 50^th wedding anniversary. He was extremely eager to make a pledge to the Lung Association of Maine as our conversation continued. He had an entire grocery list of the possible lung diseases: Legionnaire’s Disease, pneumonia, tuberculosis and, currently, chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder (COPD). After our conversation I went about the business of getting lunch. I ran into him again in the coffee shop where he insisted on buying a cappuccino for me. When I met his wife, she was as eager as he was to make a pledge, so I provided them with the web address to do so.

We then took some time to explore a rock shop. It was extremely tempting to acquire some really cool specimens, but my bike was heavy enough as it was. Michael seemed less concerned so he bought a few small ones.

We entered Custer State Park and were on the lookout for buffalo and any other interesting creatures. We did see some antelope (standing and running; and not actually playing much). There was an absolutely marvelous, relaxing 10-mile downhill stretch which left us back on grassy prairie land. The last 15 miles of the day were somewhat exhausting, mostly due to the fact that I was eager for dinner and it seemed that the hills between it and me were interminable. 6 miles out from Rapid City, it was possible to see the distant shapes of houses so that was quite uplifting. Many riders said that today was the kind of day that they dreamed of when they thought of the best parts of this ride. I agreed with them.

In keeping with tradition, since today was a rest day, I stayed off the bike. We did go on a touristy bus trip to see Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Memorial. All of us in the bus were sorely tempted to stop at the Bear Park on the way because there were some incredibly cute baby bears up in trees by the roadside. But we had bigger fish to fry.

The difference between the two monuments couldn’t be starker. Mt. Rushmore was a federally funded extravaganza extolling the American virtues of the four presidents carved into the mountainside. There was no shortage of patriotic and pro-white man presentations. It was a finished product well-packaged and presented to the masses of visitors who make the pilgrimage every year. The Crazy Horse Memorial is a grand vision that is still in process. It seems doubtful that the project will be finished in my lifetime. It is privately funded by donations, entrance fees and sales at the site. It is a sacred homage to the Native American and is destined to house a university and research center in the future. It felt like a worthwhile comparison to experience even though there remains millions of tons of rock to dynamite away. This is a site I would love to return to in ten years.

The weather report for the coming days is worrisome; the 5-day forecast shows it getting into the 100s in the next couple of days. We’ll be in the desolate, service-free eastern part of South Dakota. Access to water will be key.

There was enough crabbing from yesterday. I suppose I should know better than to write on an emotionally charged topic after coming away from the Post Office empty handed and after seeing United 93, which was an upsetting film.

It was a pleasant experience generally going on a bus tour with all my cohorts from the bike tour, but it wasn’t an easy thing to go to either of the monuments that I mentioned yesterday. When I ride a bike all day, there is plenty of time to mull over things and wish I had said more positive things about an experience. I was glad to go to the Crazy Horse Memorial. When I get home, I’ll send for an historical perspective from a Native American author about Crazy Horse.

Today, however, the primary issue, as you can see from the temperature readings above, was the heat. By the time I reached Interior, South Dakota, the thermometer was reading 108º in the shade. This means, of course, that the temperature out on the black-top on a bicycle was much higher. I took a ride in the van from that spot, because it felt so absolutely dangerous to be out there. When we drove through the main section of the Badlands National Park, the thermometer was reading 114º there. We all tried to spare our cooked brains the stress of truly recognizing the threat of such high temps by saying, “It’s a dry heat!”

In the later morning, when Michael and I reached Scenic, SD (which actually wasn’t very) it was already over 100º. We stopped at the only business in town that seemed open (there were 3 possibilities) and spent time in the coolness of being inside air-conditioning and we drank carbonated beverages and water until we felt rehydrated.

What prompted me to stop there was the scene straight ahead of us on the road: as far as the eye could see, it looked like a desert with some cliff-like formations on the horizon. There was nothing to be seen- no shade, no green, no plants, no houses. Strongly the thought struck me that we had better be sure we had enough water and energy because it seemed like we were going into Death Valley. I was concerned about tires exploding with the heat and getting brains cooked. The whole scene freaked me out quite a bit. Never in my life have I bicycled in such heat and in such a desolate-looking place. Michael was the only other rider in sight. Once we felt rejuvenated from the convenience store, we set out. There were so many vistas that made it look like we were biking on the moon. There were rock formations that looked like craters and white and gray mounds of rock that could easily have been on the lunar surface.

Fortunately we had no breakdowns or mechanical malfunctions and we did make it to Interior, SD. I felt thoroughly broiled and fried sunny side down. It wasn’t that much of an actual decision to take a ride the rest of the way. There were many riders (about half) who actually biked the entire 100 mile distance.

Though this day began warmer than yesterday it didn’t reach the pizza oven temperatures that were so frightful.  The day was broken up into two parts for me. After 25 miles or so, I got the first flat of the entire trip. I failed to fix it properly and so got farther and farther behind from all the other riders. Bill convinced me to catch a ride with him up into the “middle of the pack.” And fix the flat in shade. We did move up quite a distance – I lost 30 miles of actual pedaling. When we reached the next rest stop, I was able to correctly fix the flat even without the helpful presence of shade. The day should have been 94 miles long. Soon I’ll have to start recalibrating my miles to go.

It was basically an uneventful day and I spent most of the time worrying about getting broiled again like yesterday. The day did have one poignant spot; in the morning a small bird was flying up and down my rain fly on the tent. He was very cute and noisy, unfortunately he couldn’t fly away. So somehow he had gotten injured. When I tried to pet him, he snapped his little beak at me like some fierce lobster. So naturally I didn’t insist.

There were some definite high points to this day. About an hour or so after starting out, I could see in the distance (8 miles away probably) the outline of some huge building complex. I thought it might be some farm and its accompanying grain silos. As I finally came up to the area, it became clear that it was a service station/café area. I was going to just pass it by until I saw Elizabeth (one of our younger group members) coming down from it. It was slightly off the route. She said that it was a great place and that they had free ice water and free chocolate chip cookies. It hadn’t been that long since breakfast, but it is often a challenge to pass up cookies of this type; the truth be told, it is always a challenge to pass up any kind of treat! The lady in the café was very friendly. I went up to the counter and said that I’d heard that there were free chocolate chip cookies. She announced that it was “Free Friday.” She went on to say that we could have the free ice water and free cookies, but that was “all we were gonna git.”

This ride was probably one of the fastest for me on this entire trip; most of the way we had a fine tailwind and the terrain was virtually flat. It was so windy that it was almost possible to just point the bike in the right direction and it could move on its own.

I was struck by just how much sky there was. The vast wheat-colored fields went on forever in all directions and there were no obstacles to seeing the entire sky. The thought occurred to me that this was even bigger sky than Montana purportedly known as “Big Sky Country.”

Further along in Harrold I stopped for a soda at a service station. The owner was anxious to have me send him some lobsters from Maine. I thought it might be quicker if he went on the Internet and looked up Harraseeket to see if they might help him or direct him to someone who could. He had a mangy looking cat with one eye; despite his drawbacks he made me aware that I missed my cat. Petting him wasn’t quite the same.

There were a good number of hay trucks going by on the highway filled to capacity with, yes, hay. As they passed the roadway and any cyclists in the way were showered with bits of hay.

Getting into Miller was a treat because it was so early in the day. This is unusual for me. There was plenty of time to shop for treats and drinks. We were inside the high school so it was actually possible to get some laundry done.

Most of us ate out at the local restaurant where I had walleye filet, a specialty of the region. There were some farmers I had a conversation with. They were telling me about the drought that they have been having for some six years. Furthermore, they said that if we went fifty miles east we would find that the farms had wheat to harvest. These farmers had none.

Breakfast was offered at 5:15am in order to encourage us to get out early and beat the upcoming heat of the day. That approach works well for those who ride pretty fast. Unfortunately I’m not a member of that club, so I get hit with the heat anyway.

Just outside of Miller I had the pleasure of seeing the sunrise; this is not something I often get to witness. It wasn’t that it was so dramatic or colorful, but just that I was there for it. Of course, seeing the sunrise has its downside: it isn’t long before the sun heats up the air and puts us back in the sweltering heat and intense glare of another mid-Western summer day.

In Wessington I saw some of the signs that reflect the current political storm brewing in South Dakota. It was these signs that gave me pause about entering the state. The signs there said, “Your mom chose life.” And “Take my hand not my life.” There was another at the other end of the state near the border which I thought would be repeated every few miles, “Your mother was Pro-Life.” Just outside of De Smet there was a field filled with small white crosses and a large billboard that said, “826 abortions in South Dakota in 2002, 44 million since Roe v. Wade.” Other than these billboards thus far, I haven’t seen any overt displays of political rancor. Tomorrow is yet one more day in South Dakota so perhaps there is more to come. What was somewhat disconcerting was that I saw no evidence of an opposing viewpoint anywhere.

In Huron I stopped at a service station to get some cold water and ice. Just outside there were a few young people dressed up in cowboy gear. One young woman piped up, “Were you in Miller last night?” I admitted that I was. She said that she had passed me yesterday and wanted to know all about my trip and so forth. A very young boy who was with her volunteered that he was going to the rodeo and he was going to be doing some goat tying. He patiently explained how it worked when I let him know just how citified I was.

Later on in Cavour I stopped at a gas station where a bunch of farmers were sitting around a table telling stories. They wanted to know about the ride. I wanted to know about their combines and how much they cost new. They let it be known that nobody buys new any more and when they do, the machines last five years. I had a strong instinct that they might have enjoyed having me on. It was interesting to hear their exchanges though. They were somewhat akin to the old codgers sitting around the woodstove in a general store somewhere in Maine.

Leaving behind Laura Ingalls Wilder and all the little houses on the prairie we were all set to be done with the prairie land of the West and see more vegetation in the Mid-West plains. The weather was somewhat more merciful than it had been; at least the air temperature didn’t reach 100º for once. What was most striking about leaving South Dakota was that there was a marked change in the landscape and there were more farms visible. There were more cattle and more well-developed crops. Just as a general impression, it seemed that farms were in much better condition financially than in South Dakota. Some farms had brick houses on them and many had fairly large well-kept houses. Of course, it’s not clear whether that is due to better financial condition or the Scandinavian influences from the past.

Brookings was the only large town we went through and it provided us with something to look forward to: ice cream. The local bike shop in town which is normally closed on Sunday opened just for us. They offered each bicyclist a free 2-scoop cone of Premium ice cream made by the dairy connected to the University in town. So it was worth biking the 45 miles to get there.

In the approach to the Minnesota border and thereafter for 20 miles I found another striking thing: there were hundreds of wind generators as far as the eye could see in all directions. They seemed to be everywhere on the horizon. In talking with the locals about the presence of so many towers, their only complaint was about when they looked out their windows at night. Instead of seeing stars and the dark sky, the horizon looked like O’Hare Airport in Chicago with all the strobe lights flashing on the tops of all the wind towers.

The day did go by relatively quickly and we ended at a Folk School which is now for conferences, summer camps and historical interest. It was founded by the Lutheran Church in the 19^th century. Folk Schools were a concept promoted by Gruntvig, a Dane, to foster a well-rounded education. Of course, the schools had a religious component as well. It didn’t strike me as austere a religious atmosphere as the one my readers might remember from the film, Babette’s Feast (Babettes gæstebud). Pastor Christenson had plenty of stories to tell about the development of the site and he opened the small church which contained many historical artifacts and photos of the school over the years.

The terrain for this day was pretty much unvaried. There was farm after farm and mile after mile of corn and/or soybeans. For a long stretch there would be a gigantic cornfield on the left and it was possible to just make out some silos in the distance as I was peeking over the tall corn stalks in the foreground. Our route had been moved off Route 14 (a major east-west connecting route) and thus we went through 1 town all day. The wind was somewhat cooperative in that it was perpendicular to our direction of travel for much of the time.  As usual the sun was intensely hot and bright. Today though there wasn’t the high temperature that we have had to deal with since the start.

Thanks to a small miscalculation on my part regarding the ongoing need for sunscreen, I had to catch a ride with the van from Sleepy Eye. The day was supposed to have been a 94-mile day approximately.

The rest day is a very welcome and needed one. New Ulm has a good number of German restaurants to explore and the library is air-conditioned and furnished with wireless internet.

Today was yet another day with an “alternate” route to avoid the dreaded Rt. 14 which would be a direct road that would amount to 71 miles. Thanks to construction the change resulted in a near “century” ride.

Michael and I started out together. When we started the weather seemed unusual; there were low grey clouds covering the entire sky. The clouds had a sort of iridescent glow to them. They did cover the sun completely so it looked like dusk for the first part of our ride. The terrain was the usual as had been established over the past few days: cornfields and soybean fields. There were plenty of silos of the rounded top variety. Each farmhouse had a stand of trees to afford shade and privacy. As far as the eye could see, there were farms in every direction.

We were riding along on a relatively deserted country road not paying much attention to what was behind us except for any vehicles coming our way. At some point, I thought it was getting even darker than it had been all morning. I looked around behind me and I was shocked. The entire horizon and sky were black with an ominous cloudbank. Car lights were the only thing we could see in the distance. It was so dark that some lights that farms were using to illuminate their driveways at night came on. Not only was this cloudbank threatening, it was approaching us rapidly. It looked like it would swallow us up. Michael had his dark sunglasses on and I told him to remove them and have a look behind us. He, too, was dismayed.

I suggested that we haul it to try and make it to the next rest stop which was about 4 miles away at that point. This cloudbank brought with it fierce winds that, thankfully, were at our backs so we were going 25 miles per hour trying to reach a safe spot. Unfortunately, heavy drops of rain began falling and I thought it most prudent to seek shelter. We had just come upon a farmhouse where there was construction going on. Some workers were outside pouring a concrete foundation. We stopped and I asked them if we could have shelter somewhere. The worker directed us to a large pre-fabricated metal building that served as a shed. It was only a couple of minutes before all the workers joined us inside. A few had to rush out and lay down tarps to protect the cement that hadn’t even dried yet.

There was fierce thunder, lightning and rain so heavy on the roof that we could barely hear each other speak. The whole scene outside was almost nighttime dark. The workers didn’t seemed phased by the ferocity of the storm. I was concerned that we were in a large metal building that, according to one of the lead workers, had no lightning rod. I was concerned that we stood by the open door of the shed with shafts of lightning flashing everywhere.

Obviously my worried were for naught, because I’m writing this tale to you. When the rain subsided enough after about 1 ½ hours, we made a run for it with our bikes to St. Peter where, it turned out, many riders had sought shelter in the police station and a coffee shop. I thought it would be more interesting at the latter. The coffee shop had apple turnovers, so it turned out that it was.

The rest of the day was just in “survival” mode…trying to get to the end of the ride without any more mishaps. The high point of the second part of the day, though, was having the opportunity to ride on 20 miles of converted railroad bed. This trail had, of course, no traffic and virtually no people on it. So it was a real pleasure.

There were some spots that were forested with lush vegetation. This was a welcome change from the corn/soybean fields.

The first 70 miles were mostly the very familiar corn and soybean fields. At some point, I began to notice a new plant smell. It was a pleasant one but, of course, I couldn’t place it. I asked one local what plants it might have been. He didn’t really have any idea though he suggested sugar beets or barley. Along with many more dairy cows than beef cows has come the nearly overpowering odor of silage.

Today a new terrain appeared sometime after the halfway point of the day. It became significantly hilly and wooded. There were no farms because of the hilly nature of the countryside. The road, too, took on a new character. There were steep, long downhill's and with them, the dreaded steep, long uphill's.

The last 15 miles of the day were basically downhill though which was quite a treat. At one point when I was passing a farm as I was bicycling beside Bud, there was a worker on a ladder who called out. I couldn’t hear him at first so I asked him what he wanted. He said he needed some help up there on the roof. I didn’t want to admit my novice skills in the shingling department and just said that he would have to pedal in my stead. He said that he’d have to get a motor.

Passing through Rochester was sort of fun too. The bike shop there was expecting us and was handing out free soda, cookies and candy to all of us. It was a hot day, so a soda hit the spot.

Another surprise was seeing buffalo. I spent the past 28 days looking for them in all the typical spots (Eastern Washington, Montana, Wyoming, and South Dakota) and never saw a one. It seemed a little strange to be out the West and see buffalo. Fortunately there was a fine fence between them and me.

Despite a night of sleeping in a 90º stuffy dorm room, I was pretty much ready to face the challenges of cycling in and out of the river valley and on the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River. All the riding in the valley itself was relatively flat and not that interesting. This could have been due to the fact that we were routed onto a very busy road, so the cyclist spends time surviving and not enjoying the scenery. There came a point when we had to start going up out of the valley. It was then that the beauty appeared. There were lush woods on the way up to the top of the bluffs. At the top were more farms with the customary cornfields. There did seem to be a distinctive lack of soybeans.

The views of the river from that perspective were breathtaking. The width and length of the mighty river was evident in both north and south directions. The river valley itself was extremely wide. Across the river one could see the bluffs on the other side. Of course, we were headed in that direction eventually.

Descending out of the bluffs was exhilarating. The road was steeper than any I had seen in the Rockies or the Cascades. My bike attained 45mph.

Entering Wisconsin was not terribly dramatic; the route we were to follow went through some very unattractive parts of town. It was only after, as usual, that I found out that if I had taken a left into a different part of town, there would have been the kinds of coffee shops I was looking for.

After a time maneuvering through the city, we had to climb back out of the river valley. It was in Chaseburg, WI where the first Amish horse-drawn buggy appeared. When I first entered the small town, I was looking for a soda. You might notice that this is a common theme. Hot weather equals a search for carbonated beverage. There were two stores in town: Pa’s Meats and Taxidermy and some bar across the street. For the sake of doing something different, I went to Pa’s. This was unique in itself. Inside the store there was a section of used children’s clothing and toys. Another section was some old furniture. There were old-looking deer lying around. The room was dark and it was hard to make out what all was in there. There was an old sewing dummy. I went up to the counter and the vast coolers were absolutely devoid of any merchandise whatsoever. I asked the guy behind the cash register if he had pop (I thought it might be wise to play “native” and not call it “soda.”) He said that he thought he might have just a couple of cans of Coke. That was fine by me. I asked if I could use the restroom first. He sent me up an unlit stairway covered with carpet from at least the 1950s. On the way up the stairs there were a few large unstuffed birds lying around. There was a deer head that had seen better days. The rest room was something to write home about. It was actually something to write to the Health Department about. It was filthy with no sign of paper towels anywhere. There was an old stained  Playboy on the window sill from 2002. The articles were titillating.

I wended my way back down the stairway surrounded by dead animals and pick out a Coke from the cooler. It cost 50 cents, so I gave him a dollar bill. He opened the register and said, “Oh, I don’t have any change. Why don’t you just take it?” It seemed his cash register was missing a vital ingredient: cash. I thanked him and got out of there.

The rest of the ride was uneventful except for seeing a fair number of buggies on the road. There was one dooryard where an Amish family had hung out their laundry. Everything was black, grey or dark green. It was striking to see the differences between the non-Amish and the Amish farms. The most striking thing was the method of hay baling.

These two days are special for several reasons: they are 1) back-to-back rest days, 2) going to be spent with my wife and 3) going to be spent in the lively city of Madison. On Saturday morning, instead of riding 107 miles as planned in the trip itinerary, I got a ride in the truck right into Madison where I would meet Susan at noon. The plan was that I would wait for the luggage truck to get there so I could pick up all my luggage, do laundry, then go with Susan to a place other than the University of Wisconsin dormitory to sleep.

After spending the afternoon together we ventured out to seek dinner and a movie. This was the weekend when the Madison Opera would be hosting a special event called Opera in the Park. It was completely fortuitous that our bike ride landed here on this of all weekends. We had to wait until Sunday night to actually listen to the concert due to rain the first night.

We had a few special items on our list of things to do here in the dairy state; go to the zoo and see the badger and the walk-in aviary, go to the Capitol and see the “Cow Parade”, eat some tasty vegetarian dishes, and taste famous Babcock ice cream.

It was especially gratifying this time at the zoo because the badger was out and about in its habitat. There were other fine animals to see, i.e. goats lining up to get fed which reminded me strongly of the dinner line on our bicycle tour, the tortoise whose blazing speed reminded me of my zippy pace on my bike, and some strikingly beautiful birds in the aviary.

The CowParade is an effort by the Milk Board to promote dairy cows who provide so much income to the state. There are 101 cows painted and decorated differently by various artists including Frank Lloyd Wright.

This 48-hour period has provided an invaluable relaxation and rejuvenation time to get back “in the saddle” for the second half of the trip which is coming up soon.

It seemed that this day was overshadowed by a certain amount of melancholy on leaving Susan to go on her way back to Maine while I continue slogging out the miles to get to Washington, DC. Though difficult to quantify, it felt to me as though many people in the group had come to some sort of a turning point in the trip after leaving Madison, Wisconsin. Two weeks from tomorrow the trip is finished. Though there are those who seem to flourish in stirring up discontent, the reality of the voyage ending seems to me to be an overpowering force. Of course part of the experience is similar to going away to camp for a summer and as the season winds down, campers long for more camp. Endings are not usually pure pleasure; there is the bittersweet.

The passage through the rest of Wisconsin was mostly farmland and isolated. On the way into Beloit I was cycling with Bud, Hillary and Matt. As we were going down a slight hill, I heard a yell from an older African-American man who was sitting in his driveway, “Now that’s some outfit you got there!” I wanted to stop and have a conversation with him, but I was glued to this group at the moment and didn’t want to lose them. Sometimes while I bike, I find that it is difficult to always make the best decision in a given circumstance. This was one of those questionable times.

It was anticlimactic to finally enter Illinois. There was a rundown industrial area with the typical factory buildings built in the 19^th century with red brick. We came upon a bridge that Dan described as being over a “poor excuse for a river.” There, in the middle of the bridge with a background of rusted metal and old factories, was the welcome sign to the state.

This could have been a portent. As soon as we entered Illinois, the drivers let me know that they weren’t happy that I was biking on their roads. People beeped their horns, showed their middle fingers, yelled obscenities out of their windows and some didn’t yield much space at all when passing. There was an extremely strong sense of not being wanted in the state. I’ve never felt this way before. It reminded me of Barbara Savage’s book, Miles from Nowhere, when she describes her experience in Morocco: young boys actually threw sticks and stones at her and her husband. In this case in Illinois, there were no sticks and stones, but names did hurt.

This was supposed to have been the first of two back-to-back 100-mile days. For some reason I was sick and tired and could barely muster energy for the first 50 miles. Bill had mentioned that there would be a café in the first town we came to. So naturally that kept me going at least until there. I was walking into the café and noticed that there were no signs posted regarding smoking policy. Upon opening the entry door, I discovered the reason: there was none. People were lighting up wherever in the restaurant and there wasn’t even an attempt at the old-fashioned approach of a non-smoking section right next to a smoking section with no ventilation. So Mike and I went back a block to a gas station and had coffee there.

I had a conversation with the cashier who had moved to Kirkland from Aurora. He said he was tired of having the kids hide under the bed during gunfights in the street in front of his house. So now his wife puts up with an 80-mile commute to work. He also talked about how he used to be a 3-pack-a-day smoker and that he used to cough and hack. I asked him what prompted him to quit. He said the coughing and hacking. He also said that he can laugh now without breaking down into a lung-wrenching cough. I said “Good for you.” It’s always inspirational to see the process someone has to go through in order to become “quit.”

Today was no different with drivers. One yelled out his window, “Get off the f%#@#*& road!” He drove off before I could explain to him that I had as much right to be there and please drive a little further to the left.

It was fortunate that I accepted a ride with Bill from miles 50-75 because dinner was difficult enough as it was. The last 25 miles which I did ride took what seemed like forever. As I was approaching the park where we were to stay, Stu was riding in the opposite direction. It made me wonder what was up. When I arrived, Ryan was informing people that this evening was a $10 dinner night. This meant that there was no caterer and that we had to find some way to get our dinner. We could have ridden back into town (about 2.5 miles) or called a restaurant to see if they might deliver. Virtually all of us chose the latter. We called a pizza shop in town and it took them 1 ½ hours to get us our dinner. People were not happy and had they not been exhausted from a 100+ mile day, there might have been open rebellion.

Breakfast, the following morning, was another challenge. By the time I arrived, there were 2 small spoonfuls of eggs left, no juice and the scalloped potatoes had bacon in them. So this meant stopping in downtown Coal City at McD’s for a “decent” breakfast. This wasn’t an ideal way to start a 100+mile day.

Today was the last chance to do a 100+ miles on this tour. With the frustration from breakfast and some inner resolve from somewhere, I made it my priority to ride the entire distance today.

Still in Illinois, I was still faced with drivers who thought little of bicyclists. The final driver I encountered was at a 4-way intersection somewhere east of Coal City. As I was turning left in front of a guy in a pickup truck, he looked at me with an angry expression and yelled out, “What the Hell!” He then pressed the accelerator hard to get away.

It wasn’t long before we reached State Line Road which amazingly enough delineated the western boundary of Indiana. Just over the border was Brunswick, Indiana. It turned out that it was a town just a little quieter than Brunswick, Maine. There was only 1 business in town, a bar, and it was closed when I rode by.

Shortly after passing that mini-town, I came upon a traffic holdup leading into Cedar Lake. I biked passed many of the cars in line to see a worrisome scene. There were 5 police cars with lights flashing and it was they who were holding up traffic. I then saw Bunny’s (Siobhan) car at the head of the line. I thought something bad had happened to her. I passed the rest of the cars in the line and was able to speak with her. Two of our riders who happened to be riding together had an accident involving a car. They had just been carted off to the Emergency Room at the nearest hospital. Amazingly their injuries were minor. Even both bicycles are still useable with some parts replacement. I can only imagine what went through their minds as it happened. I know I thought immediately of Phil, the rider who was killed near the beginning of this trip. The rest of the day, I worried for them and felt sadness again around what happened to Phil. Of course, I was paying special attention to every approaching vehicle.

In Crown Point, I spotted a vegetable stand and purchased a fresh-looking, huge, delicious tomato. It was sweet, juicy and just the right consistency.

As I was passing through Valparaiso, I needed to stop for directions. It seemed to me that I was off the official route. I stopped at, of all places, a collision center. Stepping through the door, I thought I had stepped back 50 years. There was a woman at the desk who asked me if she could help me. I explained that I was somewhat lost and needed some help. She said, “Well, I better let one of the boys help you. I’m sorry I’m just a dumb woman.” I almost fell over when she said that to me. It made me wonder just how women were treated out here in the Mid West.

Even though it was a 100+ mile day, I made a stop at an ice cream place in Valparaiso. Generally, though, despite bouts of rain today, my focus was getting in before dinner at 6pm. I rolled into the High School athletic fields in LaPorte, Indiana at 6:10 as people in the group were eating. It was an exhausting but exhilarating day.

The first part of today was passing through cornfields and soybean fields. At times, the corn was close to the roadside on both sides of the road and therefore it was impossible to see beyond it. It reminded me of last year’s ride in northern Maine where the woods come right up to the roadside and that is all that is visible for mile after mile. It was not an unpleasant scene; with the wind blowing through the corn a little, it seemed like the stalks were waving the riders by.

At a point after Wakarusa, there appeared the trademark horse and buggy of the Amish. There were many of them. What was shocking was that between Waterford Mills and Wolcottville, I must have seen nearly a dozen recumbent bicycles ridden by Amish men. They were using them to run errands. I ran into one young man at a convenience store who was just buying milk and stowing on his recumbent bike.

I made a point of stopping at a couple of Amish vegetable stands to buy something and to have some conversation. At one there were 3 boys who were intrigued by the fact that I was biking across the country. They all had the same haircut. They were very respectful and not overly inquisitive. They were happy to hear of my tales though.

There were a couple of details I omitted from yesterday that I thought might be of interest. At one point after Millersburg I was biking along and saw a bicyclist in the distance in front of me. I was too far away to make out who it was, so I thought I would try and pick up the pace and catch up with the rider. I pushed and pushed edging up to the blinding speed of 18mph. I still made no headway in catching the rider. I thought it must be Dave (aka Dr. Dave). There was a major intersection coming up soon where I figured the rider would have to stop and wait for traffic. Eventually I got close enough to see who it was. It was actually no one from our group; it was an Amish girl on a 1-speed bike.

When I had a conversation with the Amish boys yesterday I gave them some ALA-ME stuff (pens and lobster stickers). I suppose it was in the hopes that I could have a lengthy conversation with them about their lives. I was able to find out only that 2 of the 3 were not in school currently and that the third one wasn’t finished. The reason why wasn’t revealed.

Today we entered Ohio at one of the most nondescript borders yet. There was a stone post with no sign and no welcome. Shortly after entering the state it was notable that the street signs had long names; the most interesting was Case Beer Miller Road.

The road flattened out considerably after the border and there were still the customary soybeans and corn fields. The road seemed a little wider so it was possible to see beyond the corn stalks. There was a stretch of packed down gravel that had an oil base. Fortunately it gave me no flats but it gave Michael two.

Shortly after the interesting road surface we came upon a pack of 5 kittens at the side of the road. All but one was white. This was in the middle of nowhere so it made no sense that these cats should be there. We theorized that someone had abandoned them. I didn’t stop to socialize with them though I was tempted. Hillary and Monica did stop and play with them. The kittens thought that Hillary was their mom because every time she would walk 5 steps away, they would follow close at her heels. They decided to call 911 (mostly due to the fact that Hillary was suggesting that she put all 5 cats into her bicycle panniers and take them to the next town.) who then got in contact with the Humane Society who eventually came out to where Hillary and Monica were waiting and rescued the kittens.

A bit later I went on a search for a decent cappuccino in Bryan, OH. I found Seasons Coffee & Bistro where the servers were very interested in my bike trip. When I told one of them that I was raising money for the American Lung Association of Maine, she asked me if I’d like to talk to a local newspaper reporter. She called the newspaper and arranged for a reporter to come over. He came not long after and interviewed Judith, Lindsey and me about the 30^th anniversary ride and about my fundraising for ALA-ME. It should be in their local paper sometime soon. Unfortunately they don’t have a web presence so I have to wait for them to mail a physical copy of the article to me in Maine.

As the three of us were sitting there an older gentleman came up and introduced himself as Chip Winzeler. It turned out that he was the son of the man who discovered NOT invented Etch-A-Sketch. His father had gone to a toy fair in Germany back in the late 50’s and met the actual inventor of the device. The inventor was going to sign a contract with a manufacturer to produce it made with wood for the sum total of $25,000. Chip’s father convinced him to change direction by not signing the contract and have him produce it in exchange for $25,000 plus royalties. With that decision millions of children, including me, grew up playing with Etch-A-Sketch. He mentioned, too, that all the failed units are lying in a landfill somewhere near Bryan with that dreaded silver filling just waiting to be released into the water table.    Chip also told us that Bryan was famous for producing Spangler hard candy.

Now that we’re in Eastern Time finally, it makes no sense to be waking up at 4:45 because it doesn’t get daylight until after 5:30 and it’s not safe riding until after 6am. This is a big relief of course. This morning felt luxurious to actually sleep until 5:25.

There was a cooling mist everywhere out on the road. The sun hadn’t really appeared yet and cornfields, trees and farms were partially hidden by the mist. The roads that were chosen for the first part of the day had virtually no traffic on them for at least the first 2 ½ hours. We might have seen 3 cars in that time.

When we came upon 2 wind generators very close to the road, it made for a stark contrast of scene: the mist was still over everything and the fields were almost invisible but the wind generators were technological monoliths standing out starkly on the background of the white mist. If it hadn’t been for Earl stopping to take a picture of them, I might have missed them.

The main quality of this day was the speed at which I completed the 89 miles. The flatness was ideal for this recumbent to ride fast for hours, which was a unique experience on this ride so far. The roads were smooth, straight and empty of cars. I rode for a while with Monica from Austin, TX and had good conversation.  The downside to focusing on going fast, of course, is the lack of opportunity to meet local people very much. There was one bicyclist out for his Saturday morning ride. He was very interested in our activity and my fundraising.

Our destination was Sandusky, the home of the supposedly greatest roller coaster in the country. I made a decision to not go to the amusement park; it was very pricey to go and I knew that gong on that particular ride wouldn’t have good results.

Our trip leaders had warned us about the dangers of urban riding with which we would be faced in traversing the city of Cleveland. Some people chose to “sag” (catch a ride in one of the vans that are our support vehicles) that portion of the ride. It seemed like a safe idea to bike into the city because, after all, it was Sunday morning.

The route to the town of Vermilion, one of the suburbs of Cleveland, was flat and progressively more and more populated along the Lake Erie shore. At one point there was a cyclist approaching from the opposite direction who starting yelling at me, “You’re nuts! Why are you riding that tank?” He called me nuts more than once. Then, as he came within non-yelling distance he said, “They're waiting for you in a bakery about 3 miles up the road.” I thanked him, but as soon as he passed me, he began yelling again. I thought maybe he had that malady that makes people yell out things (usually obscenities) uncontrollably. It wasn’t until today that I finally remembered it’s called Turette’s Syndrome.

At the bakery, when I finally arrived, only Judith and Lindsey were still there. The two brothers who ran the place were very friendly and interested in hearing about our experience and, unlike most other places, one of them was very upfront about talking about his struggles. That was a unique contact. It was not very long after that stop that the 3 of us ran into the other brother about 10 miles down the road. He was waiting for us at a street corner near his home, where he offered each of us bottles of Gatorade. It was so hot and humid that his offer bordered on miraculous.

When I rolled into the first rest stop, there was a voice on a loudspeaker. It seemed like I was rolling into a race or show or something. It turned out that there was a big coed beach volleyball competition going on and our rest stop was right next to the courts. If it weren’t for the fact that there was still about 60 miles to ride, I would have considered taking part for fun.

The entire stretch from Sandusky to just west of Cleveland proper was made up of houses that were right along the shore of Lake Erie. It was surprising just how little public access there was to a beach. The brother with the Gatorade recommended the Huntington Reserve if we wanted to go swimming. As I passed it, I was sorely tempted to check it out, but there was still about 55 miles to ride.

Riding through Cleveland was somewhat of a concern. I wasn’t sure about how the traffic or roads would be and, of course, I did have a thought about street crime. None of my worries materialized. The roads were generally rideable and there was no time when I felt threatened despite riding through some areas that seemed run-down. Because it was Sunday, downtown Cleveland was virtually deserted. There were some cyclists out riding and I saw an interesting riding technique: there was a rider in front of me approaching a traffic light that had just turned red. Instead of stopping, he started blowing on a whistle and waving at the cars that were just about to start moving, but he just kept on moving. Most of the skyline of the city was dimmed by the high humidity which had plagued us from the first mile of the day. With the heat index near at least 100º, it was an incredibly draining day.

It seemed inviting to go to either the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame or the Cleveland Art Museum but, as always, there was still a long way to go until the end of the day’s ride. Our second rest stop was nicely located in a small park near University Circle. The hills started before we even got out of the city. These were the steepest hills we had seen in days and it seemed like I was out of training for them. In fact I think it was more due to the humidity which makes me exhausted.

At one intersection out in the country I heard a new response to my bike. As I may have reported before, I often hear comments (especially from kids, “Hey! Cool bike!”) This was of a different sort. There was a car crossing the road behind me. A guy (why is it usually guys with the wise comments?) who yelled out, “Hey, what’s wrong? Afraid of riding a real bike?”

Today (Monday) is our second to last rest day. I take my rest day seriously especially since the next 5 days will be challenging with relentless hills.