Did we tell you we finished?

We did!

Finishing at the Arcata Plaza

It has been two weeks since we arrived in Arcata, CA and completed the bike49 loop.  But it hasn’t felt like the end until today, with the five of us spread out across the country.  Before, when people asked us how it felt to be done I would shrug and say some standard response about how it had not sunk in. Honestly it felt the same, sure we were not bike touring any more, but we were still together most of the day, still biking, still camping in backyards not our own, and still traveling around together.

But let’s back up.  After we bombed down Fickle Hill (my favorite hill) into the town where we had grown into bicycle advocates and good friends, it was time to call the trip officially, unofficially over.  Officially bike49 was complete; we could pack up our bags, exchange high fives, and head to new- if not greener- pastures.  Officially we had pedaled 15,325 miles through 49 states in 391 days.  We had shared our adventures with over 7,000 students around the country.  We had patched 79 flat tires.  Unofficially, however, bike49 was not over.

Officially we were done, but unofficially there was still much to be done… We still had to celebrate.  We rented a car and headed down to Sacramento where Tommy and Aaron’s family threw us a grand party.  We were no longer bike touring, but we were still eating our meals together, still cheering and quarreling like brothers and sisters, and still riding our bikes.  We were still bike49.  When the party was over we went our separate ways and bike49 was complete.  Today when I woke up, my bike49 buddies were in different states, and I was about to start another adventure- work.

From Sacramento, Matt and Alyssum carpooled out to Colorado, putting off work for the time being in favor of mountain biking adventures. He has become intent on writing a book about the yearlong experience and looks forward to using the “transition” period to get started. In the Fall he will return to Arcata for a semester to finish his degree.  After a few weeks in Colorado Alyssum will return to the college town as well to work at the local bike store (see after a year we still all love bikes).  Tommy and Aaron are going to spend the summer in Sacramento and then head to Croatia with family to visit their roots. Throughout the trip Aaron filmed about 50 hours of video with the goal of editing it down and producing a short documentary. And I took the train out to Glacier National Park to spend the summer studying amphibians in the park.

It is exciting to start something new, but I still feel the loss of bike49’s completion.  For so long I had this goal, this vision, to hold onto.  Before the trip, I could use the idea to motivate me and planning gave me excuses to talk to Aaron, Matt, and Tommy frequently and always with no lag in the conversation.  On bike49, the goal of moving forward, moving towards another state, gave me a purpose and a goal I could achieve.  And bike49 made finding adventure easy; every day we were put in new and unpredictable situations.  So now bike49 is done and it feels like I have lost something.

But while I have lost much, I have gained so much.  The last year of biking has given me stories to hold onto for the rest of my life.  Meeting the people of this country has given me humility and respect.  I no longer underestimate one stranger’s ability to help another stranger and then become friends.  Seeing the wild, undeveloped lands of this country has given me another reason to fight for the protection of these wonderful places and make choices as I live my life that help our Planet.  Bike49 has taught me about public speaking, about soliciting sponsors, and about making a website. Bike49 taught me how to live, 24 hours a day, with the same handful of people, and still be friends.  I am so grateful for the opportunities I have had, the friends that have shared in these adventures, and (of course) the 49 states.

Speaking of 49 states, I have a bit of unsettled business with 13 of them.  In September I broke my ankle swinging on a swing, and had to miss 13 states.  Granted many of the states are small (Iowa to Rhode Island), I still want to ride my bike through them.  So for now I will spend my summer in my favorite mountains, studying my favorite animals, and then sometime soon I hope to continue on part two of bike49: bike13.  I hope to continue giving presentations at schools, writing blogs, and posting photos on bike49.org.

So for now I want to thank everyone that has supported and made our dreams come true. A big thanks to our sponsors (see the bottom of our website) for all your wonderful (and sometimes delicious) donations. Another thanks to folks from every state we have met that have helped us with a bit of everything: a meal, a place to stay, advice on the roads, a donation, an opportunity to speak at a school.  The opportunity to make friends with so many wonderful people made a year long bike tour not only possible but worth it.

Thanks again for your support.  Until our next ride.

Ride on,

Sara and the bike49 team

It was the evening of June 9th where we really started to chime in about this being our last night of camping, last meal cooked, last time to cook with our beat up pots and pans, and so on. It was also the last night of having to search for a spot to camp and weigh the option of knocking on someone’s door or just going ahead and camping in a field, the benefits of being plainly visible versus those of trying to hide ourselves. Throughout our trip we’ve always done our best to be straight forward with people when there’s no public land so we started by trying to knock on some doors.

We tried knocking on each of three houses near a junction of Showers Pass Road and Kneeland Hill Road, most likely the only few we would find over the course of the next 10 miles. Knocking on a stranger’s door in any part of the country can be unnerving, but this out in the boonies area of Humboldt County is better known for its massive Marijuana grow operations than its Midwestern style hospitality. Texas and the deep south might be the first place you look to find a “redneck” but the lesser known, coast logging redneck, is the second type of person we might come across on this almost vacant stretch of road. The third type of person, and the one we’re hoping for, is the grass fed cattle farmer or small homesteader whom we think might relate to our journey and be willing to offer us a spot of grass.

The first knock, led by Sara, with myself as distant background support, went as poorly as possible. A wiry guy in his mid 30s came out of the house as we opened the fence gate. He had dark clothes, dark hair, and dark circles under his eyes to match. He claimed he had no water he could offer since it was unsafe to drink and certainly didn’t seem sad about the fact. We asked our usual leading question about knowing if there is any place to camp or any people that might let us camp and his reply is one that we quoted for days. “There’s nowhere you can camp on this road. It’s all private property and no one’s going to let you just camp. That’s something you should have thought out and planned before you started this trip.” The other two knocks were fruitless as well, with perhaps fortunately, no one answering the door.

In the next few days as I told this story to some cycling friends I mentioned that we’d knocked on so many doors throughout the country and this was probably the worst response we’d gotten. With so many people nervous to leave their doorstep and scared of the people they might run into, we’d found some of the most shady characters right here on the north coast, barreling past us in their jacked up pickups. It’s sad for an area that also offers so much. My friend Matt laughed and said, “You had to travel all the way around the country to find that out!”

But focusing on the people, and in this case the negativity of the get-off-my-land kind of folks, is not what I wanted to do on the last day. This area, as with many areas of the West, is special to me because of the landforms and scenic beauty. Climbing into the hills during the late afternoon of our last night there was an idyllic scene surrounding me, one that you’d picture existing in Ireland or the Swiss Alps in springtime. There are clusters of weathered looking oaks on some aspects but mostly green grasses blanketing the hills. Lower down there are an equal mix of the two environments with the swaths of prairie looking like clear cuts. In some areas the geology is too unstable to support trees and in others it’s the unfavorable mineral balance in the soil. The sun is shining bright but with it comes a thick, moist breeze, which gives the air mass body and density. These are days you want to be outdoors from sunup to sundown.

Tommy climbs the steep dirt out of Bridgeville

Sara shares some of her final thoughts for the documentary

Lupines in bloom

After we realized it would be another pirate camping night – no better way to leave this world than the way we were brought into it I think – we quickly find the perfect spot just two miles from the cluster of houses. At first the sign reads Palco lumber company and we’ve got no problem camping there. They’ve helped to clear the west coast of the old growth forests over the past 150 years, the least they can offer is a piece of grass to a few travelers. But just beyond the sign is a Russ Ranch evidence of changing times. The name Russ sounds so familiar I’m sure I can talk my way out of this one if any problems arise. But there is no confrontation. We slip around a fence and set up on a road cut in the side of a hill, conveniently sheltered and secluded.

The fog rolls in and when it reaches as far east as these hills, 2000 feet above sea level, it usually blankets the area quite quickly and thoroughly. We watch the air stream through the trees, roll up the hillside, jump the road cut, and continue on headed skyward. You could wave your arms around and capture some of this stuff. It’s down jacket weather but it’s also June 9th. The two don’t seem to go together. This is also great picture weather and with the same enthusiasm that I went through roll after roll of digital film in the desert and mountains I jumped around looking for the best angles to “capture the moment” from.

The last time we pushed our bikes down a dirt road to camp

Oaks and prairie

Beans and rice had probably been our most common meal of the trip, prepared and dressed so many ways, so it was only fitting to end the trip with more salsa, chips, cheese, refried beans, cilantro, tortillas, fresh onions, and about 10 more ingredients that make the meal more than just beans and rice. After dinner the fog turned to mist and mist to light rain. And since we don’t “party hard” we were scooted into our tents by 9:30.

And last dinner on the road

You guessed it, last morning on the road

Not wanting to be complacent, we left the campsite around 8:00, also knowing we had some ground to cover before meeting some people at the top of Fickle Hill. With just a small climb ahead of us, we soon took off on several miles of downhill dirt road descending. The bikes were soon covered in light dust from the dry roads but wet air. Descending on a dirt road with a loaded touring bike is actually pretty stable but if you start to lose control you’ll go down hard like slipping on marbles. That descent left Aaron and Andrew (a friend who joined us for two days) with a pair of flat tires but that was just the beginning of our failing outfit. My bottom bracket had unscrewed itself and the sealed bearings were failing – in layman’s terms, a big screw down near the pedals was falling out – so every mile or so I got off my bike to hand-tighten it. I also was prone to flats with a rear tire that was beginning to shred like those truck blow-offs you see on the side of the road. This spaced us out so while Sara had taken off to get a head start on the hills ahead, she was probably just further distancing herself up the road.

Screwing in bearings the day before

While I’d hoped for sun and a deep blue sky that comes with the clean coastal air, the fog still added a great element to the landscape. Looking forward and backward I could usually see someone from our group of six slowly making their way up a series of snaking switchbacks. I took landscape photos with a hint of a human element to them. As Alyssum and Andrew caught up after fixing some flats, I noticed Alyssum had suffered a slow speed crash, increasing our number of mishaps for the day. I finally got a hold on my mechanical problem, flooding the bearings with oil after the seal had cracked away. That provided a temporary fix to the problem for the rest of the day.

Spectacular landscapes

Cattle grazing is the primary legal use of the land

Aaron and Alyssum

We climbed higher and reentered the clouds turning the paved roads wet. But the pavement was a sign we were closer to Arcata. At a ranch a guy stopped to tell me that their dog had scared Sara so in turn she hit one of the dogs and destroyed some fence. It was all very matter of fact with no emotion on his part. I told him the dog must have bit her and then humorously envisioned Sara pulling out a row of fence posts with brute strength. He told me the Sherriff and the owner went on the down the road to talk with her and that gave me concern as to what happened and what the truth was.

Now I was pedaling through familiar roads, within range of a day ride from Arcata. I reached what I knew as the final paved switch backs and ascended them into the fog and mist once more, seeing Aaron and Tommy and few hundred feet above me.

At the top, we all ran into Sara and had to know what happened! We were relieved to find she was in good spirits and there was no Sherriff’s car or angry ranch owner. The truth was she did get nipped at by one of the sheep herding dogs and with adrenaline surging found a stick in the ditch to scare them off with. Even the owner who drove out to talk with her understood she had a right to be angry and defend herself and happily labeled her as “one tough chick, just like me.”

Given our luck so far we all agreed not to get crazy on the wet downhills. We had just one small downhill and then a climb before getting to the famed Fickle Hill. Fickle Hill was a ride we did after school every Friday, called Fickle Hill Friday – a rather brutal 10 mile climb with several steep sections of 20% grade. Surprisingly, it caught on and with Sara’s determination to lead it and be there every week, there was usually a core crew of 5 or 6 and a number of more people who would join occasionally or just for the week. Uninterested in getting back in racing, Fickle Hill Friday is how I first started riding when I came to Humboldt. The ride varied only in how far we’d go up given the daylight, weather, and goals of the group. The exertion required to get to the top is enough to clear the mind of all the stress and headache school brings, just in time to focus and be hyper-vigilant for the tortuous descent down hill. After memorizing the hill and perfecting the technique of leaning the bike over in the turns, it’s possible to get up to 55mph on a road that resembles a never ending mountain driveway.

Today, with loaded bikes and rainy roads, we weren’t going to approach that level of intensity. We sat around on the top of the hill much like we used to back in the day and brought out all of our food for a smorgasbord lunch. Our friend, Aaron, who also joined us in New Orleans, came slowly up through the fog to join us. We put on our coats, put away anything that might shake loose from our bikes and got ready to descend. There was just 10 miles between us and making the loop complete, making bike49 officially over.

Top of Fickle

We made it!

Down at the bottom we regrouped and headed over to the plaza at the center of town. We started whooping and hollering and getting any stranger to join in. If there is ever a time to be completely self centered and cocky, this was it. “Bike49 is back in town… We made it!… We’re back… Hello everyone!” A group of teenage girls joined in when Sara prompted them to scream for us. A couple of street blocks erupted into cheering while closer to downtown we just got confused stares.

At the plaza the greeting party was small, very small. We unexpectedly saw a few friends but mostly talked to reporters and talked among ourselves. It was certainly a day of no regrets that threw twists and turns at us. Now what? Off to Big Pete’s or Live from NY, the two best Pizza places in Arcata. But for the long term, who knows? How do five people assimilate back into more ordinary life after a year on the road?

When we started bike49 last May we would have been overwhelmed to think about the entire route. Instead we focused on more obtainable, short term goals.  Our first goal was getting to Coos Bay, OR for our first presentation.  The next goal was Alaska, and after that, we focused on making it back to the United States.  When we left Sacramento last week our goal was to make it to Fort Bragg, a familiar bike touring layover for the five of us.  And now, two days from Arcata, our final goal is Arcata. This is the home stretch, and it is good to be home.

Eureka is only ten miles from Arcata, our final stop.

We left Sacramento last week and biked to the bike friendly city of Davis, where bike lanes hugged every road and where there are enough bikers to need bike roundabouts at bike path intersections.  From Davis we climbed out of the central valley, trading fruit trees for lonely oaks as we headed to the coast.  The road lead us through the Napa Valley, California’s wine country, where the grapes are pruned and lined up like saluting soldiers waiting for the next order.   As we approached the coast, redwood trees began to replace the fancy named vineyards with perfectly pruned rosebushes.  And finally we were cruising through the narrow road shaded by the redwood forest.

Wine country on our way to the coast

The redwood forest is something special.  We started our trip over a year ago in the redwoods, but we must have been jaded.  We had been living among the largest trees on Earth, and though we saw them as beautiful and explored them on hikes and bike rides, we didn’t stare at them with awe.  Now, one year later, we have pedaled through the forests of the Rockies, the Sierras, and the Appalachian Mountains; we have pedaled under cypress trees in the south, sugar maples in the east, and ponderosa pines in the west.  Now I ride among the redwoods and stare at them in awe, like it is the first time I have ever seen them.

Our first night back in the redwoods

I forgot how big the redwoods are.  The trees shoot skyward, impressively tall and impressively big. I picture them racing upward, fighting for the sky, watching the ground beneath them disappear.  And as we race by, I could reach out and touch them.  The highway curves, narrowly missing the giant trunks that seem to squeeze the road narrower.  The road is dappled with the little light that travels through the canopy.   The ground along the road is dappled with ferns and berries and sorrel; a carpet of green that seems even greener after our stint in the desert.  We all hoot and holler as we ride through the redwoods, this is our home turf, this is it. We are approaching the end.

Matt cruises through the redwoods

Even a week from Arcata, we are biking through our home turf.  In college we spent our week long breaks for Thanksgiving and Spring Break biking loops around the North Coast.  Now on familiar roads we remind each other of random events that made us love touring:  “This is where we found 91 bucks”, “this is where we camped on the spring break tour part two”, “this is where Victor drank a quart of egg nog”.   And when we hit Fort Bragg, we know exactly how to get to Uncle Tom’s cabin.

Uncle Tom and Aunt Susan are Tommy and Aaron’s family, but by now they are familiar friends to us all.  Truthfully, their house is a legend.  This was my sixth time stopping by Uncle Tom’s cabin, and like the first five times I was not disappointed.  Tom and Susan built a wonderful house, but left the small cabins they lived in while building the house standing.  We take showers, warm up by the fire, spread out our stuff between the cabins, and enjoy watching the rain from inside.  Tom and Susan serve us pasta of gourmet caliber, and we eat till we can’t eat any more.  Tom pulls out photos from previous bike tours, and we all laugh.  We became friends on the tours that passed through Uncle Tom’s; we brainstormed and talked about bike49 on those tours even before bike49 had a name or route or website.

No bike tour is complete without visiting Uncle Tom

Fort Bragg was not just a great rest stop, but an important milestone.  When we hit Fort Bragg on the coast of California, we were finally done heading west.  And when we hurried out of the Pacific Ocean, during the half hour of sun we had that day, we had finally swam in the Atlantic, the Gulf, and the Pacific Ocean.  I was especially happy because it has been a dream since high school to bike across the county.  Since I broke my ankle last fall, I had not yet biked coast to coast.  But atlast, in Fort Bragg, my dream had come true.

From Fort Bragg we headed north along the coast.  The ocean is so blue and traces the slowly curving horizon.  The waves crashing on the beach turn white from the powerful collisions and act as a highlighter where the land meets the sea.  Wildflowers bloom on the hills and spray the roadsides with purples and oranges and yellows. Even more, our time on the coast is warm and sunny.  More often than not we have seen the ocean in grays, our bodies cold and wet from the rain.  Now the sun is out, the winds are gentle, and we are in biking paradise.  I had forgotten how glorious the riding on the coast could be, living here I had taken it for granted.

The Pacific Ocean

It is not just the coast and redwood forests that we took for granted.  It is the roads that curl around them, and the hills that lift those roads straight up from sea level.  We have traveled many miles and descended many hills, but it is the hills here on the North Coast that I love.  We climbed Leggit Pass, the longest climb on the Pacific Coast bike route. The climb was perfect: steady, beautiful, smooth, few cars.  The downhill was glorious.  I couldn’t stop smiling as we flew down the hill.  We rode as a pack, chasing each other through the 10 mph bends we take at 25 mph.  We leaned into the curves and I screamed part from the thrill, part to egg on the others, and part to be loud.  But mostly I screamed for the fun of it, because bombing down a windy road, in a t-shirt, is my favorite thing in the world.

It has been wonderful biking so many new roads in new forests and along new coasts, but it has been wonderful to bike familiar roads, bomb down familiar hills, see familiar faces, and feel like we made it back home.   Thinking about the route before we left was too overwhelming, but we took it week by week and now we are on the home stretch.  Now it is too overwhelming to think about it being over.  Stay tuned for that…

These birds are getting ready to leave the nest and I can't help but think of us getting ready to enter the real world once again.

Every night I write a quick few paragraphs in a small, pink, spiral notebook. It seems the most action packed days, the days when the pages could be filled with unplanned adventures, inspiring scenery descriptions, and morale-saving strangers, those are the days when repeating the day in words  is simply too overwhelming.  Instead, I side step the flowery language and superfluous grammar and just write words that in years to come will send me back to a stranger’s home or a lonely, mountain road.   Yesterday, for example, between a short- yet profane- incomplete sentence about head winds, and another short statement about the library, I wrote in my journal the words: Randy, candy, new chain.

We met Randy in Lone Pine, California and he invited us in for much needed showers and laundry.  Of course, he didn’t stop there.  I’ll never forget that bag of candy he set before us.  Knowing he was a biker himself, we didn’t even have to warn him that we would be putting a huge dent in his candy stash.  While eating candy, we quizzed Randy on locations for bike stores, grocery stores, and thrift stores in the next town north.  When Randy heard I needed a new chain, he went to his garage and got me a new chain.

But I digress.  This is not a story about California. Instead, I must skip back a few dozen pages in my spiral notebook to the red rock deserts of Utah. We have neglected writing about the desert, not because we had nothing to say on the subject, but because recounting the hundreds of miles of beautiful places we have seen is kinda overwhelming.  Where do you start?  How about a few unorganized sentences and pictures to match :

We crossed into Utah, but there was no sign.  We settled on finding the word Utah at a pizza place a few days later.

Tommy has been dreaming of riding along side horses for some time now.  In Utah, his dream came true.

Comb Ridge, a place Edward Abbey takes readers in his book The Monkey Wrench Gang, inspires me to keep climbing the hill so I could get a better view.

We got a nice silhouetted view of Monument Valley, one of many incredible rock sculptures time and water has carved in the desert.

We climb the Moke Dugway, a road of switchbacks cut straight up a mesa.  Approaching the mesa you couldn’t even see where the road would take you.  It was one of the best climbs of the trip.

Tommy and Aaron’s parents joined us for a few weeks in Utah.  It was great to have Mary and Marion around.  They spoiled us with pancake breakfasts, wonderful diners, beer, and good company.

Mary and Marion helped us carry food and water;  that way we could spend more time exploring the desert, and less time worrying about running out of water.  Towns are small and spread out.  We needed to buy food and fill up water for 4,5,or 6 day stretches at times.  Town is also where you find showers and … art.

Taking a rest day to hike down a canyon to some ruins, we found the ruins full of pottery shards and corn cobs.

The great thing about bike touring in Utah is the availability of public land to camp on.  On public lands managed by the Forest Service and BLM, you can camp just about anywhere, thus we would just pull of the road when we are tired and have great views at every camp site. One night, however, the winds were so strong we took shelter in a culvert.

We cross several steep canyons containing precious water.   Watching the murky Colorado River cut through the deep canyon it is easy to see the effect water has on the desert.

Many people travel from National Park to National Park.  The parks are beautiful, but it might be some of the unnamed canyons we biked along or unvisited roadside mesas that I remember most fondly.

But of course, the National Parks are incredible places, and I am so thankful they have been protect for us to see and discover and enjoy.  We explored several National Parks in Utah.  First up was Capitol Reef.

Our Next National Park was Bryce Canyon.

And then we explored Zion National Park.

Now you see why writing a story about Utah was so overwhelming.  There was too much to say.  I could write pages about the beauty of the desert; pages about the cyclist we met; pages about how fun it was to have Mary and Marian join us; pages about how any one that has ever thought about going on a bike tour in Utah should go on a bike tour in Utah.  Hopefully I have covered the basis in pictures and the scraps of sentences.

The basis of course is that biking Utah was grand.

This story is about a man we met shrouded in suspicion and mystery; we’ve spent days discussing the facts, a source of curiosity. We’ve been told to watch for strangers but on a trip like this, you talk to people you don’t know or else the experience you would miss.

But now there is something that we really must share and in making our judgments I hope we are fair. To label someone a con-man is quite harsh, but as we review the facts his whole story could have been a farce.

On the odd chance this wild story we were told was true, the identity of the man is hidden behind Aaron. But really, a multi-millionaire bumming a few bucks? John, can you understand our confusion?

It was in a coffee shop we saw him sitting by himself,

At the time we didn’t know he was a man of great wealth.

We noticed his backpack and made him out as a hiker,

It didn’t much matter that we are instead bikers.

A traveler is a traveler there is no difference you see,

He is just like you and I, there will be instant camaraderie.

He told stories galore, he’d traveled so far,

From South America to Australia and even Zanzibar.

From the places he’d been his facts added up,

And the stories went on, fueled by the joe from his cup.

Then his secret came out, he was a man of great wealth,

He’d traveled the past 45 years, thanks to his health.

364 million, one less than days in year,

He could buy planes and yachts and even my soul, I fear.

His face was sunburned but not wrinkled his skin,

His beard neatly shaven, the perfect gentleman.

His gear was typical, like Merrell shoes and The North Face,

If he was a hiker, nothing seemed out of place.

We were killing time, it was a windy day,

We all decided we should walk the same way.

Over to the library we went for some interneting,

But now I must fill in the details I’ve been omitting.

He was waiting for a package, just as we have you see,

But why send such important stuff (like 5K cash) through general delivery?

“I travel around as free as a bird,

Then send for my money, it’s the Mormon connection, surely you’ve heard.

I come from a large family with sisters and brothers,

And although not biological, at least a few mothers.

A polygamist brother, no wait there are two,

There are 19 of us in all, give or take a few.”

Are you Mormon?

“Not I.

It’s my family.

I am blessed.

I’ve had 2 cups of coffee now look at what I’ve confessed.”

He was paranoid about theft, he was a private man he said,

“No pictures please, they’ll be after me, I’ll be dead!”

But here comes the whammy that blows holes like Swiss cheese,

He asks us for money, maybe he’s not so grandioseeese.

He talked about his millions like a rapper, dropping a grand here and there,

He’s even donated to other cyclists, we might get our share.

How embarrassing for him, it’s done secretly when asked,

A $20 is slapped in his palm which closes on it fast.

We’re all parting ways, what’s your name we ask,

“They call me John Hughes, it’s great our paths have passed.”

Well my name is Sean Penn and over there Doc Holliday,

There’s Meryl Streep in the crowd, we could go on all day.

If this was all truth or lies, we may never know,

His name was John Hughes,

But was he friend or foe?

It feels almost religious as I crawl along the shoulder of the road. I am bent over the handlebars, like a follower praying to the wind and the road.  I tuck into my bike, trying to make myself more invisible to the wind, and it feels like I am on a pilgrimage to some distant horizon at a sorry speed of six mph. With four miles to town I can see the first sign of a city in the distance: the water tower.  It’s nothing more than a lollipop stuck into the range land of this high desert country, but that lollipop points to the wind breaks of buildings and a break from the oppressive desert squalls.  Water tower in sight, I do what I have been doing for the last 10 days: I keep my head down and plow ahead.

The water tower points to wind breaks

Wind is air moving from high to low pressure. Terrain, the rotation of the earth, heat from the sun; they all change the intensity and direction of the wind. None of that matters when the winds are so strong you must struggle to bike DOWN a hill. I don’t accept the wind though I know that the prevailing winds go from west to east and that it is spring so the winds are even more intense.  No, I don’t accept the wind; I bike with my head down resenting the wind, dreaming of the next wind break.

After two days of slogging through the wind on our westward advancement to the Rocky Mountains it was obvious from both pace and moral that a new strategy was in order.  It is true, no one said it was going to be easy, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t try.

The first strategy was to bike when the wind was calmest.  This meant biking early in the morning and late in the evening, leaving us to wait out the worst of the afternoon winds somewhere on the open road.  This new strategy brought us to a lonely house on a long stretch of road lined mostly with prairie, winter wheat, cow pastures, and oil fields.  After explaining our situation to the woman that greeted us in the driveway, we were invited to relax in the yard. Under the shade of a tree, blocked from the wind by the house, five kids stared at us from the windows.  It was obvious why we had an audience: we were adults, on bikes, picnicking in their lawn, somewhere in the panhandle of Texas. It turns out we picked the right house for such an unusual request.  The kids greeted us with lemonade and ice, we were invited in for showers, and we got full use of the kitchen to cook our vegetable curry.

Aaron biking with one of the kids during our six hour break

Two meals and a shower later, the sun was setting and the winds were calming.  We took off towards California, with little wind and a beautiful view of red sky broken by silhouettes of power lines, oil wells, and neglected homes half swallowed into the plains. And though we managed to get a full day of riding in, we knew that we needed a new strategy.  It is, after all, harder than you think to spend a day waiting out the wind.  You never really rest.  It is more like sitting in a waiting room waiting for your name to be called. And so we concocted our next plan.

Biking into the sun set

Our newest strategy, inspired by the wind and yesterdays affair, began early in the morning. The plan was to bike as many miles as possible before the worst of the afternoon winds. Our morning and early afternoon was devoted to biking with a quick lunch on the side of the road. Lounging was cut from our typical lunch time routine and we settled on stuffing ourselves with PB&Js, crackers, and carrots.  The winds were building, and it almost felt like it was yelling “eat faster, I’m coooommmmminnnnnnnggggggggg…”

A typical view of winter wheat

The wind was coming and we were still 25 miles from the next town, Sunray, TX.  The miles to Sunray were spent biking in a formation similar to flying geese.  The person in the front absorbed the shock of the pounding wind, allowing the followers a chance to rest.  After a time, the person in the front would move to the back, allowing a new person to be the hero and keep us going.  There was no shoulder on the road, and though there was little traffic, it would become necessary to break the formation and loose the wind break when a car needed to pass. We were rag dolls, waving in the wind, watching for Sunray, TX.

Like flying geese we draft

Before Sunray we pass plastic bags entangled in barbed wire fences struggling, flapping to be free.  I gage the direction of the wind and the intensity by looking for clues. I note the wind on my skin, feeling the current of air trespassing through the weave of my worn-out jacket.  I watch the trees and the grasses.  I look for flags.  I never miss a flag.  It is programmed into me to watch where the flags fly, where plastic bags flap.

Sunray was everything we hoped it would be.  Buildings blocked the wind and some of the buildings were full of ice cream we could feast on.  The five of us downed 10 twin pops and 10 ice cream sandwiches before we were human again.  We had made it to Sunray, but none of us had enjoyed getting there.  It was time for yet another strategy.

Our next strategy was more a product of circumstance than calculation.   It started the day we arrived in Sunray and were directed to a sizable windbreak: the Methodist church. The church was made of brick, and seemed solid enough to withstand the wind.  The picnic tables, on the north side of the building, were spared from the worst of the wind, and so we waited. As we sat reading, dust collected in the seams of our books, and coated our skin and clothes.  We watched dark clouds of dust and smoke circle the town, and filter through the buildings to our picnic table.

The wind carries what it can.  It picks up top soil from the freshly plowed fields and delivers the dirt miles away.  It circulates pollution, smoke, pollen, and seeds, anything light enough and not tied down.  The wind doesn’t choose what to push down or take away; it pushes what it can and carries what it will. Today in the panhandle it was carrying dirt, smoke, trash, pollen, and our desire to bike through town and far away.

Back at the church, evening came, the winds were still strong, and kids started showing up at the church for movie night.  By the time the stars were out we were eating popcorn, watching Toy Story Three, and planning to spend the night at the church.  The winds never died down that night.

Before the movie the kids gathered around to hear about our trip

The next morning the gusts were still ravenous and we were in no hurry to confront another head wind. We opted for church.  I could digress with tails of our first church service of the trip or my opinions of religion, but at last this is a blog about the wind.  After church we attended a fundraiser barbeque and auction, where a crème pie went for $210.  We returned home, to our swath of land next to the church, had diner, and packed our bags.  This was our third strategy: wait out the day in town and bike at night.

Auctioning off pies and beef to raise money for a church mission

We have not done many night rides on this trip.  It is one of my favorite times to bike.  Cars, with their bright lights and loud engines stand out in the quiet of night and this makes me feel safer.  I can hear and see the cars coming long before they pass.  Night riding also feels faster than during the day.  Your sense of perspective is skewed and it almost feels like floating. Lights from distant farm equipment blink on the horizon.  Because it is so flat, the blinking lights form a 360 degree ring around us that mimic the stars not lost in the moons glow.

Waiting out the wind at a coffee shop

I could continue with more and more of our strategies to cope with the wind, but they are really all versions of the same.  We ride the most when the winds are bearable.  When the winds make us want to scream we trudge along until an acceptable wind break lets us rest.  We find wind breaks behind buildings, in libraries, and roadside diners.  Of course finding the wind break is only half of it, the other half of the time is deciding what to do.  We read, we wait, and we ask each other what to do.

“what do you want to do?”

“I don’t care. What do you want to do?”

“should we ride?”

“I don’t care, do you want to ride?”

It goes on and on like this, us indecisively determining our blustery fate.  And when we finally ride, when the others look like nothing more than a dark blemish on the road, I have conversations with myself.

“What are you doing out here sara?”

“This is not fun, biking is just not fun”

“I hate the wind”

Head down I see only what the next few feet of pavement has to offer.  I look up to see the approaching mountains we have been dreaming about for so long.  I look up to see pronghorn, elk, deer, scissor-tailed flycatchers, cows, meadowlarks, and the layers of distant mesas, but only for a bit.  Then my head goes back down to watch my wheel.

scissor-tailed flycatcher

It sounds depressing, and maybe it is just that we have not taken a break in awhile so my body is tired and my motivation is deflated.  I have taken up the habit of turning on my ipod and listening to This American Life, one hour-long episode after another.  It is a great distraction from the wind and gives my mind something new to think about.

I can’t really compare the last two weeks of biking to a pilgrimage. For starters, I don’t consider Nevada (our 49th state) as the promise land, and the glimmering lights of Las Vegas are certainly not shrines.  It also seems to me that on a true pilgrimage you couldn’t escape the worst winds by having pancakes in a diner, reading books at the library, or drinking lemonade in the windbreak of a house. No, these last windy weeks have tested us, but we are not pilgrims.  We are just bikers, blowing in the wind, trying to make it to the next wind break.

the wind is strong enough to have windmills

Our day to visit Delaware Ridge Elementary finally came and like most anticipated events – Christmas, New Years’, your birthday – was gone all too quickly. For weeks and months we’ve looked forward to spending a day with these students and when it was over, it felt like the culmination of the more than 100 presentations we’ve done before this.

As you know, Delaware Ridge is where a group of 1^st graders have been following our progress since the start of the school year this fall (Teaching through more than a presentation). They’ve been learning about real people, everything from our eating habits to our navigation methods, and this creates more hands-on, purposeful learning, while still covering the standard skills of reading, writing, and math. This school takes a relatively new approach to learning and best of all is a public school serving a rather diverse community of Bonner Springs, KS.

We arrived the night before, traveling from Norwood, KS, up north, past Fritz’s, and out west to the edge of development, where the prairie takes over. We planned to stay at the school, either camping outside or “camping” inside, and all we needed was a little windy and cold weather to make the sensible decision to sleep in the classrooms. We’ve always joked that one day we’d set up our tents where we were going to present and just stay inside them, pretending to still be asleep as the students walk in. But we still didn’t go for it, perhaps because it wouldn’t be as funny as we thought and would mean a chaotic start to the morning. We met the two other first grade teachers, Miss Rockers and Miss Mayer, who have been working with Molly, and went through some slightly awkward introductions since they of course already knew us.

Entering the school there was bike49 stuff everywhere in each of the three classrooms and outside in the communal pod. None of us have any experience with being a rockstar (of course we’re not), or being famous or infamous for any reason, so to see pictures and articles about ourselves still shocks us a little bit. There were posters for each of us – Tommy, Aaron, Sara, and myself – listing what the students knew about us, what they didn’t know, and what they wanted to know, all gathered from Skype interviews, our online biographies, and blog posts. In the corner, taking up a set of bookshelves, was a museum almost resembling a shrine that included a variety of bike49 memorabilia. There was a post card we’d sent, a water filter, some of our famous quotes – “We’ll just wing it” and “No one said it would be easy” – some bicycle books including Sara’s, “The Flying Giraffe,” some pictures, a newspaper article, and more! It was all a little overwhelming and I was hoping when the students finally got to meet us, and faculty as well, we didn’t disappoint.

Welcome bike49

Scheduled for the evening was a chance for the students and parents to come and meet us and roast marshmallows around the fire. As the kids showed up we went out behind the school and gathered some wood. Waking to the forest we encountered head high grasses (for a first grader) and ruts several feet deep. Molly helped some kids over the deep ruts while some teamed up and helped each other. The forest was full of branches with thorns on them but as we went a little farther we found dead wood to make a fire with. Everyone took a few pieces. It’s amazing how much wood you get with 20 sets of hands. Heading toward the fire pit the goal was to not drop any as we encountered the same obstacles on the way back.

For starting the fire all eyes turned on members of bike49. We all are pretty competent at making fires but we don’t regularly light one. On this trip we’ve made less than 5 fires because we do all our cooking on camp stoves and being tired at the end of the day, tend to go to sleep early. As the students piled sticks around a few pieces of crumpled paper, Tommy and I prayed the fire would start with one try. The wind helped, the wood was dry enough, and all the kids were excellent helpers, allowing the fire to get good and hot quickly. We forgot a quick safety talk before things started burning but with parents supervising their kids, and stinging eyes and hot hands being good indicators of blowing smoke and being too near a fire, there was nothing to worry about. Before long the marshmallows were put onto metal skewers, being cooked four at a time. Some kids roasted them slow and brown like my older sister used to, and others stuck them in the flames letting them char up – my preferred method as a kid. Around the food table some of us bike49 members grabbed some apples and before long realized we started a trend. Many more kids began to grab an apple while they waited for their turn or even passed on making a s’more. One thick cloud blocked out the sun, the temperature dropped, and soon everyone was leaving for the evening.

After less sleep than desired, a trend with the past week’s busy schedule, we got up early and planned for the arrival of the students. Our anticipation must have been as great as the students. At 8:10 they came in and on many of their faces was a big smile as they saw us. Some were shy and others told stories, wanting to share anything, bike49 related or not. In my classrooms we passed the time before community circle by shooting bean bags at a clip-on basket hoop. I got down on one knee and tried to block shots resulting in big lobs being thrown up over my head. There was plenty of sharing and when some of the students insisted I take shots, I gave it my best but didn’t do nearly as well as they did. As 8:30 rolled around it was time more community circle, a gathering of the whole school twice a month and the place where the first graders would introduce us.

Along with joking about being in our tents when students arrive, we’d also joked in the past about making a grand entrance into a classroom, riding our bikes right in the door. This is exactly what was planned and happened at community circle. After we were introduced we rode one loop around the gymnasium, smiling and waving as if in a parade, before taking our seats behind the first grade classes. During the next 30 minutes we heard the 1^st graders perform the bike49 song

http://www.bike49.org/Bike49song.mp3

they’d worked on in music class and all four of us were nominated as leaders with Sara being described as, “having a perfect brain, like an elephant.” I think the 1^st graders were proud to have us sitting right by them. There were other songs and even rally to get everyone excited for standardized testing. As we left to a closing song, a photographer from the Kansas City Star shot some rapid fire photos on his $4000 dollar setup, making the whole moment go to our heads even more.

Unlike all the other talks we’ve done to date, today was more than just a presentation, but a day to spend time with the kids which is really more enjoyable and relaxing than having a short window of time to talk and make an impression. Back at the classrooms we started with the typical routine of the day called morning circle. Here a few agenda items are taken care of like the date, the day, counting lunch orders, and greeting one another. The greeting would go like this: “Good morning Tommy.” “Good Morning Matt.” “High five, hand shake, or a hug?” “High five.” This takes place in a circle so each person greets and gets greeted. Probably 90% of the students in Molly’s class went for the hug.

After some reading time, we loaded up our powerpoint presentation and all piled in one room. There’s a good chance most of the students had seen these pictures before but from their expression and interest we could see they thoroughly enjoyed our typical presentation. All the students took notes on what we talked about and the goal was not to write down everything that we said because of course that would be too much. They were working on a lesson in shorthand!

Enough sitting and time to go outside! Recess has certainly been my favorite part of school in the past. Several games were played; jump rope, tag, soccer, or playing on the playground, but my favorites were soccer – kicking a ball as hard as you can in any direction and chasing after it – and tag – chase people or be chased, it doesn’t matter. Usually I try not to get the students going too crazy indoors, but with that being the goal of recess, it was not the time to be cautious.

Red light Green light

We took a short break for ourselves but joined the students for the second half of lunch. I took off my hat and one of the students tried it on, pretending to be the real Matt. I took a picture and soon everyone wanted to try on the hat, all pretending to be the real Matt. Soon everyone wanted to take a picture. Small hands are not as certain as older ones but I didn’t worry too much about getting the camera dropped because with the weather I’ve exposed it to, it only turns on half the time as it is. I’ll remember those moments for the laughter and silliness and it was some of my favorites of the day.

In the afternoon we split into four groups and set up our tents and sleep system for all the students to try. I forgot to plan ahead and I made two fatal mistakes. My sleeping pad had no air in it, and knowing how kids don’t sit still so well, did not want to take a minute to blow it up. The other assumption I made was a sleeping bag and thermarest outside the tent would be as good as trying it inside. With 11 kids wanting to test out my system – sleeping pad, sleeping bag, pillow and all – I started outside the tent. But once the tent was up, and this took just a matter of minutes from all the eager hands that were already trying to piece the poles together, everyone wanted to be in the tent, pretending to be camping and falling asleep. While I’d so far gotten no complaints from my half filled air mattress, one of the boys was sure to mention at the end that, “next time you come you should make sure to fill the mat with air all the way.” It’s hard being a teacher and knowing all the tricks and wise methods that appeal to youngsters. We often think of teachers that put in full day every day as the real heroes as they stand there in disbelief on how we could ever ride our bikes 50 miles a day for a year.

The good thing about grade school is how the days are organized and to keep things fun we were always changing course. Next we headed outside for a hike, into the same woods where we had gathered firewood the night before. I packed up my tent and got things in order before joining them. After a quick sprint I caught up with the tail end of the hikers and amused them by claiming I flew in from the sky, even though they weren’t having any of  it. Molly then led everyone in an activity of what we notice about being outside. Many noted they were far from the school or saw cows or buffalo. Some noted the temperature and others the animal tracks and something else – ew, animal poop.

The day was going by so quick and had a very surreal feeling to it. Back inside, Sara read her book about a flying giraffe. It’s about a giraffe that grows up and drives a car but realizes it doesn’t provide the excitement he’s looking for until he comes upon a… bike! It’s a book Sara created on this trip and finished while her ankle healed in Kansas City, finding a printer and making 100 copies.

The last activity was closing circle. Some of the students recounted their favorite part of the day and then we left them with a gift we’d created – a friendship bracelet with the bike49 colors of orange, black, and a little light blue. They loved them. Some slid them up their arm and joked that they didn’t have one anymore or lost it. A few took them off and boasted how easily they could untie the knot. One girl promised she’d wear it forever.

The influence we’ve had on this group of first graders and the impact they’ve had on us has been huge. We’ve been studied and idolized and hopefully we’ve lived up to the reputation as the real thing. These first graders have been a great influence on us. We think of them in our daily lives when choosing what actions to take and what message we’ll leave behind. If we feel like quitting we remember them and we don’t want to let down people that are counting on us.

In the pod we all said goodbye and this time it was all hugs, no high fives or handshakes. After all the stops in Kansas City, and finally this last one at Delaware Ridge, we left feeling like this was the culmination of bike49. It could end today because we’ve completed everything we wanted to. But this is not the case. We’ve got mountains to look forward to and the desert southwest and many more children to introduce to the world of bike touring.

Saying goodbye.

A sneak peak at the bike49 movie.  Enjoy…

So there I was, back in high school, doing what scared me most in high school: standing up in front of the class and giving a speech.  Only this time, standing in front of a familiar classroom, talking to one of my favorite teachers and 20 high school students, I wasn’t scared.  I was excited.   I was excited to return to a familiar place changed; to picture myself eight years earlier unaware of the paths life would lead me down.  Biking to my hometown and presenting to my old schools was a real highlight of bike49 for me.

Matt speaks to the generation of students at Sara's old high school

As we rode through Kansas City the roads became more and more familiar the closer we got to my parent’s house where I grew up.  We took a route through the city that I had cycled many times before on a commute to a summer job.  There was none of the normal stress of a city.  Not only did I know where we were going and how to get there, I knew the best roads.  We traveled through Kansas City to my parent’s house pointing out childhood haunts, landmarks they had heard about from stories, and soaking in that feeling of being on familiar ground, of feeling at home.

My old commute through the city. Now I am followed by my friends from California

We arrived at my parent’s hours earlier than I had expected.  Turns out a mile in middle school or even high school is not as far as a mile now.  Perspective changes as you ride more and more miles.  What was an epic nine mile commute to work is now a few more miles that you don’t even think about.

Thanks Dad!

My parents pulled out the red carpet for us.  We ended up staying six nights, the longest of our trip.  They organized a reception, so family and friends could come, visit and meet the rest of the gang. My mom cooked mountains of food, and aside from the award for longest stay, my parent’s get the award for the most home cooking.  It was a real treat to be pampered, and take a break from our camp stove meals.

My mom and dad pulled out the red carpet for us. THANKS!!

Of course I don’t really know what to do in cities.  Exploring a city to me is usually going on long walks or bike rides to nowhere.  So, I showed bike49 Kansas City like only I would.  We biked through different neighborhoods, visited the local bar and grill to play shuffleboard, took the neighbor’s dog for a walk, bought candy from the popcorn store I use to work out, and went shopping at the local thrift store.   And then to really make the Kansas experience complete I took them to my elementary school, middle school, and high school.

not bike49's typical hang out place

Speaking to the next generation of students at my old schools was especially rewarding for me.  Not only was I exposing some kids from Kansas to the mountains of Alaska and the Swamps of Florida, but I was proving to them that even kids from Kansas can grow up to see those places for themselves.  As I spoke to the classes I looked out and saw myself 8,12,20 years ago listening to a guest speaker and dreaming of the adventures I would have.

18 years ago it was me sitting in this crowd listening to guest speakers. Yes it is true...we would have liked to see a few more smiles.

The guest speaker I particularly remember spoke to my elementary school.  I don’t know his name, but he came every year and told my entire school about the exotic places he had been and showed pictures of the animals he had encountered.  Sitting cross legged in the gym, feet falling asleep, I began daydreaming about when I would get to see the animals of the world. That man opened a door that has lead me to where I am now.  I hope our presentations in Kansas have opened doors to the next generation.

we ate school lunches with the next generation of middle schoolers.

I spent the first 18 years of my life in Kansas.  I learned to ride a bike in Kansas.  As bike49 pedaled through Kansas City to the house where I grew up, we rode the roads that first molded me into a biker.  We passed several of my early commutes where I learned how to find good biking roads in a busy city.  We passed neighborhoods I had gotten lost in, have crashed in, and have struggled to get too because I thought they were so far.  It was in Kansas that I became addicted to that feeling of accomplishment and independence that comes with going on a long ride or getting somewhere with your own power, and to return on my bike after so many miles was a triumph for the little kid in me still learning to ride no-hands around the block.

Like mother like daughter. My mom was a pro at shooting a typical bike49 photo. Thanks mom!

The last few weeks have been especially fun for me, as we have been biking through my home turf. We made it to St. Louis and took a ride up into the arch, thanks in large part to the $100 bill I found in Illinois. From St. Louis and the “gateway to the west” we made our last substantial turn of the trip and are now more or less headed straight back to California. The ride across Missouri was a lot of fun. Thanks to Rails-to-Trails we were able to leave the roads behind for a few days and pedal the Katy Trail across much of Missouri. You can read more about the trail at http://www.bike49.org/2011/03/the-katy-trail/. Missouri also surprised us with 6 inches of snow. Luckily we were doing a few presentations in the town my mom went to college, and thus had a warm place to stay.

After crossing Missouri we landed in my home town of Kansas City. It was a great experience to pedal familiar roads to the house where I grew up. It is one of the first cities of the trip that at least one of us was really familiar with, and thus our time spent lost was greatly reduced and our time on fun side roads was increased. In Kansas City, my parents welcomed us for not only a few day, but 6 days. Thanks mom and dad for letting us take over the house and eat all the food in the kitchen! We did 10 presentations in Kansas City, including my old elementary, middle, and high school. More than once, during a presentation, I thought: wow, I am back in middle school but this time I brought three boys from California. I certainly didn’t see that coming when I was in middle school 12 years ago.

Between presentations we have been checking out the sites, relaxing, and even managed a radio interview on the public radio station. We have done a few radio interviews via phone, but this was our first in-studio interview and it was a lot of fun. Listen to our interview with Steve Kraske on Up to Date. Starts at about 1:45 into the broadcast.

here

or go to http://www.kcur.org/uptodate.html and find our March 23rd interview.

Kansas (state 42) is also where our fifth member, Alyssum, is re-joining us. She pedaled the first 3,000 miles with us and now will pedal the last 3,000 miles back to California.

Today we are headed only 20 miles out of town to a elementary school that has been following us for our entire trip. We are very excited to share our stories and pictures with the first graders in person. You can read more about this incredible class at http://www.bike49.org/2011/02/teaching-through-more-than-a-presentation/.

I hope everyone is enjoying the beginning of spring. Now is the time to dust off the old bicycles from the garage, pump up the tires, oil the chain, and head out on an adventure of your own. All of us on bike49 started off with small trip to the store, work, or school; and now have pedaled 12,200 miles around the country. Maybe a small trip to the store will be help you prepare for your own trip.