The Parkes and Stockham Cycle Part 2: TransAmerica

Date: Saturday 28th August  

Route: Rawlins, Wyoming – Near Cowdrey, Colorado 

Distance:  99 miles 

Total climb: 4305ft

Net climb: 1193ft

We left sprawling Rawlins in our wake and headed off through the industrial outskirts of the town.  Some excellent navigational work from Greta the Garmin took us through the small town of Sinclair and onto the I-80.  I had been hesitant about the 15 miles on the interstate (the US equivalent of a motorway), however it proved to be a surprisingly pleasant section of the ride with wide, smooth hard shoulders and not too much traffic.

We turned off the interstate at Walcott and headed to the gas station to top up on drinks and snacks where we were greeted by an initially grumpy but ultimately gruffly charming attendant.  He allowed us to eat our snacks at the small table in the back of the station and offered us his thoughts on wide range of subjects from the timorous French armed forces to the rudeness of the Quebecois.  We left, amused and pleased to have avoided the rainstorm that had been gathering around us when we stopped. 

The remainder of the morning’s ride was through the high grassland plains of Eastern Wyoming and into the charming town of Saratoga (delayed by a puncture in my back tire), where we met the RV and Team Heagney, who had managed to acquire a new camera for us.  We decided that we needed a hot lunch, so rather than a sandwich in the RV we headed into the diner on Main Street.  Our burgers were excellent, however we failed to notice the sign saying “If you’re in a hurry you are in the wrong town” and also failed to take account of the fact that a High School girls volleyball tournament meant that there were about 25 food orders ahead of ours.  Our lunch took an hour and fourty-five minutes.  Still, it was a good break and meant that we were well set for the next 18 miles, into the wind, which took us to the town of Riverside and another convenience store stop.

After Riverside we had a 28 mile uphill stretch to the Colorado border, into another gathering storm.  Across the plains we could see huge forks of lightning, which appeared to be striking exactly at the border – where we had planned to meet the RV.  We rode into the darkness and, through a fairly large helping of luck, managed to avoid the storm completely.  We arrived at the border at around 7:30 and, in homage to the storm that had passed us by, engaged in spot of celebratory electric boogaloo for the cameras….

After a quick sandwich in the RV we headed back out on the road.  At that stage we had not secured a campsite and so the plan was for Team Heagney to find a spot and then drive back to let us know where we would be staying.  We continued in the gathering dark and as we began to climb what would be the final hill of the day we heard a pack of animals howling.  Fred concluded that wolves stood between us and the way ahead, a conclusion which received some support from the roadkill that we encountered a few hundred metres later which had had its heart eaten out – apparently a telltale sign of wolves.  I retained a degree of scepticism but at Parkes’ instigation we began to pick up the pace, only to be met by the RV and Team Heagney who told us that the campsite was a couple of miles up the road.  Although we informed Team Heagney that we may have heard some wolves in the surrounding forest the RV drove off to get the campsite set up.  

We sprinted the remaining couple of miles to the campsite, of which we were the only residents for the evening.  Fortunately, the Team Heagney banter compensated for the fact that the campsite had the feel of a budget Hollywood horror movie.  We drifted off to sleep with no more than the occasional joke wolf-howl from John and Amanda.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

–           98.6 miles today – slightly disappointing (for a stat man like me) to fall short of a century day by so little;

–           The rather strange sight of thousands of acres of land containing only three cows;

–           Our efforts at punning when passing through Carbon County; speculating on whether the area was “neutral” during the civil war and on the “dating” rituals of the locals

JBS

Date: Friday 27th August  

Route: Sweetwater Station, Wyoming – Rawlins, Wyoming 

Distance: 85 miles 

Total climb: 2207ft

Net climb: 855ft

We set off from Sweetwater with a tailwind for the first 20 miles, after having a quick go with the handcarts on site.  A relatively easy stint took us to Jeffrey City, formally a small town thriving on the extracts from the local uranium mines. With the cessation of mining, the population disappeared almost overnight – we had discussed this with various people along the route to date, but were still surprised by what was left.

The ghost town had the slowly deteriorating infrastructure of what was clearly a bustling place, perfectly illustrated by the cafe we stopped at for toast and a soda. We were the only covers for the duration of our brief stay and enjoyed taking in the surroundings of the saloon, furnished with signs such as “wolves – state sponsored terrorists” and “cat – just another white meat”, whilst our hosts played Farmville on their laptops.

The next stop was Muddy Gap, reached with a light mile-long stroll for Jay, who suffered a flat tire within sight of the facilities. We were met by Team Heagney for lunch. The only noteworthy matter for the stop was that the shop there sold t-shirts with the phrase “Wind? What …wind?” – a hint for how the afternoon might pan out.

We made our way up a short climb onto a new plateau, where it became clear that a storm was brewing.  We raced through the wind and rain, with Jay on ‘tornado watch’ and me checking for trucks overtaking on the narrow and rough road. Once through a spell of rain, we turned towards the only significant climb of the day, ahead on the horizon. It looked to be a mile or two away, so after over half an hour of pedalling without appearing to get any closer, Jay checked Greta and confirmed that the straight we were on was 6.5 miles long. This is something we agreed would become more frequent in the coming weeks, but was tough on the motivation.

After scurrying up the climb to a second continental divide for the day, we were blessed with a gradual downhill almost all the way to Rawlins. This enabled easy free-wheeling and some conversation about route tactics and music. Sprawling Rawlins (population 8,538) was reached in good time, beating the RV to our KOA ‘kampsite’ for the evening.

Final notes:

– No photos today, due to issues with the camera.  We are getting a replacement tomorrow, all things being well.

– Jay went for a swim and I backed down, due to the water temperature.  This seemed to please him a bit too much.

– Jay also ate 5 large bowls of spaghetti bolognaise, which we now understand is the equivalent of 8 portions of pasta. I gave up after three bowls.

Date: Thursday 26th August 

Route: Lander, Wyoming – Sweetwater Station, Wyoming

Distance: 39 miles

Total climb: 2572ft

Net climb: 1370ft

Today was, in truth, a half-day although we managed to sort out some important non-pedalling matters.  For me the day started with my first experience of the US healthcare system.  For the last few days I have been coming down with a cough which has gradually moved down into my chest and so I walked about a mile to the Lander Medical Clinic to get myself checked out.  I can report that the service was fast, efficient and high tech (before I had even sat down I had had my blood pressure and oxygen level checked), if a little expensive at $80.  The doc prescribed a course of antibiotics and some cough syrup to help me sleep at night; no bed rest was required, so I was good to get back on the bike.  I left the clinic very happy with my treatment although the sheen was taken off the experience by the fact that my prescription drugs came to a grand total of $86.  On the basis of my very limited experience it is easy to see that there may be real problems with US healthcare, particularly for the least well off in society.

After I had walked back to the RV it was time to head, with Team Heagney, to the bike shop in Lander to pick up the new wheels that we had ordered a couple of days ago.  Our original wheels have been gradually worn down over the course of the ride and are now showing signs of the strain (with a few too many broken spokes) so it was time for Diana and Rosie to get some new shoes.

We dropped the bikes off with the guys at Freewheel Ski and Cycle, who were friendly and helpful and gave us a good deal on the new wheels.  Fred opted for a new rear wheel whilst I went for both a new front and rear wheel.  We left the bikes at the shop for the wheels to be fitted and to get generally tuned up – this was going to take a while so we had a few hours to kill in downtown Lander.  Along with Team Heagney we browsed in a couple of shops, lunched in an organic pie shop which, as it turned out did not offer pies at lunch and headed to the Safeway supermarket on the edge of town (a shop which was the first to pass muster with Team Heagney’s retail expert, John).

After we had stocked up on groceries for the evening it was time to pick up the bikes and set off in the blazing mid-day heat.  We had initially hoped to head to Jeffrey City (contrary to the advice of the guys in the bike shop) but then discovered that there was no longer an RV park to be found there.  Instead we settled on Sweetwater Station as our target for the day.

The ride itself was fairly unremarkable save for the heat which really was tough to bear.  It felt like a warm afternoon in the sixth circle of Dante’s Inferno.  We were again flanked by scrub grasslands and rocky outcrops, although these surroundings were rather less dramatic than the previous days.  We soldiered on through the heat and finished the day with a long winding climb, into the wind, up to the evocatively named Beaver Rim.  This plateau provided a fantastic viewpoint back across the valleys and rocky hills that we had been travelling through for the last few days.  The climb itself also provided Fred “David Bailey” Parkes with the chance to exercise his creative muscles in taking a series of four photographs from four different angles all at the same location.  The results, are, at the very least, photographs…

After completing the only significant climb of the day we made it to our campsite with the sun still fairly high in the sky.  The campsite was the Mormon Handcart Historic Site, which stands as a memorial to the Mormon families who, in order to escape religious persecution, headed West to Utah, carrying all of their possessions in wooden handcarts.  There is a Mormon Mission next to the campsite and also some examples of the handcarts which visitors are allowed to have a go with (obviously we gave them a whirl).  Given how tough it has been to make it this far, on top touring bikes and carrying about 35kg each it is hard to comprehend how difficult it must have been for those families to carry all of their worldly possessions, thousands of miles, in rickety wooden carts.  The Mormon belief system may be unusual, but the courage and determination of their forbears cannot be questioned.    

An unusual campsite, without doubt, but situated in a beautiful location which was a joy simply to sit back and soak in.  That said, we felt that we should drink our evening beer inside the RV in order not to cause offence to our new Mormon friends.  The beer tasted good; we hadn’t got too many miles under our belts, but the girls have some new wheels and are in good nick and we were surrounded by the immense high plains of Wyoming.

In other news:

–           My lunch included a soup described as a “Pork and Squash Soup” – unfortunately the cafe forgot to mention the Jalapeño chillies which were included therein.  For the second time in the trip I have been undone by hot food. 

–           Fred managed to cycle over a beer bottle and cut his leg in the early part of the ride.  Here’s hoping the cut heals up soon.  He exacted his vengeance on beverages in general by aggressively drinking two cans of Budweiser in the RV

–           Sweetwater Station – our base camp for the evening is so named because a wagon belonging to some of the early pioneers and carrying sugar, crashed into the river.  The pleasant name hides the fact that at that time, such a incident must have been disastrous.   We resisted the temptation to re-enact the incident by dropping some Haribo Gummybears into the river.

– At the campsite we met Al Young, a lady cyclist whose past adventures put our current efforts somewhat into the shade.  She was part of the Odyssey 2000, a circumnavigation of the world by bike, to mark the millennium.  She completed the ride, stopping only to recover after breaking her neck in France.  A pretty humbling achievement.

JBS

Date: Wednesday 25th August 

Route: Dubois, Wyoming – Lander, Wyoming

Distance: 76 miles

Total climb: 1867 ft

Net climb: -1489 ft

We left Dubois a little late, this time due to some work needed on inner tube pressures. However, it offered a good opportunity to visit the giant jackalope and take in Dubois by day. As we rolled out of town, a gentleman started playing the piano on the street, outside a saloon. This provided further confirmation of the importance of tourism and wild west-themed attractions to such a remote outpost.

The road ran through the Wind River Indian Reservation, past changing rock formations and hot scrubland. For most of the day, we were bombarded by crickets and grasshoppers (I think), jumping up from the road at us.  The front panniers have been useful and humane guards against mass leaping of these creatures, but really come into their own as a form of public transport.

I was amused for 9 miles by one cricket hitching a lift with Jay, wandering from pannier to pannier.  At one point, I thought it might eat the route map, before it alighted and vanished. Having not seen many cyclists going in the opposite direction, I’m unsure how it planned to return home.

On the theme of cricket, it is fair to say that a number of cracks had appeared in the track, which may have been excellent for spinners but proved painful for our bikes and bodies.  Boycott could have lost a set of jailer’s keys in a square foot of hard shoulder.

We stopped for a short break in Crowheart, sourcing provisions for a run in to Fort Washakie – the burial location for Sacajawea and former home to Chief Washakie of the Shoshoni. Stocking up for a second time from the only open gas station, we prepared for the final stint to Lander.

Our downhill free wheel into Lander was great, but we had to climb steeply out of the far end of town to get to the RV park. The bike shop for the morning (and new wheels) had been spotted, so it was time to enjoy the setting sun.

Today was a relatively uneventful day, but for the crickets and the changing rock for scenery. However, we continue to move (south) east and closer to Yorktown.

Final bullet points:

• After a few hours of a completely blue sky, I joked to Jay that the clouds were coming and a storm was brewing, spotting a small fluff of white in the distance.  Within minutes of pointing it out, two others had appeared and then nothing further developed. This does play with the mind a little when riding through such a historic location with native significance, particularly when a little dehydrated and feeling the effects of a strong sun.
• Barbecued steaks outside the RV with Team Heagney provided a superb improvement to limited food throughout the day.

FP

Date: Tuesday 24th August  

Route: Flagg Ranch, Wyoming – Dubois, Wyoming 

 Distance: 74 miles

Total climb: 4239ft 

Net climb: 87ft

After the high drama of the previous evening (and the last few days in general), we needed a straightforward day to get our rhythm back, and that was largely what we got.  Our route took us through our second National Park in two days as we headed straight into Grand Teton Park.  The Tetons are a magnificent range of mountains with sharp, snow capped peaks.  We passed serenely through most of the park, although Fred had to restrain himself from having a “quiet word” with one driver who had cut us up and then chose to stop and the same rest-stop as us. 

The main event of the day – in cycling terms – was the Togwotee (pronounced “To-get-ee”) Pass, the second highest pass on our route at 9658ft.   Our plan was to take on the pass after lunch.  We picked our lunch spot, the evocatively named Hatchet Resort, spurning a perfectly good cafe on the way there.  Unfortunately, the Hatchet Resort Grill was closed and so we had to make do with some snacks from the resort petrol station including, amongst other delectable items, some Teriyaki Beef Jerky which tasted only slightly better than a well worn shoe.   

We began the climb and made it to about 8700ft before stopping at the Togwotee Lodge, hoping against hope that their restaurant would be open – we had been assured by the owner of the Hatchet Resort that it would we.  It wasn’t.  Fortunately, Team Heagney arrived in the nick of time and so we sat in the RV topping up on cookies and, in my case, a sandwich, bought from the Lodge and which provided a more than adequate demonstration of the concept of price gouging.

Spirits raised after some proper food we attacked the remainder of the Pass.  We made it pretty swiftly to 9360ft, 300ft from the summit, before we came to a queue of traffic.  Not for the first time we had come to some road works – with the standard US procedure of having a workman/woman with a board to regulate the traffic.  This time, however, we were told that we would not be allowed to cycle through the road works and had to be given a lift by the “Pilot Car” which leads the traffic through the works.  We explained the nature of our challenge and that we had to cycle the route, but we were firmly informed that we would simply not be allowed to ride our bikes in the works area.  At first our hearts sank but we soon reconciled ourselves to the fact that if we were legally proscribed from riding over the pass, then receiving a lift from the workmen was not cheating, but a necessary stage in the route.  We loaded the bikes onto the flat bed of the pilot truck.  Fred sat in the back with the bikes whilst I rode shotgun with Roy, the pilot car driver.  Roy chatted about his love of the area around the pass, his travels and the nature of the work that was being undertaken (to date it has taken 3 years and it is predicted to take another 3-5 years to complete – this may be something to do with the fact that the workmen are all paid on an hourly rate).  As we drove through the five miles of road works it was not clear, at first, why we could not have ridden over the top of the pass, however, after the first mile the road disintegrated into a mass of stones and mud.  Roy was right, the bikes would not have been able to make it.  Roy dropped us off at the far side of the pass and we were left with a 25 mile downhill ride into Dubois (pronounced “Du-boys”).  We could free-wheel most of the way into Dubois, and although we were delayed by a puncture to Diana’s rear wheel we still made it to the KOA campsite, in Dubois, before sundown

Duboise describes itself as a “Wyoming Wonderland” and is clearly angling towards tourists with its eclectic collection of large animal sculptures, including a giant Jackalope (a cross of an Antelope and a Jack Rabbit), along its main street.  We decided to head into the town for dinner with Team Heagney and spent a great evening at the Rustic Pine Steakhouse,  enlivened by Cathy our very friendly, if slightly eccentric, waitress.  From Cathy we learned two interesting facts about our resting place:

i. Dubois is the most remote town in the USA on the basis that it is further from an Interstate road than any other town

ii. Dubois is in Fremont county – the largest county in the USA

We have not checked either of these facts and so blindly assert them to be true.  In doing so we have kept this blog consistent with the majority of the content of the global hyper-interweb.

A good day.  In truth it was great to have a 24 hour period without a crash or the need for a bike shop. 

JBS

Date: Monday 23rd August 

Route: Madison, Wyoming – Flagg Ranch, Wyoming

Distance: 59 miles

Total climb: 3184ft

Net climb: -40ft

Just to test our resilience again, this morning we had another trip to a bike shop for wheel repairs.  Team Heagney took us back to the magnet that is West Yellowstone, where we found Freeheel and Wheel short of a mechanic and the other bike shop in town unmanned (having sat on the doorstep there for over an hour, in hope).  Therefore, we had to make a 150-mile round trip to Big Sky in Montana for help.

The bike shop, Gallatin Alpine Sports, was very cool and would be recommended to anyone in the area for bike hire, maintenance, skiing or climbing kit or a good coffee.  Tom, who ran the workshop, spent a couple of hours looking at the bikes and teaching us more about maintenance.  This was incredibly valuable, but was surpassed by his riding home to fetch some tools for removing the cassette to lend us for the journey – we’ll pop them in the post when we find replacements or if we finish the ride.  Tom then said all his work was for free, on the basis that our ride was for charity, which came unexpected and as a massive boost to very low morale. A huge thank you to Tom, whose generosity and patience provided a marked change in determination after some frustrating days.

An RV charge back to Madison left us with 59 miles to ride through Yellowstone Park from 5pm. The race was on.

We fired through the first few miles uphill, frustrated somewhat by the volume of traffic touring the park. It is fair to say that whilst the place is stunning and well worth a visit, the traffic inevitably takes something away from the magic.

A quick stop at Old Faithful for some photos and supplies prepared us for the climb ahead.  Sadly, we did not get to see the geyser blow, but had greater sites ahead.

We raced up to another continental divide at 8,391 feet, before the descent began in earnest.  The sun was setting quickly and the temperature dropping noticeably – extra layers required. It was at this point that I noted we would be riding about 20 miles in the dark, under a full moon, through a park that prided itself on its population of wolves, bears and other wildlife.

The scenery was incredible to take in as the traffic reduced and we saw the sun setting over the mountains and the lakes of the park.  However, fewer vehicles meant fewer escape routes in case of danger. We rolled on downhill, passing some deer crossing the road – verification that the wildlife was not put away in pens for the night. After about ten miles, I heard a more dramatic noise in the trees at the side of the road… and it was following us.

I shouted to Jay before accelerating rapidly, but the animal continued after us.  I could see its outline and it looked very big, possibly the size of a small van.  It was running very quickly and sounded like it was knocking down large branches in its path as it charged.  I hoped it was a startled animal, but the fact that it was still chasing after about 50 metres led me to think it was rather hungry for two cyclists – possibly a large grizzly bear.

I shouted back to Jay, who seemed not to be too focused on accelerating (I hadn’t realised, but he couldn’t hear me through his ear warmers on his hat, so he wondered what was going on and thought I was acting a little strange while he rolled at a casual pace).

Eventually, the beast seemed to come to a halt once Jay had sped up and we had raced for nearly a quarter of a mile, hearts pounding. The remaining mileage to the edge of the park was very tense, with Jay listening more intently each time I heard a significant rustle in the trees.

The road seemed to go on forever, so Jay raised a concern that we may have taken a wrong turn and could actually be heading into the middle of the park on the loop road, rather than towards the exit at the southern gate. We therefore tried to flag down the few cars that passed in either direction, but none seemed willing to help – possibly concerned that we were a little crazy to be out on bikes at that time.

In the pitch black, we made it to the end of the park and whooped like crazy, euphoric at going in the right direction and avoiding any major issues with the wildlife. A final two miles got us to the RV and a deserved beer.

With hindsight, it was probably a bison that was chasing us, rather than a bear.  This is not altogether a great situation, since they don’t have a clean record for being friendly to those who confront them on foot.  However, it provided some amusement, given my eagerness to see Il Bisonte in the flesh – I can now claim to have beaten Italy’s finest ever uncapped striker for pace!

Some bullet points to finish:

• I’d like to see Yellowstone again sometime, with a little more daylight
• We were both delighted that the bikes did not come unstuck in the final 20 miles, which would have been a little unnerving.   The idea of changing a tire with a bison supervising is not wholly appealing
• If I happen to see cyclists fully laden with panniers riding in the dark when I’m driving, I’ll be sure to slow down and at least ask them if they are ok.  All we wanted was clarity of direction, which is not a great deal to ask for.

FP

Date: Sunday 22nd August  

Route: Ennis, Montana – Madison, Wyoming 

Distance: 86 miles 

Total climb: 3666ft 

Net climb: 1846ft

Despite our blood sacrifice a few days earlier, the cycling Gods clearly had some pent up wrath to expend upon us today.  We cycled out of Ennis at a decent time (we struggle to get on the road before 9:30 of a morning) and for the next three and a half hours we slogged continually into a very strong headwind.  The problem with a headwind is not just that it slows you down – and it does – we averaged only 6mph compared to our normal 17mph; but also that it stops you from speaking to one another and produces a continuous and maddening noise that completely envelopes you. 

We were making such slow progress that in order to retain our sanity and get out of the wind we decided to break the ride up into small chunks of around 10 miles.  In accordance with our plan we stopped at Cameron – a town comprised of one shop which sadly was closed and up for sale (I could not possibly speculate on whether that will, in time, constitute an apt metaphor for our current Prime Minister and his government).  After that brief respite we rejoined the fight, planning to stop again in 10 miles time.  We got to the 20 mile marker but there was no shelter in sight; so we resolved to stop as soon as we saw somewhere suitable at which to get out of the gale’s onslaught. 

After a further 9 miles of toil nowhere had presented itself, save for a half built log cabin with signs saying “Danger.  Do not Enter.  Do not Tresspass [sic.]”   The sight of a large number of pick-up trucks and the questionable spelling of the warning suggested to us that this would not be a sensible place to rest.

Eventually we took a break on the side of a bank which provided enough shelter to at least give our ears a rest.  After a few carefully regulated nutritional snacks (Milky Ways and Snickers Bars) we were once again ready to face  the weather which now consisted of not just wind but also its close friend, torrential rain.  Fortunately for us, after about one more mile our route took a sharp turn left and the headwind became a cross-wind – far more manageable.  From that moment on the wind was no longer a great concern (although it had already taken its toll given that we had travelled 29 miles in three and a half hours).

Having served our penance, the rest of the day was thoroughly enjoyable.  After a quick lunch with Team Heagney in a car park we continued past two lakes: one created by an earthquake in 1959 complete with dead trees rising from its depths and a second (Hebgen Lake}) an enormous expanse of water which looked magnificent with the sun beginning to set over it. 

It was getting late and so, with Fred at the helm, we dashed into West Yellowstone.  With me running low on energy (our food intake for the day had been very low) and Fred keen for a toy from a Happy Meal, we headed across to MacDonalds for some reviving junk-food.  My choice of 6 chicken nuggets as a starter, prior to a double cheese and bacon burger, won the begrudging respect of the semi-professional eaters who were the customers of that particular establishment.

The day was not over yet though and so we hopped back on our bikes in the fading light and headed into Yellowstone Park.  Both $12 dollars lighter after paying the park entry fees we rode the final 14 miles to our campsite in Madison with Fred on continual and somewhat paranoid bear watch.  In terms of actual wildlife we saw little other than some deer and a Trumpteter Swan, and we arrived at our campsite intact.  The cycling Gods had not quite had their fill with us yet though, as, much to both of our frustration, I noticed, as we rode around the campsite to find the RV, that yet another spoke had broken in my rear wheel.  Another trip to a bike shop was in order and our plans for the following day had been severely compromised.

JBS

Date: Saturday 21st August 

Route: Twin Bridges, Montana – Ennis, Montana

Distance: 42 miles

Total climb: 2498ft

Net climb: 405ft

After yesterday’s crash, the first port of call this morning was a bike shop and some more repair work on the wheels.  The nearest offering was in West Yellowstone, over 75 miles away.  We needed to get there in the RV, have the work done and go back behind our overnight stay, to start riding again in Twin Bridges.  Not for the first time, a game of catch up lay ahead.

Team Heagney was hugely helpful in doing the round trip to West Yellowstone with the RV and we managed to get the bikes fixed at Freeheel and Wheel, a funky shop in town.

By the time we got back to Twin Bridges, a storm was brewing and it was late.  42 miles faced us, with one climb to above 7,000 feet and a downhill into Ennis to finish – better to get some miles done than write the day off.

We battled hard into the wind to Virginia City (Jay battling even harder before realising he was only using his middle chain ring).  The road wound up alongside great piles of stones left by the gold seekers of the past as they dredged the rivers.  A stop was planned at Virginia City, both of us feeling weak from not eating properly for most of the day.  Banditos provided the location, pie was on the mind.

Having ordered a brownie and ice cream each, we spent a long time admiring the building and sifted through the New Yorker (odd choice of magazine to stock in our location), before we became anxious about timing and our need to move on.  The barman then called over to say the food would arrive in a couple of minutes.  When he brought it over, we were surprised to find that ‘someone at the bar’ had felt sorry for us ordering desserts and had paid for some nachos for us.  This continued the theme of generosity and hospitality for the trip, but left us with a slight issue – the need to eat all the food immediately before a big climb on the bikes, so as not to look ungrateful.

With our appetites, this was fairly straightforward but left us feeling sick as we started the climb.  We were boosted by a cheer from a gathering crowd at a bar on the outskirts of Virginia City (I think they liked the fist pumps and Busi impressions), so breezed past two cyclists on their way up to our campsite from the previous night – we are now back in first in the race.

Climb done, we rolled down towards Ennis overlooking shaded mountains to the right and guided by a sunset of purples, oranges and reds over the peaks to the front.  We arrived in time to see the wild deer taking charge of the roads for the night.

Our challenge for tomorrow is to reach West Yellowstone by pedal power, with the bikes still in good shape.

Loosely noteworthy matters in general:

• Jay and I are now fully settled in our beverage choices for the bottles.  He seems focused on the unnaturally coloured blue Gatorade (mountain berry flavour) and I’m a devotee to the lemon and lime, which tastes not dissimilar to Lemsip by mid-afternoon in the heat.  Sometimes shop shortages leave us regressing to primary school art lessons, as we are forced to mix colours and flavours in the bottles – Jay works the greens and browns well, whilst I’ve been at the other end of the spectrum.
• When trying to look objectively at our daily habits, we’ve also found it amusing that other primary school lessons seem to take place with regularity.  In particular, when the person ‘on the front’ is warning the person ‘on the back’ about upcoming obstacles, it sounds very much like an early science lesson… “wood, stone, glass, metal, wood, glass, metal, badger” – a bit like the ‘animal and mineral’ game. The physical emphasis of the journey is clearly causing our mental capabilities to regress as time goes by.

FP

Date: Friday 20th August  

Route: Jackson, Montana – Twin Bridges, Montana 

Distance: 69 miles 

Total climb: -1826ft

The evening spent in Jackson had been fun, chatting with Aidan and Team Heagney, polishing off a couple of medicinal beverages and indulging in the habitual round of Golden Tee.  All of this after a swim in a natural hot springs pool.  Team spirit was consequently high as we rolled out of the campsite the following morning. 

Our ride took us through the high plains of Montana and over the Big Hole and Badger Passes, before we free-wheeled down into Dillon for lunch.  A quick rendezvous with Team Heagney in the town was followed by an excellent (and astonishingly healthy by our recent standards) lunch of pasta, homemade lemonade and cookies in the Sweetwater Cafe.

After lunch we decided to really crack on and get the next 28 miles out of the way quickly in order to leave ourselves a shortish late afternoon section into our proposed destination of Virginia City.  We flew.  Riding at an average speed of about 20mph we raced along State Highway 41 and towards the town of Twin Bridges with the prospect of diner-made milkshakes dominating our thoughts. 

We barely spoke, save to remark that very little of note had happened during the day.  What would we write about in the blog?  At which point, as if on queue, a fly or a piece of gravel struck me just above my sunglasses.  I twitched, and the front wheel of Diana caught the gravel which ran along the side of the narrow hard-shoulder.  Diana slid, and although I tried to right her course I couldn’t hold the back wheel. In an instant I was down and sliding along the hard shoulder.  I felt my helmet bang onto the tarmac as I rolled over and then heard Fred and Rosie come a cropper behind me.  Fred’s recollection is that he piled over the top of me and then travelled, by means of his shoulder, a few metres further up the road.

We had made a quite a mess.  Our bodies were bloodied and bruised and Rosie and Diana had certainly looked better.  We established that there were no broken bones and then I proceeded to go into a minor state of shock, apologising for what had happened at least 20 times in the next 10 minutes.  Fred, conversely, managed to stay almost preternaturally calm; digging out the first aid kit, checking the bikes and conducting the majority of the maintenance that needed to be performed.   It was during this time that the first random acts of kindness occurred.  In the space of 10 minutes three cars stopped on the highway to offer us lifts.  The parable of the good Samaritan has clearly been taken to heart by the people of Montana; more was to follow.

Through our two contrasting methods of calm practicality and apologetic shock we managed to get ourselves and the bikes in a fit state to ride the final 5 miles into Twin Bridges.  It was slow progress, in part because I had no inclination to cycle at over 6 miles an hour in the foreseeable future and also because my rear wheel had buckled in the crash (something we could not fix on the roadside).

We made it into town and after a few enquiries confirmed our suspicion that there was no bike shop.  It was the end of our ride for the day, so we set ourselves down in the diner and left a message with Team Heagney that we would wait for them there.  We did not know whether the message would be received.

Our entrance into the diner, limping and with knees covered in blood, made something of a stir; but despite our less than formal attire we were treated very well indeed.  After our pies and milkshakes had arrived we began to talk to a group of people on the table next to us, one of whom, Steve Batchelor, was a keen cyclist.  Steve, his wife Marilyn and their two friends asked about our trip, our crash and where we were planning on staying for the evening.  After we had to turn down the Batchelors’ very kind offer to stay at their home, in Dillon, because Team Heagney were waiting for us at the campsite they went far above and beyond the call of duty.  Putting our battered bikes into the boot of their truck, the Batchelor’s drove us the 29 miles to our campsite (thus making a 58 mile round trip, out of their way) in order to drop us off with a relieved, if somewhat shocked and bemused Team Heagney.  It is difficult to express how grateful we were and are to the Batchelors’ and friends for their kindness to us.  On a personal note, my affection for this country and its people has never been greater.

The rest of our evening was spent dusting ourselves off and trying to work out the extent of the damage to the bikes.  This was followed by some barbequed steaks – just the tonic that was needed after a pretty difficult day.  Afterwards we headed off to bed for an early night and, in my case, a recurring dream about an ever narrowing hard shoulder.

JBS

Date: Thursday 19th August  

Route: Hamilton, Montana – Jackson, Montana 

Distance: 87 miles 

Total climb: 4514ft 

Net climb: 1840ft

It’s been quite cold out here overnight, even with Diana for company.  I do hope the boys will let us stay indoors from now on – there’s plenty of space.  No surprises this morning, Fred can’t get out of bed and will not communicate.  He needs coffee and cereal, quickly.

After a 6am alarm, we’re underway at 9.15am – another efficient morning routine for the boys, not helped by Fred’s waking up issues and Jay’s lack of method to packing the panniers.  However, today is exciting – both Diana and I have new handbags (front panniers) to show off as we make our way along the scheduled runway of 87 miles.  I also have new jewellery, in the form of spokey dokeys sent over by the ever-wonderful Helen.  They look particularly chic in alternate red and black on the front wheels, although Fred did initially cause me confusion by carefully putting them on Diana, before waking up sufficiently to make the change.

The first few miles to Darby are hard going, with a strong headwind meaning that Diana and I take it in turns to go in front, feeling the full resistance on our new panniers.  There’s a highly amusing gym in the town, with the sign reading “the right to bare arms”, and a good selection of Gatorade and provisions at Mr T’s gas station.  I’m getting used to the cultural differences to home, but still find it odd when I notice a gent parked at the gas station with a rifle hanging in the back window of his truck.

Onwards and upwards to Sula, which for a very small place seems to stretch out far.  However, Diana and I are parked up at the designated eating spot, locked together and left to rest in the shade whilst the boys take on calories (and consider a game of mini golf at the facilities available).  I’m not quite sure what happened inside, but the boys spend the first few miles after lunch laughing about restaurant service requiring them to order, find a seat, return to organise drinks, eat the food, ask for the check, pay in the adjacent shop and then finally pay for the drinks – an over-engineered system if ever there was one.

Diana and I cruise up the climb, past ski slopes and wooded mountainsides, to the top of the Chief Joseph Pass (7,241 feet).  The boys continue to motivate themselves with impressions of Chris ‘Busi’ Akabusi, John Fashanu, Tiny Tempah and the occasional La Cucaracha.  It’s an easy cruise downhill from the top to Wisdom, passing the Big Hole battlefield and opening out onto the high plains, surrounded by mountain peaks and a huge, lightly clouded sky.

The boys stop for pie in Wisdom (a wise move, if you ask me) and discover that they are just days after a harsh swarm of mosquitoes had prevented people from leaving their houses in the daytime.  It is then a roll on over the plains, through the land of 10,000 hay bales, to Jackson and a hot spring.

Final other bullets on my debut (/final?) posting:

– Jay went slightly mad, deciding to have a go at “interval training”, 80 miles into the day, at an altitude above 6,000 feet, by sprinting up the short rolling hills.  Fred and I kept with him, but remain cautious of his mindset.

– We met another bike this evening, being powered by Aidan the Irishman, who is 2 years into his round the world trip and heading west

– Temperatures are noticeably lower up here at night, although the boys did get a soak in the natural hot springs to ease any muscle aches and were confused for Australians (again by some Americans) in the pool

– Jay had another game of Golden Tee and went to bed regretting having not paid the 50 cents to finish his round and secure the course record.  He did beat Fred, though.

Rosie