A Concluding, Unscientific Postscript

I traveled like a turtle, moving slowly and carrying my home with me.

I was reminded that hills are just hills and wind is just wind. We breeze along when we can. We limp along when we have to.

I went outside my comfort zone and got comfortable there. Still, I'm glad to be home.

I ate. I ate a lot. I lost weight anyway.

BJ and I met a lot of people: vagrants, vagabonds, dropouts from society, an addict, a panhandler, hard-living people, hardworking people, a PhD, a precocious kid, farmers, ranchers, cooks, and servers. Most of them were kind to us.

We met people who have done long, self-contained bike rides; people who dream of taking a long, self-contained bike ride; and people who couldn't imagine themselves ever doing such a thing.

So many people wished us, "Have fun," and "Be safe."

We rode over mountains, through valleys, across rivers, through wheat fields, cornfields, forests, wetlands, deserts, prairies, open range, small towns, and large cities.

We saw countless railroad cars on hundreds of miles of track.

Blogging about this trip has been part of the fun. I'm grateful to everyone who has read this blog, and particularly to those who left comments or sent emails. Part of our morning ritual was to read, share, and chuckle over your remarks. Your encouragement helped to keep us going.

In my wife's office, there is a monthly meeting which always begins with an inspirational thought of some kind. They call it a "Higher Ground." Last month, the company's CEO was responsible for the Higher Ground. I was flattered to learn that, among other things, he read part of one of these blogposts. It was the post dated September 25, in which I related our nighttime difficulties with drunk boys, noisy neighbors, and an automatic sprinkler system. To that account he added this quote from G.K. Chesterton:

An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered; an adventure is an inconvenience rightly considered.

It was a great adventure.

BJ was a good partner. We formed, for a while, a community of two, trusting, tolerating, and relying on one another. Frankly, I wouldn't have gone without a partner. BJ's different. I think he'll be fine out there on his own.

Anyway, thanks, Beej!

And thanks, especially, to Melanie who encouraged me to go and missed me when I did.

Stats and Superlatives

In 32 days I rode my bicycle 1932 miles for an average of 60.375 miles per day.

I rode in 7 states: Washington, Oregon, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, Minnesota, and Iowa.

Longest Ride: September 13, Havre to Malta, MT, 94 miles.

Shortest Ride: Septermber 20, 35 miles on the Enchanted Highway from Gladstone to Regent, ND.

Hardest Ride: the climb to Steven's Pass, August 29, day one.

Easiest Ride: Gladstone to Regent, ND, September 20.

Best Day of My Life: every day.

Worst Lodging: the hard luck RV Park in Kalispell, MT.

Best Lodging: the Badlands Ministry Bible Camp Retreat Center in Medora, ND. (Thanks again, Nathan!)

Weirdest Lodging: the Kountry Inn Motel in McLaughlin, SD.

Biggest Surprise: the lack of rain.

Second Biggest Surprise: homesickness. I didn't see that coming.

Nicest Surprise: a gift of baked goods from the cook/owner of the Midway Cafe in Canby, MN.

Best Meal: spaghetti with Prego Sauce and two cans of chicken breast meat; a can of green beans, and a can of pears for side dishes at Badlands Ministries. We ate in our pajamas while the rest of our clothes were in the wash.

Second best meal: medallions of beef over wilted spring greens and sauteed asparagus, and a glass of decent cabernet at Lunker's in Watertown, SD.

Best cup of coffee: a double espresso at the public library in Havre, MT.

Worst cup of coffee: the diner in Regent, ND.  It was worse than the stuff we made in camp.

Packing List

Here, in excruciating detail, is a list of the things I carried on my velocipedic saturnal:

ON THE BIKE: front and rear racks, handlebar bag, 4 panniers, 3 water bottle cages, 3 water bottles, headlight/flashlight, tail light, rear view mirror, bike computer.

ON MY BODY: jersey, vest, shorts, gloves, socks, shoes, watch, helmet, bandana, arm warmers, leg warmers.

IN THE HANDLEBAR BAG: wallet, glasses, pen, notepaper, compass, key for BJ's bike lock, lip balm, loose change.

SNACKS (in outer pockets of front panniers): usually 2 Clif Bars, 2 packets of Fig Newtons, 2 Rice Krisipie Treats.

ON TOP OF REAR RACK (secured with bungee net): dry bag containing sleeping bag, pajamas, thermal shirt; stuff sack containing self-inflating mattress, tent and rain fly, Buddy.

IN RIGHT FRONT PANNIER: rain jacket; warm jacket; extra plastic bags; toilet kit containing toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, soap, adhesive bandages, 4-ounce squeeze bottle of Dr. Bronner's liquid peppermint soap, small pair of scissors, nail clippers, comb, dental floss, antibiotic ointment, travel size deodorant (yes, I broke down and bought some); tool kit containing chain tool, spare link, cassette cracker, screw driver, 2 tire levers, 3 hex keys, small screwdriver, tire patch kit.

IN LEFT FRONT PANNIER: spare tire, walking shoes, 10 spokes with nipples, Swiss Army Knife, Leatherman multi-tool, spare tire, pump.

IN RIGHT REAR PANNIER: shirt, jeans, 2 pr. socks, stocking cap, bandana, glove liners, pack towel, iPad, tent pegs, 1 qt. Nalgene bottle.

IN LEFT REAR PANNIER: 2 pr. cycling socks, jersey, 3 pr. cycling shorts, nesting knife-fork-spoon, cook kit, clothesline, 10 clothespins, charger and cords for electronics, notebook, 1 qt. Nalgene bottle.

When I left BJ in Rock Rapids I gave him my pump, spare tire, cassette cracker, and cook kit.

My Daily Bread

Untold Stories

ONE

Barreling down the last descent before a steep climb into Cut Bank, BJ was making 44 mph. I was working the brakes and holding my speed at 40. A passing pickup truck blew its horn, a couple of short toots, not aggressive, not unfriendly. The driver made a gesture I didn't recognize. His hand at 90 degrees from his wrist, fingers toward the temple of his head, he wagged his hand back and forward. Thinking about it later, I decided it must be a Native American sign that means "crazy."

At least I hope that's what it means.


TWO

We stopped for lunch one day at a bar. The meat loaf special was actually quite good. When we were getting ready to leave I went into the men's room. It was a small men's room. There was essentially space for one person.

Almost immediately the door opened behind me. A deep voice said, "Hey, buddy."

I was startled. An adrenaline rush hit me. The old fight-or-flight reaction kicked in and there was no place to fly to. I turned around fast.

There blocking the doorway was a big guy with a goatee. He looked like the offspring of the union of a linebacker and a brick outhouse.

For a second I thought I heard banjos.

"I think you dropped these," he said holding my arm warmers out toward me.

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks a million. I appreciate that."


THREE

As I walked into a cafe for breakfast one morning, a local man greeted me.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Best day of my life!" He sounded as if he meant it.

"Really?" I asked.

"Every day," he replied.

End of the Trail

Today was the last day of my ride.

We stopped at the Calumet Inn again for breakfast. Our server was also one of the new (as of 30 days ago) owners. She was a frighteningly energetic young woman who had spent a year backpacking around the world. Taking on a historic hotel and restaurant seems a risky business venture but, if youth, energy, and enthusiasm count for anything she might just make a go of it.

Our route was predominantly south, into the teeth of the wind.

Just north of Luverne (where we had lunch) we stopped at a tiny wayside chapel built in 1963 by the Luverne Christian Reformed Church. Inside were pews to seat 6 people, racks full of devotional literature, and Gideon's Bibles for the taking. We signed the guest book.

Crossing into Iowa made the seventh state of this trip.

When we rode into Rock Rapids from the north we found a lovely city park with a designated campground. It's almost too bad we aren't staying there.

Almost.

BJ's wife Pam came to spend the night with BJ. I will ride back to Illinois with her tomorrow. I have a room to myself at the Four Seasons, Rock Rapids' only motel. The dark, quiet, and solitude are unfamiliar.

There is no longer a laundromat in Rock Rapids, but the motel owner did our laundry for a reasonable fee. So I have fresh clothes to wear home.

When I checked in the owner asked if I wanted a queen-size bed or, for ten dollars more, a king. I have been sleeping on an 18 inch wide self-inflating mattress for more than a month. A queen was just fine.

Although I didn't ride all the way home I have no regrets. I have traveled more than 1900 miles under my own power on a bicycle I assembled with my own two hands and tools. It has been a great adventure.

I have a few more posts in mind before I finish this blog. If you would like to follow BJ's progress you can find him on FaceBook as Bernard Fenwick.

Today's milage: 47. Trip total: 1932.

TXT MSGS

Melanie and I have been in daily contact during this ride. Among other things we have exchanged text messages about three times a day.

One morning when it was particularly cold she commented on the weather. I replied that it wasn't a great concern.

"We have warm clothes."

She texted back, "You are intrepid."

Intrepid is not a word I would ever have applied to myself but if it means that I have gotten up every day and pedaled my bike down the road regardless of the temperature or terrain, then I will accept it.

One Sunday evening I texted that I was sitting on the steps of a public library taking advantage of the unsecured Wi-Fi network inside.

Melanie texted, "You are resourceful."

I'll take resourceful. When I left on this trip I figured that BJ and I had the resourcefulness to deal with whatever might arise.

Resourceful and intrepid. I guess those are good qualities to have if you want to do a self-contained bicycle tour.

And, oh yeah, my mom says I'm cool, too.

Minnesota Nice

This morning we had breakfast at the Midway Cafe in Canby. Our server, Sherri, apologized for the cook. Not his cooking (which was excellent) but his happy whistling in the kitchen.

"He whistles all the time but he owns the place."

"So you can't say anything," I added.

"Well, we have church in here once a week and I shush him during the sermon."

When I went to wash my hands, the cook came out and gave BJ a foil packet with two slices of freshly baked herb bread "for later."

"If you don't tell your friend you won't have to share."

The cook/owner told BJ that he was stationed at San Diego when he was in the Marines.

"I used to ride my bike all the time to San Francisco and L.A."

He envied us our adventure.

When BJ went to wash his hands, the cook came to the table again and gave me a foil packet with a slice of freshly baked sour cream-cinnamon coffee cake.

"This is in case you friend doesn't share," he said.

When we got to camp this evening we both shared and the baked goods were delicious.

We rode a hard 60 miles today against the wind and were glad to put the tent up at the Pipestone RV Camp, a pleasant campground in Pipestone, MN. We rode down into the Pipestone National Monument before dinner at the Calumet Inn in historic downtown Pipestone.

Trip total: 1885 miles.

3 Maidens at Pipestone National  Monument

Downtown Pipestone