The posts are still out of order, but don't despair; after 2 weeks of brainstorming we have presumably discovered a preventative cure. For now you will have to dig for a streaming chronology. Next post they will be organized neatly. Today we are up to day 30, look for it.
word.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Day 29: heads winds subside, as karaoke picks up
(above: our most exhilarating morning view, consisting of cow pies and a little green tent damp with dew)
After breakfast we quickly begin climbing; only 5 miles from the Wyoming border we climb from 7,000 feet to 7,800 . A few miles south of the border we find a rest station to fill our bottles, trim the mustaches, chat with elderly folk, and play with prairie dogs.
(below: during the early morning climb we witness beauty)
(below: Luke feeds an adventurous prairie dog
(below: Luke feeds an adventurous prairie dog
Call him Dr. Doolittle or the Dog Whisperer, Luke sure has a way with animals;
I would argue more refined than his way with women.)
I would argue more refined than his way with women.)
(below: Wyoming wildflowers fill the foreground in front of the high peaks of the rockies. Our elevation 8,100 ft)
(this certainly is a welcome sign, even with the bullet holes)
Shortly after the picture above we descend the 1,000 feet gain over 20 miles as we approach Laramie. The only thing we knew about Laramie was from the massive press coverage of the brutal murder of Matthew Shepphard in the late 90's. He was a homosexual man who went to the University of Wyoming and was killed because he was gay. Of course we didn't assume that Laramie was a town full of bigots, but it is interesting how powerful an event like that shapes people's assumptions and fears about a place, especially for small towns that would otherwise quietly stay out of the news.
We ate lunch in Laramie at a local restaurant and brewery by campus called the Library. How annoying; must every college town have a bar called the library? "Don't lie to mom, tell her you are at the library." Annoying names aside, the food and beers were delicious. After the sustenance, we headed to the public library to cool down and creepily browse facebook: our x-girlfriend's friends' friends' friends pictures from last winter break, you know how it goes.
The [public] library closes at 5:00 on Fridays. We hit the road shortly after and head 40 miles into mostly flat and windy Wyoming. The traffic has thinned noticeably since Laramie and we start to feel the low population density as we press on to the next town, Rock River.
(Wyomings more flat side. The Laramie Mtn. Range on the eastern horizon)
(below: breaking for snacks by the railroad running parallel with the highway)
We reach Rock River (population 200) by dusk with empty water bottles. Upon arrival we stop at the post office to try and milk their spicket; unfortunately they have removed the handle, undoubtedly to stave off the western water poachers. My needle nose pliers won't turn the spicket, so we press on to the bar down the road.
At the bar, we are greeted with many inquisitive but benign looks. We order a couple of Budweisers and a pizza. We didn't even have the chance to ask folks where to camp before we are approached by a friendly fellow name Forest. Forest tells us that he lives a block away and we are welcome, and highly encouraged to come down and stay at his place. He offers us his 5th wheel camper for the evening. We gladly accept, and although we all are pretty tired and eager to curl up with some literature and get a good nights rest, we get reeled into the bar scene for another night as the karaoke machine insistently hummed. We are on the floor singing for 80% of the remaining 4 hours of bar light, doing everything from Thoroughgood to Yes to AC-DC.
Eventually the evening ended and we had to settle up at the bar. Forest quickly told the bartendress to put it on his tab. Free booze, pizza, and entertainment. I guess the entertainment was our reciprocical input and we had a glad time entertaining the laid-back country folk of Rock River. After the bar we retired back to the fifth wheel, but not before Forest and company filled our bellies with an early breakfast-- breakfast burritoes at 2:00 am.
Thanks Rock River. Thank you Forest, Susan, Mary-Anne, Ken, Rick, Alexandria, and Victoria (even though your lazy ass didn't show up until noon), Freckles, and the ominous Midnight.
You guys treated us as family or at least close companions. Thanks for the food, spirits, and tour de France.
miles: 70
morale: so high we wobble a little when trying to stand up and converse at 2:00 am
Day 30 - Something blows in Wyo.
(The whole clan at Rock River and behind us the great Wyoming vastness)
Well, here we are again thirty days and still no flats as some would say. Great finds are great finds, last nights find was loud, liquidy and protein. All the singing one could handle we take the wrap party back to the camper. Waking up in Forrest's fifth wheel we knew more protein was short to follow. Not a bad nights sleep but a fairly short nights sleep. The morning drags as we all scuffle towards the shower in the back and one by one we all clean off those karaoke scars still apparent on our faces. With coffee and growling bellies we file away our breakfast under protein, with pancakes. Greasy and it's gravy, good, eggs and sausage. Wyoming has been pretty surprising thus far, after the snowball effect ending with showers and breakfast we are offered free roam of their house when the whole clan run off to their weekly trip to Laramie. After lazily gathering everything together and getting up the gumption to be off, oh shit! Luke has lost his sunglasses and Nick can't seem to find his right glove. They both leave Sam to his waiting and begin the search for both the eyes and hands lost in Rock River midnights. Without luck the trio traverse on into the North towards Casper.
( 25 mph headwind)
Long nights turn into long days, when your on someone else schedule but today it's our appointment to go as far as we need. The wind holding us to about a two and half hour seventeen miles we stop in Medicine bow to refuel and work out the aggravation. A nice little town with more rooms to offer in the local Virginian hotel than population of voting age. Snacks and ice cream are all it takes and we are ready to get in the face for another thirty or so miles. But wait, we have an interested party, let's see how this turns out. Turns out he was a friendly and offered us a place to crash if we would like, being we didn't leave Rock River until threeish we were already willing to cut it short because of the twenty five mile per hour headwind. We talk and exchange stories for awhile and Brad, his name, offers us his living room for the night. Hesitantly we take his number and he's off to get ready for an all night poker game. After a few minutes of convincing each other this wind is going to kill us or we are going to kill one another, with phone in hand Nick makes the call, about three minutes after Brad is half way down the highway. Well, he comes back and give us directions to his place.
(Picture us, the trio living the life in Medicine Bow)
We get moved in, in our vagabond fashion moving in takes nothing but ten minutes. Brad gives us the magic words, make yourself at home, being the bashful three we are the bathroom and kitchen are taken over by dirty bodies and dinner. With the night quiet and much needed talk between the trio, conversations have a tendency to lack any breadth or interest when trying to keep seventeen miles per hour. With a short day under the belt buckles of Wyoming's newest heterosexual love trio we plan a long day to Casper and hit the sack..... good dreams and snoring ensue.
Thank you Brad.
You are so rad.
Miles: 17
Morale: Save happiness for another day.
Day 28: Mountain Men
The morning after the night on Ft. Collins found us groggy and waking up in the wrong yard. No hassles though, so we packed up and headed back toward Colorado's big version of uptown Athens, OH. The silver spoon diner treated us to a delicious breakfast with endless hashbrowns! and then we took off to our favorite All-American icon, Wal-Mart:) Bags packed with partially organic cliff bars and spirits riding high on Bolthouse juice we struck off on the Ft. Collins bike path with Laramie in mind.
Well, the whole trip everyone has been warning us of the vicious hills that will attack us with energy sapping climbs and steep grades. We got a hint of them as we left Ft. Collins, though they weren't nearly as bad as everyone has made out. Most of our ride has been through valleys with climbs that are nowhere near the extent of the mountains standing proud on both sides of us.
A few miles after our roadside break we rolled into Livermore, a little town consisting of a restaurant. Outside on the picnic table was an inquisitive older fellow with three teeth. He was shocked that would ride our bikes so far and flat out told us we were wasting our lives. He could get us to Oregon in one day he says, and swears that we will regret spending so much of our young lives trivially pedaling across the West. He then explains that he's never been East of the Mississippi and asks us with a curious caution about what it's like out there in eastern mountains...We politely entertained him for a few minutes and went on our way.
A few miles more found us a lot farther away from Laramie, WY than we expected so we decided to call it a night in Virginia Dale, CO, the town closest to the border. Haha, we thought it was a town! Turns out it consists of a closed post office and two ranches set in the most beautiful and dramatic scenery we'd seen.
In search of land to lay down a tent (more in search of permission, there were thousands of vacant acres about us) we trudged down the road off the highway to the first of the two ranches in town. We kept trudging, and trudging, almost decided to turn back, but trudged some more, and finally got to the Table Mountain ranch entrance. "No Trespassing, survivors prosecuted", it said. So we put some skip in our step and hurried down to the next ranch.
(Sam and Luke; puzzled and calling upon the mountain gods for advice.)
(Sunset in the mountains.)
On our way to the next ranch, we spotted a little house tucked away off the ranch access road. The owner knew the rancher well, and told us there was an old Stage Station near the ranchers house and that we could camp there. He called, told the rancher of our approach and gave us the go ahead. We made it to the old stage station by dusk (read sign in next picture for stage station description) got out of our sweaty spandex and started up our anchovie/tomato paste pasta.
Just before we got the tent out the rancher came to say his hellos. He was a bit cold though and asked us to where we were going tonight. "Ummm, here", we responded "the guy up the road called and you said we could camp here". He took a step back and explained that we ain't got permission to camp here and we best be on our way. Well damn. The sun had pretty much set and now we had to pack up and find someone else to let us camp amongst their countless acres of nothingness. I guess we looked pathetic enough though, cause the rancher gave in and let us camp in his cow pasture a mile back down the road.
An hour later, with annoyed cows mooing at us, we slipped into the tent and drifted into dreams of Wyoming at 8000 ft..
mileage . 37
morale. an awestruck tired-perturbedness
(Luke pictured below, cruising alongside the Poudre River)
Well, the whole trip everyone has been warning us of the vicious hills that will attack us with energy sapping climbs and steep grades. We got a hint of them as we left Ft. Collins, though they weren't nearly as bad as everyone has made out. Most of our ride has been through valleys with climbs that are nowhere near the extent of the mountains standing proud on both sides of us.
(Nick approaches the crest of the day's most difficult climb and Luke descends back into a valley, respectively pictured below.)
(The trio break alongside the highway; Luke sleeps while Nick studies map.)
A few miles after our roadside break we rolled into Livermore, a little town consisting of a restaurant. Outside on the picnic table was an inquisitive older fellow with three teeth. He was shocked that would ride our bikes so far and flat out told us we were wasting our lives. He could get us to Oregon in one day he says, and swears that we will regret spending so much of our young lives trivially pedaling across the West. He then explains that he's never been East of the Mississippi and asks us with a curious caution about what it's like out there in eastern mountains...We politely entertained him for a few minutes and went on our way.
A few miles more found us a lot farther away from Laramie, WY than we expected so we decided to call it a night in Virginia Dale, CO, the town closest to the border. Haha, we thought it was a town! Turns out it consists of a closed post office and two ranches set in the most beautiful and dramatic scenery we'd seen.
(Luke peddling into Virginia Dale with some pretty rocks behind him)
In search of land to lay down a tent (more in search of permission, there were thousands of vacant acres about us) we trudged down the road off the highway to the first of the two ranches in town. We kept trudging, and trudging, almost decided to turn back, but trudged some more, and finally got to the Table Mountain ranch entrance. "No Trespassing, survivors prosecuted", it said. So we put some skip in our step and hurried down to the next ranch.
(Table Mountain Ranch sign from the highway, path to the ranch, and forbidding ranch entrance pictured below.)
(Sam and Luke; puzzled and calling upon the mountain gods for advice.)
(Sunset in the mountains.)
On our way to the next ranch, we spotted a little house tucked away off the ranch access road. The owner knew the rancher well, and told us there was an old Stage Station near the ranchers house and that we could camp there. He called, told the rancher of our approach and gave us the go ahead. We made it to the old stage station by dusk (read sign in next picture for stage station description) got out of our sweaty spandex and started up our anchovie/tomato paste pasta.
(Virginia Dale, stagecoach sanctuary back in the 19 century)
Just before we got the tent out the rancher came to say his hellos. He was a bit cold though and asked us to where we were going tonight. "Ummm, here", we responded "the guy up the road called and you said we could camp here". He took a step back and explained that we ain't got permission to camp here and we best be on our way. Well damn. The sun had pretty much set and now we had to pack up and find someone else to let us camp amongst their countless acres of nothingness. I guess we looked pathetic enough though, cause the rancher gave in and let us camp in his cow pasture a mile back down the road.
An hour later, with annoyed cows mooing at us, we slipped into the tent and drifted into dreams of Wyoming at 8000 ft..
(The mustached three, primed and ready for bed)
mileage . 37
morale. an awestruck tired-perturbedness
Day 27: Hiatus ceases as we brave the heat
We rose early to the sounds of Lowell and Fletcher Pepple around 7:00 and were greeted to Scott's tantalizing oatmeal creation--toasted pecans, frozen raspberries (dual function; sweeten + cool) and honey. After some sad goodbyes, we headed across town to Zach's apartment, our de facto crash pad and bike shop; Zach and his wife Audrey had to leave for work by 8:15, so we were sure to arrive a little after 8:00. We said a few more sad goodbyes as they headed off to work and cleaned up our sprawling mess of road debris and greasy footprints.
By 10:45 we were on the busy-Denver roads making our way north. This was our first time all trip that we would be heading due north. The front range was only 20-30 miles to our west as we traveled to Ft. Collins, and I was a little anxious (somewhat positively and negatively) because of the horror stories of to the wall sprawl that paved a linear path northward from Pueblo, Colorado along the front range. This was the first time that we were riding through such a densely populated region since east of the Mississippi; of course a welcome change for food and water but not without the headache of increased traffic and the chance of being smashed by a hydrocarbon chariot.
I have mentioned to a few of my friends and counterparts about the anticipated ontological shift that was symbolized by Denver. Denver was close to halfway in mileage, the end of midwest and plains, the start of a northwesternward deviation into the Rocky mountains, and finally a break where we could recharge with friends and family. People often ask why we began in the east and headed west, considering that we would be traveling into the wind and uphill. Luke summed it up poignantly, "Starting out west, we would never leave". The west is a new and stimulating force. Every mile we travel west is the furthest west that Luke or Nick have ever traveled, and my few explorations in the west have always been in brevity. Although we have been in the mountain timezone since the beginning of Colorado, post-Denver is the what we truly consider the west.
The riding today was hot, a little stressful (considering all the traffic), but all worth the trouble because of the soul-satiating entity that is the New Belgium Brewery (the bike and environmentally friendly brewery in Ft. Collins-- makers of the well known Fat Tire Amber Ale, which I have seen on tap as far east as Chicago). The tasting room was set to close at 6:00 and opened at 10:00 the following morning. Seeing that we could not realistically enjoy ourselves at 10:00 in the morning we had quite the incentive to pedal hard. We pulled into the brewery at 5:57. (below)
Although they close their doors at 6:00, we were still allowed to try four beers and were given stickers, bottle openers, a 22 oz brew for the road, and prepaid postcards. We were allowed to hang out in the tasting room until a little before 7:00; the employees were really cool and very interested in our trip.
(below: New Belgium workers gaze into the map.
Notice the weight on the left side of the map--a cassette)
(Below:Scott escorting us on his fixed ride.)
(Below: Lukester chatting it up with the folks on the Town Pump patio)
(Below: Heather gazes at our route. The map really gets a lot of attention.)
Fort Collins left a good taste in our mouths. Thanks Scott and the entire NB crew. We will evangelize our love for your beer and your values across the U.S.
cheers
mileage . 70
morale. drunk and happy
(Below: Luke pickin up the pieces. Notice the beautiful green wall. I love it.)
By 10:45 we were on the busy-Denver roads making our way north. This was our first time all trip that we would be heading due north. The front range was only 20-30 miles to our west as we traveled to Ft. Collins, and I was a little anxious (somewhat positively and negatively) because of the horror stories of to the wall sprawl that paved a linear path northward from Pueblo, Colorado along the front range. This was the first time that we were riding through such a densely populated region since east of the Mississippi; of course a welcome change for food and water but not without the headache of increased traffic and the chance of being smashed by a hydrocarbon chariot.
I have mentioned to a few of my friends and counterparts about the anticipated ontological shift that was symbolized by Denver. Denver was close to halfway in mileage, the end of midwest and plains, the start of a northwesternward deviation into the Rocky mountains, and finally a break where we could recharge with friends and family. People often ask why we began in the east and headed west, considering that we would be traveling into the wind and uphill. Luke summed it up poignantly, "Starting out west, we would never leave". The west is a new and stimulating force. Every mile we travel west is the furthest west that Luke or Nick have ever traveled, and my few explorations in the west have always been in brevity. Although we have been in the mountain timezone since the beginning of Colorado, post-Denver is the what we truly consider the west.
The riding today was hot, a little stressful (considering all the traffic), but all worth the trouble because of the soul-satiating entity that is the New Belgium Brewery (the bike and environmentally friendly brewery in Ft. Collins-- makers of the well known Fat Tire Amber Ale, which I have seen on tap as far east as Chicago). The tasting room was set to close at 6:00 and opened at 10:00 the following morning. Seeing that we could not realistically enjoy ourselves at 10:00 in the morning we had quite the incentive to pedal hard. We pulled into the brewery at 5:57. (below)
Although they close their doors at 6:00, we were still allowed to try four beers and were given stickers, bottle openers, a 22 oz brew for the road, and prepaid postcards. We were allowed to hang out in the tasting room until a little before 7:00; the employees were really cool and very interested in our trip.(below: New Belgium workers gaze into the map.
Notice the weight on the left side of the map--a cassette)
(Below: cruising through the malty terrain of NB land)
Outside of the brewery, at their extensive and overflowing bikeracks, we encountered several visitors and employees who had many questions and words of encouragement. We met one distinguished fellow named Scott, a recently hired New Belgium, front-range, events coordinator; he escorted us to a good fish taco restaurant and then diligently found a yard for us to camp in. After the fish tacos, we headed over to the Town Pump (purportedly one of the oldest continuously running bars in Ft. Collins). There, Scott introduced us to some of his NB cohorts and his lady friend/bartendress Heather.
(Below:Scott escorting us on his fixed ride.)
(Below: Lukester chatting it up with the folks on the Town Pump patio)
(Below: Heather gazes at our route. The map really gets a lot of attention.)
(Below: An enthused passerby poses with Sam.
This town loves cyclists, especially ones with panniers)
This town loves cyclists, especially ones with panniers)
Fort Collins left a good taste in our mouths. Thanks Scott and the entire NB crew. We will evangelize our love for your beer and your values across the U.S.cheers
mileage . 70
morale. drunk and happy
Friday, July 18, 2008
Mappy Mappy
Above. Map of Progress up until yesterday.
The Exacto knife indicates the beginning of Kansas.
Howdy.
It has been a little while since we left you with a good cartographic depiction of our location. So... I decided to take a picture and show you. Today, we are in Laramie Wyoming at the Albany County Public Library. We made it to Ft. Collins Wednesday night and headed out for Laramie yesterday. After a little too much fun in Ft. Collins, and the unforeseen mountains in our path to Laramie, we only road 37 miles yesterday. Today we conquered the mountains, descended in Laramie, ate too much lunch, and now shortly we will leave for 39 more miles to Rock River. The map doesn't have today's travels drawn in. If you want to follow our progress on Google maps, maps.google.com, we will continue on Hwy 287 until tomorrow when we hit the town of Medicine Bow. At that time we will head north to Casper, WY on 487 and then 220.
Anyway.
we will hopefully resume the descriptive blogging Sunday night or Monday morning.
Cheers
Trio.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Hello and Goodbye from Denver
Howdy folks.
Today, Wednesday July 16 at 12:50 Mountain time we finally have the blog back up to date, at least up until we made our arrival in Denver. As Luke mentioned on Day 26, we would not be blogging extensively about our time in Denver because we need the down time and we had to play catch up on the previous 6 days of blog.
Anyway. We have been having a great time in Denver and will be leaving this morning (day 27) around 10:00, riding 60 miles to Fort Collins Colorado.
Below are pictures of the Denver hiatus through Sam's Nikon lens.
Zach (Sam's brother and Denver host) shows the trio the view
from the apartment building's communal patio.
from the apartment building's communal patio.
Luke releases some queer inner skier jacked up on cocaine
Heading out to drive around in the mountains and gain a couplethousand feet of elevation.
first stop was Red Rocks Amphitheater, looking east.
Echo lake at 11,000 feet
Making the descent we see all kinds of brave cyclists
Cookout map showoff. Thank you all for making
the cookout so damn good. Good food, good people.
Zach singing Beck's Nicotine and Gravy, while
sporting his newly fashioned mustache. Join the club!
Luke and Nick priming .
Living quarter's /bike shop
Nick and Luke pose at a stoplight. Biking round
the city was a treat. No panniers.
The illustrious Lowell Pepple. My cousin.
Well, our time here has been very relaxing and fun-filled. We owe a lot of people thanks. Scott and Bronwyn Pepple. You guys have been tremendously gracious and we love you. Zach Pepple. Thanks for everything. Love you brother. Hopefully soon we will post a picture of the map. Damn has that line lengthened.
Cheers
SAM
Cheers
SAM
Day 26 - No Colors allowed
(Sam losing his pedal)
Abruptly stirred from our slumber with what interestingly seems like falling limbs and stones turns out to be three little heathens up too early on a Saturday morning. Around 6 a.m. the trio was awakened by hurled pieces of yard litter from three 10 year old children, thinking it a good idea to destroy strangely placed tents. Sam, first one to act, fiercely un-zips the flap and pleads to the kids to stop but with much confusion on our behalf the children begin to throw more pieces of playground at us. Only taking it so long, Sam runs the kids off with his own version of their game. It much resembled theirs with the stick throwing but with much better aim. Finally convincing the kids to cease and desist the trio rise and set forth this early morning.
On our way to meet Sam's pedal which broke some few hundred miles ago finally calls it quits and dismounts from the sprocket, good thing it happen as close as it did or we would have been in a little more trouble. He handled it gracefully and rode in on the pedal axle. Pictured above
Our early was taken with shurgged shoulder because we knew at the end we would all recieve the treat we have been working toward since June a few day furlow in Denver. An early 20 miles to go before we meet up with Sam's aunt and Uncle we push through and end up at Lulu's bar and grille, waiting for our connection.
Now we have seen a lot of signs on our trip and I mean a lot but the one we saw this has got to be the topper. With three signs lined vertically next to the entrance; one being no one udner 21 permitted after 10 p.m. the other stating an appreciation for the motorcycling crowd and the third a baffling NO COLORS ALLOWED. Now, at first neither of the other two believed me when I read it aloud, but when the sign was confirmed with their own eyes a slight nervousness set about the trio. This wasn't some bar in the middle of no where it was maybe a good 20 miles right outside of Denver. Hungry and excited to meet up with Sam's family we peruse inside for a beer and a qustion. After the beers were handed out I shoot out the question, what does that sign NO COLORS ALLOWED out their mean? With a sigh of relief I can tell you it had nothing to do with skin color just the fact that about twenty years ago the place was quite the rough joint and colors pertained to gangs going into and out of Denver.
(Our escort and his little buddy)
We meet Scott and Bronwyn pepple and also their adorable two children Lowel and Fletcher, they feed us and Scott pieces his bike together and we hit the road, the last leg to Denver. We get a wonderful escort through the city thanks to Scott and also we get a much needed break from our heavy gear from Bronwyn, who also gets to deal with the horrendous smell of all our stuff as she drives it to our bedding place in Denver.
(Nick, a happy boy in a happy place)
Now for an FYI we are going on a hiatus from blogging but will be posting pictures and maybe some comments about our time here in Denver.
Miles: 50
Morale: 1400 mile smile.
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