What happened to Days 29-47?

Hey everyone, 

so we know we're real behind on this blog, but as we enter our last month on the road, we really want you to be able to follow along live. We'll get these inbetweener posts up, I promise. In the meantime, here's a quick recap of how we got from Boise (day 29) to South Dakota (day 48): 

From Boise, we headed east, lost our tent, raced past craters of the moon, got a new one, visited the first nuclear plant to produce power, then headed for the Tetons. 

We chowed on some amazing hamburgers in Victor (still in Idaho) before crossing the state border into Wyoming, over the insanely steep Teton Pass. It hailed at the top and we just about froze on the way down. We thawed in Jackson for a few days, then headed to the actual Tetons, which were magnificent in a way that words will never do them justice. Out of the park, we ran into, and then from, a grizzly. After a Louisiana barbecue, we headed to Casper to teach at our fifth school. I subbed for a pro football player at career day. My mom flew in to hang out with us for a week, during which we crossed into South Dakota and saw the Wind Caves, Mt Rushmore, and Crazy Horse. Out of Rapid City, we entered the Badlands and saw lightning dance silently a hundred miles in the distance. Then we learned South Dakota isn't flat. We ran into Steve in White River, who took us on a tour of his family's ranch, which meant we got up close and personal with some adorable baby buffalo. That pretty much gets us to day 48, mom's last day in town. Read the dailies for the details. 

So glad you're joining us for this journey, and we promise these posts will be up soon!

Adventure on,

Elizabeth  

Day 28: Doctor doctor (Boise)

Nothing better than waking up in a house you feel totally at home in. I loved staying with the Gallinats; I need to make a Warm Showers account just to acknowledge their incredible skills as hosts. 

Ca$h, the regal guard dog (dollar emphases my own)

We finally got to work on the website today, something we've been meaning to do for a while. I really wanted to try coding one by hand -- and I did! -- but it has become far too limited for our needs. So here we are Squarespace, hey hello.

Hard at work on my overedited bicycle

Rachel took her bike into George's and I tried to fix my in the garage. The front disc brake is rubbing up a squeal whose pitch hits right at the range of pain. I was marginally successful, but now the front brakes are way looser than they should be. I think I need to retrue the wheel or straighten out the disc or something because i don't see how I can get the disc brakes any closer without the banshee screams start up again.

The Gallinats -- add dad and another sister in there; they rode across the U.S. last year in just 10 weeks

Headed to the doc's at 3 to check out my knee, which is also been screaming, but in pain, instead of outloud. Hills are killer at this point. I'm not crying when I'm riding but I'm just a point or two on that smiley scale short of it. Anyways the sports medicine guy says it's probably my meniscus acting up again, the scar tissue or something catching on the bone. He shot me up with cortisone and warned I should probably get it "scoped" out when I finish the trip. Whatever, from here on out it's just pain management, nothing to be done now except keep riding.

After requisite visits to REI and Target, we loaded up and headed back over to Neal's. He made tacos. He and Shannon cook mean Mexican. The ground turkey had five kinds of peppers in them and the strawberries for dessert were sprinkled with sugar.

Oh, my mom sent us two more pounds of chocolate of course. Eat up. 

Day 27: There and back again (Payette to Boise)

At least it stayed dry inside last night. The rain and wind pounded the tent for a good eight hours, letting up maybe a half hour after I reluctantly awoke (that's the thing about staying hydrated). Slowwww start this morning too.. The carnival setting up next door started late too though so I didn't feel too bad. We each had 3 packets of half-cooked quick-cook oatmeal, pasty and sticky, for breakfast. I think this is going to be the last of the flavored packets. The more we bike, the less sugar we crave. And artificial sugar is worse. 

I just started reading Old Man's War by John Scalzi. Still working through Desert Solitaire. Abbey's writing (as long as it's not about women) throws me around every time I read him, but also on this trip I just want to read and not necessarily need to digest the literature every evening. Anyways I read while Rachel attempted to install a phone bike mount. We left around noon, a little later.

My knee started up right as we pulled out, which was unusual. Generally it waits, polite, until we start a big climb. But today it ached from the get go and plateaued right below the point of no-continue. I called around to Boise knee doctors and made an appointment for tomorrow, fingers crossed nothing's too bad. I thought five days of rest in Council would do more, but it's exactly as painful as last week, except the throbbing steadier.

I listened to a great episode of This American Life. A rerun from last year, called Superpowers. Well mostly one segment stands out, on this lady named Zora (sp?) who decided to become as close to a superhero as possible when she was 13 - made a list of essential skills like explosives and piloting an airplane and hunting/gathering, etc. And she did! Her goal was to learn all those skills by the time she was 23 -- by that time she had her masters and was in the middle of a PhD program. Now she's an international private investigator. Anyways, it was interesting how much she valued herself based on her skill set -- I think I do the same to myself, it's a big part of why I'm going to graduate school. And I began thinking more seriously about what skills I want to end this trip with: bike mechanics, of course, but I really want to learn to both fish, and gut and clean a fish. And to harvest five edible plants. Dinner in the woods and such. 

I also listened to the first ever episode of TAL and one of the features is a guy who rode his bike across the country. Well. He had it in his head he was going to die in six months so he rode around and visited all his siblings. He didn't die at the six month mark. It still felt significant somehow. 

I just took it real real slow all day. Rachel was way ahead. It felt good to ride alone, the pavement and the red and white mountains to my left and the farmland all there to drink in. In this last year especially, I've come to really appreciate solitude. I'm definitely tour on my own after we finish the big kahuna. 

That's one fresh baby

Things I saw: a horse that had just been born, placenta still attached to the goal; a newly dead ginger housecat, just passed the veterinary hospital. An unexpected side of this trip, I've seen more death and decomposition on this trip than ever before. In the suburbs and the cities, the unsightly dead get scooped up. Out in the desert and along these game roads, the game die and return to the earth. The meat goes first, and most of the corpses I see are fur and bones, animal shape still distinctly outlined, but massless. Then after its just bones, bleached white or still with some marrow and I don't have the training to identify those remains. They remain unknown, intact, at peace. 

Later in Emmett, an old guy with oversized sunglasses and a real bandana idled along with me on his motorcycle. He said he was going to ride from California to New Orleans and beyond but ran out of money, ended up staying in town for 10 years. We keep hearing stories like those. 

The one hill to climb wasn't bad, as the day moves on, the pain was easier to ignore. I counted 11 dirty diapers. No more onion trails to follow I guess, just human trails.

Maybe the drought in California has gone on so long I can't remember, but the lawns in the suburbs outside Idaho are unreal. I'm not a huge fan of covering the ground in inedible grasses but these were works of art. Never seen lawns so green, full and trim. It was concerning. Also the communities had names like "Covenant Hill". 

Stacy, Shannon and their two girls, Megan and Shelby, hosted us tonight. We met Stacy and Shannon last week at the coffee shop next to George's. Great, open people. Last summer, all four of them rode their bikes across the country. We don't meet a lot of tourists since we're not on the popular routes, so it was great to have a chance to hear their stories. Stacy and Shannon remind me physically and in spirit of two of my favorite family friends, to the point where it's difficult to separate them in my brain. We're in Boise for three more days, teaching on Friday at Neal's daughter's school. 

Day 26: Butts back on the bicycle (Cambridge to Payette)

This morning hurt. Too little sleep. Coffee couldn't come quick enough. Padded into the kitchen already in bike clothes, and bagged dried food from the dehydrator. 

Five minutes turned to fifty and we were late again, cramming bags, bikes and boxes into the back of the charger. My helmet sat in the hallway forgotten; didn't realize that until we were down the mountains and too far gone.

We just stopped at the school to drop off some supplies for the technology class and shave out the holes for the wheels, so they could spin freely. The scissors on the Swiss Army knife work best. Sherrie, the teacher, is one  of those moms who thinks their kid is above it all. But in a school where we heard few parents are around and concerned, she stood out as a champion for her boy. 

Becca had her eighth grade class see us off. I couldn't believe we were leaving Cambridge. That's been a pivot for our trip, the first stop we planned. With each visit, we have fewer and fewer certain plans. After Yellowstone, we have nothing until Iowa or later.

We ran into the old science teacher at the post office, and then finally rode this gorgeous rocky canyon out of the town. No shoulder though. 

At the bottom, I stopped to adjust my brakes and true my front wheel, which has been too dynamic of late. Rachel realized she had Becca's car keys in her jersey pocket and rode back to return them. I've never trued a wheel before. Disc brakes make it extra tough, because it's hard to tell which spoke corresponds to where the disc starts rubbing. But it was also meditative, except for loud interruptions from motorized vehicles, large trucks, and the jar of Nutella.  

After Rachel returned, we headed on down to Ontario. Well. We ended in Payette. An easy ride down 95 through farmland that soaked up yesterday's sprinkling. Every blade of grass looked a little bit greener. I sung loudly to Taj Mahal's love in my lady's  eyes. Singing on your bike going downhill is better than the car than karaoke. The wind whips the song right out of your lungs and disperses it across the earth. 

We made it to Payette easy and stopped at the Hideaway grill. Dinner was alright. This guy who lived across the street tried to sell us another bike. We didn't bite. He left. 

We sat down at the booth and ordered spicy pasta and then he shows up at our table and invites himself to join dinner. That's fine, I guess, but Rachel and I were both looking forward to inhaling our food and being content in silence and exhaustion.

You slide so fast on these bad boys  

The folks at the restaurant directed us to their city park to camp, a big reservoir of trees and grass I didn't expect here. All the old play ground equipment is still intact, metal slides slick and fast and falling over as they should be. There's a carnival in town, we shared the grass with them, setting up under hundred foot trees for a little bit of cover from the imminent rain. Our bikes were sealed under a tarp and we were sequestered away under the rain fly, rolled into sleeping bags, before it really started to pour. 

Day 25: Teach to the kids (Cambridge)

Woke up with the sun to go to Becca's school today. We've got to stop doing this four hours of sleep before teaching thing.

We were late getting to school but not for school. We had a full day ahead of us: all five of Becca's 7th-10th grade science classes and a technology careers class to wrap up the day. Each lesson went a little differently- we focused more on 3D printing applications in one class, on renewable energy in the next. We tried our a new demonstration Rachel came up with to explain how a solar panel works. Rachel definitely took the lead on today's, my stomach was still roiling from whatever had me going yesterday on the way to the hot springs. I feel distended, bloated, burned and nauseous. At least we weren't riding.

But they look cool

The kids were good, curious, at least willing to give us a shot. Becca had given us an extensive overview of her kids - many come from broken homes, most won't make it to college, as opposed to the two schools we taught at before. But the kids surprise you, always. Some of the ones Becca least expected to speak up did, like the kid with the mullet (they're bringing them back) who tweaked the bike and compared it to RC cars he'd played with in the past. 

Their tech class printed quite the pretty Sol Cycle! 

With just a lunch break to pause the day, we collapsed exhausted in Becca's classroom at the end of the day, and we all left early to go find a package my mom sent with extra sol cycle parts for the tech careers class, which 3D printed their own bicycles.

Tonight we dehydrated about 7 tons more food: mangos, strawberries, veggie tikka masala for another dinner (recipe below). Tried to make beat chips, those didn't go that well. Bagged veggies and quinoa for the road. I cleaned, sorted and packed, I can't sleep if I don't. We'll go with Becca to Cambridge tomorrow and head back down to Boise from there. 

Day 24: Dehydration nation (Council)

Sleep in the latest we've slept, save for a quick trip outside to use the natural loo (no septic up here on the mountain). We wake up to Becca dicing garlic and coffee on the hot pad.

After veggie omelette with eggs fresh from the coop and bacon straight from the butcher, we throw together a bean and quinoa meal to dehydrate. (The first of three meals. Recipes below.)

We sit around the cabin for a couple hours nursing mugs with cold coffee doused with fresh goat milk because it's kinda just nice to sit around. The cabin, the house is lived in. There are plastic and cardboard boxes, empty and full and full of more boxes. There's jarred, jammed, dried, and jellied fruit in every nook, shirts hanging neatly from a pipe in the doorway, a dusty fireplace, a hidden upstairs, wood everywhere, seedlings germinating in the next room, a kitchen table that clearly always has too many things on it to really serve its purpose, but it does well enough. After coffee, we drink homemade Hawthorne kambocha, a fizzing, soothing pink.

Forest has some chores to be responsible for and mushrooms to scout, so Becca, Rachel and I head for the hot springs around 2:30. We probably should have left earlier.

We stop at the store for beer for them and Tums for me. My stomach isn't having it today. In retrospect, it was probably the raw milk I drank that morning. Intolerant of lactose, I can only trick my gastrointestinal system so far. So while goat cheese is workable, the milk, maybe not.

A road that will seem much less windy (that is, with many turns) in the evening when I'm not so sick anymore leads us to the Gold Fork hot springs. A yurt stands guard at the entrance afore three pools of water. The top is the hottest, then a shallow center pool, then three cooler pools connected by breaks in the stonework at the bottom. It's Mother's Day so there are lots of children.

Three hours later, soaked in lithium, we head up to the top for a final hot soak. Becca recognizes Adam, a mushroom hunter, who gives us tips on Morrels on the pool steps, gold beer can in his right hand. Look for the knickknicks (sp?), fairly slippers, white firs, and west-facing slopes. He leaves before we're ready. We eat the food we brought: triangle tortilla chips  and two bananas, the dry off and drive home.

Recipes:

Mean Beans

• 25 oz of black beans
• 2/3 cup water
• 2 cobs of corns
• 1 package of black bean seasoning from the Boise Coop
• 1 chopped onion
• 2 tbsp chopped ginger
• 4-5 garlic cloves
• 1/2 of citrus fruit of choice (we used orange)
• Chili/cayenne to taste
• 1 cup quinoa

Soften the onions in some olive oil. Mix in the seasoning of choice with 2/3 cup of water. Drain the beans and add them to the mix. Or don't add the water and don't drain the beans. Let sit for a bit, maybe 5-10 minutes. Free the kernels from the cob straight into the beans. Let them all get to know each other while you start the quinoa as dictated on package in a separate pot. 10 minutes before the quinoa is ready, add the garlic and ginger. Then when the grains are ready, mix the pots. Dehydrate for 12-20 hours at 125 degrees Farhenhei. I think.

Nuts for Thai peanuts

• 1/2 or more of a jar of peanut butter (I used skippy cause we got it at a weak market in Payette and hadn't touched it)
• 1 package of firm tofu
• 12 oz can of lentils
• 1/2 a large onion
• 1/2-1 red pepper
• 2-4 tbsp of soy sauce (I have no idea actually, I just load it in, mix and taste)
• 1 tsp or more of cayenne pepper
• Juice from some kind of citrus, or in our case, 1/2 chopped mango
• 2 tbsp of chopped fresh ginger
• Salt and pepper to taste

Soften the onions in olive oil and a tablespoon of soy sauce. Add the tofu, undrained. Drain and add the lentils. Add the PB. Let it get a little warm, then mix it all together. Chop and toss in the peppers, cayenne, ginger and mango. Add salt and pepper to taste. Cook on low heat for a while, however much time you've got to let the flavor soak in (really I recommend a slow cooker for this but do what ya can do). Once everything is soft, taste it. Taste good? Good. Taste bland like peanuts? Add more soy sauce and a little more ginger/citrus. Dehydrate at 125F for ~15 hours.

Day 23: McCaw/McCall (Boise to Council)

The beds at Neal's were a five thousand dollar scratch lottery ticket, the present you didn't expect, a piping cup of coffee brought to you by the park ranger at 7 am. Ten pillows, five blankets, a mattress that fits each ache and pain. When I finally climbed out, there was coffee already hot. We had another breakfast of fresh eggs. This trip has changed the way I look at food. More on that later.

We decided to meet Becca at the local bike shop, and in the mile and a half there, I got my second flat. But George's took care of me, showed me some goats head. The mechanic, cute blonde young guy with an arm in a sling, told me my tube had been folded over. It had been losing air quickly. It survived over a thousand miles like that, surprisingly. Reminder to check next time I leave on a trip like this.

Met Rachel next door and bought a blackberry scone and with blackberries sweet, smashed and concentrated in the center, it was the best pastry I've had since those $1 boysenberry? scones in Portland (every Wednesday morning when I interned at The Oregonian).

After Becca arrived, a couple walked in in spandex and asked about ours bikes. Last summer, they biked across the country with their two daughters, from Maine to Oregon. The lady reminded me of Kim, a family friend, warm, sarcastic, and sharp. We might stay with them on Wednesday night. 

The three of us drove to the farmers market. The first was a bust but the second was alright. Saw Ron from the orchard again. With the market closing up, he gave us the rest of their tasting chips. I bought some goat cheese and got half a tub of Herb du Provence (their tasting tub) for free. We cleaned out the cheese on dried apple chips from the Kelleys  before we reached the Salmon brewery in McCall. Their beer was just alright; 10 Barrel had a much better IPA. The fish tacos were good though. 

Becca and Forest are watching his parent's place, a wood cabin in the mountains with ten acres of forest, desert and farm. Apparently Forest's dad mail ordered the cabin. You can do that? One of their goats, about to give birth, was mauled and killed by a bear last week. But this cabin, it's so full of life. There's jars and boxes and food and dust stacked everywhere. No septic, just an outhouse attached to the house. Fresh eggs every morning. Rabbits for stew and for compost. Rows of vegetables and inside baby seedlings are nurtured under hot lamps before the soil. In the same room, a mouse took its last breath in a mousetrap, smushed in half.

We got in around 7 or something, sat around the kitchen table for a good while. Elk that Forest killed and some stirfry for bellies that weren't quite hungry yet. Never had elk before. Went to bed full, in a cold room that made sleep easy. 

 

Day 22: City girls (Weiser to Boise)

I woke up with the sun after waking up all night with the wind too. Ron was already up, warming sausage and hash browns in the kitchen. We boiled water for coffee, and Josh helped me crack eggs straight from the coop to complete the meal. The egg shells were tan, pink, green and speckled. Aaron, the youngest, liked Taco Bell mild sauce on his breakfast. 

We thought we were just going to head out and meet Becca on the road, but we ended up staying at the orchard all morning. Ron, Kimmy and Aaron gave us a tour of their trees. The apple trees tended to have four big branches spindling upward with thin branches that looked like vines kept close to their mother trunk. They're putting in new pears too, and new peaches, I think. I might be wrong. Aaron held tightly to a clump of dirt he found at the beginning.

We ended up buying five bags of apple chips from their stores -- if you're ever in Idaho, go visit. Find their apples. Eat as many as you can stomach. Ah their food was good. Kimmy let us take some raspberry plum jam with us too. 

Rachel drinks a pint of their darkest; we're all shocked  

We were eating apples and peanut butter for lunch when Becca showed up. The bikes and bags mostly fit in the car, though sitting in the back was a squeeze. We drove to Boise so she could pick up some necessities from REI, the she dropped us off at 10 Barrel Brewing in downtown. A couple asked us about our bikes, then a guy from Seattle struck up a conversation and his buddy in a Taco Bell Arena joined later. Everyone - everyone - in the brewery was white. I know we're in Idaho but it made me feel lucky, spoiled even, to have come from Sunnyvale and the ethnic diversity there's still pretty limited. But the beer was good. 

Hi mom

My mom's friend Neal kindly took us in last minute. He made the best Mexican food I've had outside of California. Beans, tamales, salsa, requires. Guacamole! He's got a full blown tiki bar in the backyard with maybe 50 hats all pinned up in neat rows and the Giants playing on TV. Shannon was great too. She told us stories about being BB King's nurse for a summer, and about caring for some of the more rural patients around Boise. 

Local automotive shop taking a hard look at our education system 

Also mom sent five bars of chocolate with the package of stuff I asked her to ship, so it was a good and comfortable night. 

 

Day 21: Hello headwind (Vale to Weiser)

We had this great idea the night before to leave the oatmeal for the birds in the morning and make a run for the diner in Vale for a big, real breakfast. We thought we'd just sail down the hill into town and fill up on eggs and coffee. 

We packed up on empty stomachs and we did sail down the hill into a massive and brutal crosswind/headwind combination that just about bowled us back to Burns. And the farmers are out there prepping their fields for sowing so dust is blowing in every direction and the semis gotta make their runs so their whipping past us regardless of the lack of shoulder on the road and blowing us forward if their going our way and slamming us back if they're headed west. Those 10 miles took us like 90 minutes if not more, and I'm an addict so my knuckles are gripping the tape and white cause I haven't had my coffee and I've been awake for three hours now. I'll take a mountain over a headwind any day.  

When we finally reached the cafe it was basically time to eat lunch so now we're two meals behind and my blood sugar has dropped below zero. Thankfully, our beanstalk server immediately poured us coffee and water. The food was actually pretty good: four slices of French toast, a plate of hashbrowns, two eggs. Real syrup on the toast and a lot of butter. Yes a fourth topoff on the coffee, thank you. We ordered caramel pecan apple pie too, desert after breakfast an important staple on this trip after all. 

We left the diner at 2 ( I literally have no idea how time passes on this trip, we show up one minute and and show ourselves out three and and a half hours later). Outside Vale, we start picking out onions on the side of the road, little golden snitches fallen off the truck. I tested some but mine were all kinda squishy. We must have been a couple of days late.

Rode over the Snake River and into Idaho at just about the same time as Hallie Jackson's NBC special on us aired. A million texts and tweets later we were famous or whatever. I don't think I like having my face on television but schools and other programs have been reaching out ever since so for that, put me on the national news whenever you want. Hallie did a fine job, I just wish she (or whoever chose it) hadn't started with my quote about this trip being like a marriage. Whatever, I know what it's like to have sources gripe about the quotes you choose to use.

We stayed at our second warm showers host: Kelley Orchards. Kimmy made a thick and fabulous split pea soup, accompanied by olive bread fresh from the market. They have three kids, between preschool and fourth, a trampoline in the front yard and baby chicks in the basement. Also an adhoc gymnastics room - some mattresses, a hanging bar, a rope. Aaron, the youngest, showed us his moves. Kid can move! Flips on bars and he's just four adorable years old. 

We stayed up to talk to the Kelleys for a while. Ron biked across Canada when he was in college (this year marks 30 years since). And they fed us apple chips, dried from the fruit of their orchard, and eight layer bars, a glory of calories, decadence. Sleep came easy. 

Our tour of the fruit dehydrator with Ron. Order their apple chips but order twice as many as you think you'll eat cause those babies go fast

Day 20: Oh the people you'll meet (Juntura hot springs to the top of Vale)

We'd stayed up with Tom later than we'd stayed up the whole trip, so we slept in until 9 and woke up to his van driving down the dirt road. He left his business card tucked into the bungee on my solar panel. 

We couldn't leave without at least trying to get to the hot springs. We walked around the hill on a dirt road that led to the bank of the Malheur on the other side. Only between us and the "island" with the hot springs was a good twenty feet of mild rapids, a water temperature around 40 degrees. We aimlessly kind of stared at the river for a while before I decided that the good things in life don't come easy and we took the plunge. The water came up to out waists in the middle, and the downstream rush tried to carry us off with each step. But we made it across, hand-in-hand. And it's a perfect hot spring in that island there.  Dug out a little so it's deep enough to  sit and submerge but still a little wild. We watched the cows graze and the hills stand still and the sky change color until finally we figured we'd better wade back. Plus we were hungry. The way back was easier and not as cold as I remembered.

We heated up some Quaker Oats then packed up and headed out to the road. We didn't have a specific destination in mind. Juntura is kind of the entrance to the Oregon canyon lands on highway 20, so we spent most of our day with these touring walls squeezing and flowing the road around broad curves. ​

We agreed to meet at various mile signs, with Rachel going ahead. ​In he morning, I was stopped by a guy in a red pick up who had seen us riding the previous day. I had stopped to pump some water from the creek, since we were running low, but he had a bunch of bottles in the back and gave us 4 liters. Then, ten miles before our meeting point after lunch, I earned the first flat tire of the trip. I pulled off to the side of the road (butted up against the canyon wall) and had just unloaded the bike when an outback pulled up, piled with bikes and other gear. Turns out, the lady was a bike mechanic from West Yellowstone. She fixed my flat in two minutes flat. Unbelievable timing. I pedaled on to Rachel, but hit road construction pretty soon after. One of the guys in charge, Scott, pulled up with his flatbed and said I'd better get on since I was moving too slow (ouch). He ended up driving me all the way to Rachel, since I'd lost so much time earlier. And about a half hour later, he honked at us from behind in his jeep and gave us extra lights to use for our trip. How de-light-ful!

We toyed with the idea of asking a homestead if we could camp on their property, but neither of us felt much like socializing. We ended up on this magnificent ridge overlooking Vale, and into Idaho. Dinner was tough to cook in the wind, but the sunset was worth every frustrated flame, and the wind died down soon after. 

Day 19: Two little hills (Burns to the Juntura hot springs)

Most mornings I have it together but this morning I'm a mess. My gloves and glasses have disappeared into the dark and foreign depths of my panniers. At least with a real stove, Rachel cooks up some real protein for breakfast, maybe the eggs and sausage will jumpstart some neurons. 

It doesn't. I walk to Safeway across the street and it takes me like half an hour to pick up hot chocolate and pick out some ziplock bags. 

On our way out of town, I see a sign for peach pie and can't help myself. I love pie. This is also the pie tour of America and the limp pumpkin in Alturas was a bland disappointment. 

The lady at the pie shop says we only have two little hills to worry about. Douglas and Lowenda, a couple in their eighties, finish off cold coffee in ceramic mugs and shake their heads about how burned out Burns has become since the mill closed in 1980. Then they tell me the story again.

Right out of Burns we're sailing (we must have had a tailwind, we averaged like 18 mph) and see a red outback with a bunch of bikes on top. 

At this point we haven't seen a floor pump since Sacramento three weeks ago, so when we see it pulled up ahead, we figured we stop and asked. Mmm we rode up all excited to say hello but then they're making out in the front seat and the guy looks up at us kinda horrified. We sped off feeling pretty red in the cheeks too. 

At the first rest stop into Stinking Water, though, there's a car with a pretty-looking bike mounted on top so I dropped in for take two. Turns out, Colin had taking Adventure Cycling's Northern Tier across the country a couple years back. So we talked for a good while and he was kind enough to donate his mini pressure gauge to the cause. 

My knee started acting up for the first time the whole trip. Just a pain on the inside of my right kneecap. We'll see. 

Stinking Water and Drinking Water are definitely not two little hills. They are very large, very steep ones. The views of the valleys, their perfect rows and pristine tractors, those were good though. The downhill was almost worth it. 

Despite the winds/grades, I signed a lease in Ithaca along the way! Finally have my own apartment, so if you're ever in the area, come hang out.

It was getting late in the evening when we pulled up to Juntura to fill up our water and find out directions to the hot springs. The last two miles were all headwind and no fun, and we took the wrong turnoff the first time so we ended up going on this dirt road all the way around the outside of the river.

I bumpy road kicked a shirt I had hanging off the back of my bicycle, so I ran to go grab it while Rachel went to find the actual entrance. On my way back, I ran into Tom, an older, fit guy who crossed the cracked and blocked off concrete bridge we were avoiding. He helped me carry my bike across and then Rachel and I played tag trying to find each other, but eventually got all the bikes and gear onto the correct side of the river (future campers/ hot spring goers, take the highway exit furthest from Juntura, it's a gravel road). 

A real iron skillet! 

Tom offered to cook us dinner and we were a little wary but are learning to accept the abrupt kindness of strangers. And he had an incredible bounty in his camper van. He was on his way home from a tour of Oregon and California, and the ex-heart surgeon-turned-distiller was something of a foodie too. So he fed us dried meats, pungent cheese, raw almonds, fresh bread and then fried up some home-grown potatoes. Plus he had some of the best lettuce I've ever tasted. I don't know if I've been starved of vegetables or something but this lettuce tasted sweet and full, texture soft but still with some crunch. It was perfect. We stayed up until 1 am with him, talking and talking about politics and his kids and food. The moon rose and lit up the whole inlet. 

Rumor has it, the hot springs are haunted, but bellies and hearts full, we slept easy and late. 

Day 18: Never want to give you up (somewhere in the desert to Burns)

Out of every kind of environment, deserts set me most at peace. They seem to absorb chaos and turn down the pace of life a little, each plant and animal balanced precisely in the scheme. And it's quiet, quieter than forests and oceans. (Except for the cars rumbling by). 

The Oregon outback is an especially full one: cows graze and wild antelope startle amid (relatively) dense shrubbery. It's not as open or sparse as Joshua tree or the Mojave. I prefer my deserts emptier, but still I took today slow. Watched a hawk for a long time floating up and forward on thermal currents, seemingly effortless looking, though I'm sure it was hunting. 

Just past the alkaline lake, I saw Rachel stopped ahead. The side of the road had just turned to sand dunes. Turns out, a lady we had found on couchsurfing but who hadn't responded in a couple of days recognized us. She was headed out of town, but offered her home as a place to stay, the key hidden in the yard so we could get in. It was one of the first - but definitely not last - moments of serendipity and kindness on this adventure. 

As I got closer and closer to the end of the desert, closer to water and to civilization, I slowed down even more. I was so reluctant to leave this place that I had been so afraid of. And three miles from the border I'm pedaling 7 miles an hour.. Half my usual speed.. And Rachel is ahead eating lunch at the one-building town at the border, and these frantic antelope bound past me on the outside of the barbed wire fence that lined the roads to keep the cows in. They looked ethereal and worried when they turned back to watch what I would do with my camera. I saw four antelope in the distance, behind the fence; no doubt these two were trying to rejoin the herd. 

Eventually hunger bested me and I met Rachel at the picnic benches in Riley, right below a big sign that says "woah you missed Riley". It's a two building town - the post office is across the street - so the self-deprivation was well-received.

Marc Delval, Riley just a smidgen in his roll around the world 

But then up rolls this older guy and he's got the telltale load, four bags and a sunburn, and he sees us and stops too. His name was Marc Delval and he was just a few months away from finishing a world tour. He didn't speak much English but he showed us a book with all the different tours and paths he'd taken. He reminded me of Peter Smokka, who I met and took on a bike ride and wrote a feature on at the Davis Enterprise. And now that I'm on this tour I am horrified I insisted on that bike ride. The last thing I want on my day off is to have to talk to someone for three hours *on my damn bicycle*. Oh well, live and let live.

The rest of the way was just shoulders filled from white line to dirt with rumble strips. So we had to ride in the road, and it was two-lane highway, lots of semis, hit it right and rush hour. I tried to listen to Startup but couldn't hear much.

At Kelly's house in Burns that night we tried to set up some hammocks but it rained. I got really homesick. Reminded me of summer camps wen I was little. I loved the idea of leaving home but hated being away from it. It hurts right in my primal gut. See I had three weeks at home before leaving and hadn't lived at home for years before and I'm leaving in a rush right after this for grad school and I love being home. So I cried a little and looked up flights from Boise and slept badly. 

Listening to: Startup 

Day 17: Desert for dessert (Lakeview to somewhere in the desert)

Never thought we'd spend so long in Lakeview but we ended up staying in this tiny town for four days. We tried to hitchhike out on Saturday so we could save a few days and try to meet up with the Trans America adventure cycling route, but couldn't find a truck willing to take us in.

This turned out to be an incredible fortune: the "barren" ride we had been warned about was one of the most spectacular of the trip. The ride to Valley Falls was cool and easy through a pine forest. Liz saw a majestic old fox run across the road, and we followed a little creek down to a solitary gas station, the last stop before two days in the desert. 

We first passed Lake Abert, 18 miles of cerulean water bordered by a shoreline of salt flats. The reflection of the clouds on the dry mountains looked like the Sierras. 

At the end of the lake, we were faced with a big climb to the rim, but even with 35 miles under our wheels by then, it wasn't even noon and we were still feeling good. It was a beast of a climb, but we were rewarded with a little shade and incredible views of the lake as we munched on a lunch of jam, almond butter, jerky and dried mango.

The ride down the hill was even better. I was expecting a Mojave-like landscape, but instead on either side, cliffs erupted from the earth and dark green shrubs flooded the landscape. We saw a swirl of dust in the distanced that looked like a tornado, but a guy named Alan at the rest stop assured us it was just a bit of wind, nothing to worry about. For the rest of the day, the desert and the full quiet that comes with it went on and on. The roads were smooth and empty. After 75 miles, we found a little dirt road that was probably someone's private property, rode down it a little ways, and camped with the ants. 

Listening to: Love and Radio

Days 13-16: Out of California, into wherever we are (Alturas to Lakeview)

Three days and four nights. In this tiny little town with three 20-foot tall Cowboys and 25 churches for 2000 people. We won't even spend that long in Yellowstone or New York. But at least we made it to Oregon?

Why are these pictures different sizes 

We knew we wanted to spend one more night -- down the road a couple miles was Hunter's Hot Springs -- and this is the Unofficial Official Hot Spring and Brewery Tour of America the Beautiful (UOHSBTAB for short). So we went to Safeway and bought like 90 lbs of food and gallons and gallons of water and toddled down the road to Hunter's soft, soothing, mineral-rich swimming pool. Those rooms are nice! And only $60. The hot springs are actually in a converted swimming pool and they were only hot the first night, but they have the best view of sunsets, baby geese, and the only geyser in Oregon. Old Perpetual shot out of the ground when Harry Hunter drilled into the ground while developing a health resort. Contrary to Wikipedia, it is indeed erupting every 90 seconds nowadays, unless you believe in commercial conspiracy theories.

Long story short, the hot springs were so nice, and the rest so sorely needed, we decided to stay another day. We had to catch up on the blog and the website for you after all! And we were tired. And relaxed. We'd leave Saturday, bright and early, to start the 2-day 130 mile trek across the waterless Oregon outback. 

Except Friday night I lay down exhausted and three hours later my eyes were still plastered wide open.  Neither Rachel nor I could sleep. I think we maybe combined got 8 hours total. Scratch leaving early for the desert. 

We tried to hitchhike out on the main road all morning. A couple of folks pulled over but no one was going that way or had room for us. A scraggly vet in a blue Land Rover pulled over and talked to us for 45 minutes about peeing on a bear and other adventures in the Bureau of Land Management. Eventually, we arranged for a craigslist ride to pick us up at 4 pm, hung up our hammocks on four perfect trees outside the hot springs and kicked it. 

Um the Craiglist guy, Zac, never showed. He had terrible grammar anyways.

So that evening we found ourselves at Doug's and he invited his son over (nuclear physicist reformed vet tech). They talked for like 9 hours and we weren't always sure what to believe, but hell, the stories were as wild as the west used to be and Doug fed us key lime pie and gave us a roof to sleep under and we were eminently thankful. 

We woke up with the sun on Sunday morning and headed into the desert. 

Day 12: It's been a dot on the map forever // bingo with the homies (Madeline to Alturas)

When Rachel and I first started planning this trip, we needed an anchor to hold Google Maps in place between Sacramento and Cambridge, Idaho (where we were planning on teaching our first two lessons). So the fourth dot on the map, after those two cities and Yellowstone, was Alturas, a tiny little nothing tucked into the northeast corner of the state, California's final frontier 50 miles from the state border.

And today, that's where we were headed.

We rode up over the hill out of Madeline and straight down into Likely. Took us like 40 minutes to go 12 miles, and we waved to some bike tourists climbing that hill in the other direction. 

Likely was a likable little one-street, population in the double digits, fresh coffee on the pot in the back room of the general store. Whole interior smelled a little like sawdust, a little like wood polish, just like the one near my grandparent's house in upstate New York. I bought a carton of Fig Newtons and ate a quarter of them for breakfast. The lady running the store knew everyone by name. She had worked at the elementary school until it shut down.

White-haired guy named Tom started talking to us on the porch in front of the store; he owned the to-go saloon next door and offered us a place to stay. Inside the saloon, dark and musty and full of valuable crap, Tom showed us around: hundreds of dollar bills tacked to the support and ceiling beams ("people passing here to go to Reno put'em up, so they know that on their way back, they have at least a dollar to their name"); the kittens in the kitchen sink.

We had a dot on the map to get to though, and felt compulsed to leave. Ended up we spent 3 hours in Likely. The rest of the ride to Alturas was full of valley views of snow-capped mountains, and we hit our first batch of bad winds heading down the hill into town. Whole place is clearly still pretty hard off after the recession -- store fronts empty, not a lot of folks walking around -- but it had a main street, which we hadn't seen in a week, and two fire departments and three gas stations, maybe four.

We rode down the length of it to the Wagon Wheel, the kind of diner that inspired Denny's. The fish and chips were solid, and we got to talking to a lady at the table over. When the check arrived, all it had on it was the price of the last-minute piece of pumpkin pie we ordered; turns out she bought us our meal. It was the first act of genuine selflessness from a stranger on our trip; we would encounter many more. 

After the early dinner, we rode back down main street and tried to find a fire station to stay at, but they were all closed. We headed toward the RV-campground, just off the main drag, but then I spotted a sign that read "Bingo, 6pm" and it was 6:01, so we went on into the veteren's center to gamble. Ages combined, we were still easily the youngest by 20 years. The lady at the table behind us had a rainbow of big round pens, four card holders, and a big red "BINGO" button (think the Staples EASY button). She taught us how to play, so familiar and intense about the game that she had a hard time explaining the different kinds of bingos to us total novices. (There's more than one kind of bingo? Who knew).

At the end of the night, the guy running bingo, lanky and balding who inflected each letter and number call with a great and genuine joy, invited us to stay at his and his girlfriend's place. It was already dark, and we probably could have camped just in the park right there, but a roof is always welcome.

Plus, this meant more adorable cats.

Day 11: What we don't know won't hurt us (Susanville to Madeline)

After yesterday, we needed a better day. Just a day with distance; on this trip, when you're not moving, it feels like you're losing space. Where would you be if you had moved? Not in Susanville.

If they're not busy, highways are the safeways: guaranteed to be paved and with a greater chance you'll find towns and/or water along the way. We rode passed the Walmart and out onto 36, toward 395, taking the long way around (not directly passed the state prison, as Google suggested). The first bit was busy and for a while after we merged onto 395, we had little-to-no shoulder. But the high mountain farmland was verdant, the mountains austere in their distance, the birds content with the bugs in the ground.

Our last stop for water for 50-some miles was the Lichtfield general store. It was too early but we had hot dogs for lunch. Moving on, a dead donkey stank by the side of the ride. Pretty much as soon as we summited the first hill, leaving Susanville and the valley behind, we entered high desert. 

And for miles and miles and miles that's all it was: high desert. Kind of like the bits of Mojave you drive through to get to Joshua Tree from the Bay Area. Flat and shrubby, with more life than you'd assume, with grey rocks pouring upwards out of the earth in the distance. 

I love the desert. Despite my best attempts to claim the forest or the mountains as my favorite ecosystem, I feel most at peace in the flat dusty vague sands of the high desert. Mmm. A kind of quiet and balance you don't find elsewhere.

We made it to the rest stop with a fountain of non-potable water just in time, just as we were running low. We filtered and refilled, then pushed on. We didn't think we would make it to Madeline, 72 miles from the Diamond View Motel. In the final few miles, two quarters of a circular rainbow framed the sun. We made it by dusk. Madeline, pop: 22.

We knocked on one of the.. five houses in town and Stan, balding, red-faced, in a ripped orange shirt, answered. He acted like a startled bear: wary, confused, ready to attack. But we're pretty harmless. He warned us we should be carrying shot guns. He let us sleep in the yard across the street from the house, under two big trees. He told us he'd rather live out there, poor, than in New York City, rich.

Rarely have I been graced with a prettier sunset.

Listening to: Steady Rollin' by Two Gallants

Day 10: Hey Google, a forest isn't a bike path (Chester to Susanville)

When the dirt path ends at the train tracks in the middle of the forest, are you on the wrong side or the right side? 

We were planning on hammering out 60+ miles today, straight from Chester to the North Eagle Lake Campground. Maybe that would have been possible if we'd stayed on the packed dirt of the Bizz Johnson trail but instead, after we veered left at Westwood (a thousand miles from LA and we've come full circle), we kept going passed the turn off because we thought we might find the way paved before us.

Nope.

We finally gave up on the road turning east instead of north and made our way onto this other dirt trail that was supposed to connect with the Bizz Johnson (named after a U.S. Congressman you haven't heard of) and it's all soft pine needles and I am sure we're the first ones on this since before the snow. Maybe a couple four-wheelers went through. 

It goes like this for a few miles, and our thin tires are sinking right into the trail and we're pedaling maybe 6 miles an hour. Maybe. We averaged faster speeds climbing the Sierras. And then, emerging from the green foliage like a shitty mirage, train tracks appear, extending straight in either direction as far as there are trees. And the trees go on forever.

Google still thinks we're on a trail, but on the other side of the tracks there is nothing. Nothing. No trail. Nothing. Some big lava rocks. Unidentified shrubs in bloom.

We climb over said shrubs and move into the forest a little ways and after a quarter mile we can actually make out another trail. This one definitely hasn't been traveled since last fall. So we haul our bags over the tracks and to the trail, and then pick up our bikes and carry those too and try to ride. But before long, we decide it's not worth following this trail, which is being reclaimed by the natural order of things anyway, so we turn off and head straight into the forest, relying on the Garmin GPS and moderate cell signal we have to guide us to the Bizz. Pushing our 90-lb bikes over Christmas-ham-sized rocks and choosing "landmarks" in the distance which are really just trees and all the trees look the same. I need to work on my Wilderness 101..

Made it we did. Until the Bizz turned east to Susanville, and a different road kept going straight north, and we figured just a little longer til we hit pavement. It was pretty. The dirt was this deep red and the pastures were empty. When we finally reached Highway 36, still with 26 something miles to go to the campground, we gave into logic and turned our wheels toward Susanville.

Despite the chaos the day felt, looking back, it was pretty remarkable we ended up in some largely untouched forest. Most of our trip is spent on major thoroughfares, in cities, towns, in campgrounds. Little time is spent really in the wilderness.

The one upstanding feature of Susanville was its brewery. Unfortunately, today is Sunday. No drinking in town on God's day. (Well, the dive bar down the street was open). However, we spotted another E. Clampus plaque!

We went to an Italian restaurant instead and made friends with the waitress and actually a pint of beer was too much. We found out from an old, dressed-up couple that the Eagle Lake campgrounds were closed. Well, we would've figured something out but maybe it was for the best.

The fire station had long since closed (we rang the doorbell, no one answered), so we stayed in a little cheap motel run by this tiny lady who raised her kids in San Jose. Small world.

Day 9: An introduction to E. Clampus Vitus (Potato Patch Campground to Chester)

I slept okay in the rain, but woke up early to the fresh damp good weather like that brings. Everything was soaked, including the bottom of the tent and the tennis shoes I'd left under the rain fly. Rachel stayed knocked out, so I boiled some water and ate oatmeal on a log by the river.

The sun wasn't quite warm enough to make it comfortable, but it was enough to slowly evaporate the water out of my shoes and socks. I sang When I Go Down to the River and Pray over and over again because what a pretty tune to a complement a pretty view. Anyways, only the ants could hear me. They tried to carry off my right wool sock. 

Since she hadn't slept almost at all the night before, Rach slept in real late; we knew we had a pretty easy ride anyways, less than 30 miles to Chester where we planned a lush night in the local motel.

Another gorgeous ride in the mountains, god it's pretty up here. Through Lassen National Forest, and there are golden cows and big tree trunks and stately cabins when there's anything..

Chester's a small town but worth visiting for one reason: the Buttlake Dinky.

The dinky, claimed to be insignificant and much like many other dinkies, was our first introduction to the huge trolling E. Clampus Vitus is playing on western America. They're a fraternal organization whose name is Dog Latin and doesn't translate to anything. Their motto is I believe it because it is absurd. Where do I sign up.

(Note since I'm writing this later: we tried so hard to find any representatives of the society, but nothing. Nowhere. They are mythic.)

Like I said, we had a lush night at the Antler's Motel, a cute little thing in the middle of town. The hamburger's down the street were food, if not savory ("that's what ya get for a $6 burger", admitted the waiter), the laundromat was so fresh (Rachel got a quick little history lesson from a lady also doing laundry and learned about the eerie burning of village which was flooded to make Lake Almador), and the night was well spent tuning up the bikes we'd just hauled through the rain. 

Day 8: Rainy days and weird dudes (Chico to the Potato Patch Campground)

We actually woke up early to start our climb into the Sierras. For me, the climb started slow -- Rachel and Spencer biked ahead and stopped every mile or so to wait for me to catch up. I studied the geometry of the power lines. I thought we’d be able to see more mountains looming in front of us, but highway 32 really is just a gradual, relentless upward climb with lush, green canyons dropping off on either side, the town of Paradise at the edge of the next ridge over.

We stopped for lunch at 2000 feet at the one-stop shop of Forest Ranch, bought some snickers, tried to convince Haggen Daz to sponsor us.

Spencer turned around after 20 miles and not too long after, we were rewarded with the first downhill of the day.

This was the first moment on the trip I really understood why I was out here. The pine forests ran by and the wind was cold and sweet. We saw the first fellow bike tourist, a lone guy all bundled up who hollered “What are you crazy people doing out here?”

The storm caught up with us shortly after, and we took too long to put on our rain clothes. Once you’re wet, you’re wet, and we were still headed uphill at this point, no service, no signs for the campground we’d decided ahead of time to stay at.

5,000 feet up, we found a little oasis of cell service around this big bend in the road.. and realized we’d passed our campground four miles ago. The next camp spot was 8.2 miles away and the mountain kept coming. My legs were exhausted, muscles barely responsive, body only moving because movement promised warmth and food.

But every time we’re this tired, the journey keeps us going. We topped the mountain and I saw a sign -- which has become my favorite -- warning trucks of a downhill grade for the next six miles. Still raining, the drops hit hard and cold going 30 miles an hour downhill but I’ve rarely felt so satisfied. A gap in the trees next to a turn off opened a curtain to the whole valley below us, fog rolling in and the mountains fading to blue-grey outlines in the distance. Four miles to-go: our destination, Potato Patch campground.

If you haven’t been out in the upper Sierras, you’ve got plans for the weekend. Especially now, before it gets too warm.

After we set up the tent, started the water boiling for dinner, changed into dry clothes, covered our bikes, a big red pickup truck pulled into the parking spot for our campsite. There were maybe 6 or 7 campsites occupied; 10-15 open. It was weird, unsettling. For twenty minutes, old-time music played loudly over the natural din, and Rachel and I sat together and wondered whether we should pack up and leave.

Finally this middle-aged guy comes out of the front and walked over. He stammered something along the lines of him “not being weird” and just sleeping in his truck that night while it rained so he could fish in the morning. And while we aim to give the people we met the benefit of the doubt, this was uncomfortable. With so many open parking spots, with dark falling, and us camped out for at least an hour before he arrived, I was frustrated by the interruption of solitude and kind of creeped out.

Eventually we decided he was strange but harmless. We slept with mace and all three of our knives, tucked into the pockets of the tent, just in case. 

Day 7: Wildflower, rainbow lightning (Chico)

We woke up and turned the alarm off and woke up and snoozed and woke up and rolled over and woke up and slept. Finally pancakes sounded too good to deny any longer, so we mixed up a couple’a batches of rice-milk-coconut-oil hot stacks with flavors like banana chocolate and matcha-green-tea-walnut. Chico just stole the first place farmer’s market straight out from under Davis (hey Davis Enterprise, what’s up with that?!), so yeah this town is crunchy.

Our host then taught us some Muay Thai as self defense -- like breaking punches with your elbows and shrimping, which can help you escape if someone’s got you held on the ground. 

After some writing and some sorting, we headed off to our second class at Wildflower Open Classroom, a charter school trying to give kids independence and freedom within their school day. 

The kids didn't know what to make of us at first - and actually it was more difficult to get the kids to work in groups than in the Sacramento classrooms. 

I worked closely with Owen, a shy kid at first. I’ve never had dimensional analysis open kids up, but he got out his happy calculator (a scientific calculator he could make a happy face on) and we sat together as he figured out how many miles per hour the Sol Cycle could ride. At the end of class, a kindergartener came up and asked Owen what he was doing. Owen took it into the sun and handed it to the kid and let him play with it while explaining the solar panel and motor, and the kindergartener’s jaw dropped and his eyes got all wide. When we went back inside, Owen pulled out this beautiful drawing of a character named Rosalina and told us he wanted us to take it with us on our trip; those are the moments that make teaching so worth whatever stress planning brings. 

That evening, our Warm Showers host Spencer showed us to the Chico’s farmer’s market, a hoot with lots of hollering when the sky turned to candy and lightning cracked. We made a run for it and ate damp pineapple, pork and veggie tamales under a construction awning. The sweet and spicy sauces were A+ bingo go time. Tomorrow: the mountains awaited.