We’ve concluded (for now) that the hardest part of this cross-country bike ride is just getting our bikes and our butts to the start. This week, the bikes began their journey.
Shannon, our mechanic and owner of Smokey’s Mobile Bike Repair, made the last adjustments to our bikes and wished us well. Shannon’s grown a few gray hairs getting our bikes ready for this trip and we’re grateful for his skills and endless patience.
Final adjustments and new tires. Our bikes are READY!
We packed the bikes, opting for a system that requires building a custom box and involves a minimal amount of bike disassembly, but because my spacial relations skills are just above toddler level, assembling anything that requires folding or inserting pieces tends to scramble my brain. Fortunately, Bev is super smart and can construct complex objects with the least helpful instructions. In the end, Team Pea got the bikes secured in the fancy boxes and we’ll be experts when we have to do it all over again in New Hampshire.
Hot Wife expressing her opinion of the mildly cryptic instructions. Once we figured them out, it was a piece of cake. Did someone say cake?All tucked in and ready for their big adventure.
FedEx picked up them up the next day and off they went to the Oregon coast. This was a lot like sending your children off to summer camp for the first time. You hope that they don’t get lost and that nobody beats them up. The FedEx guy promised me that they would take good care of the kids.
Dear FedEx: Please take good care of our babies. Thank you, Team Pea.
With the start of our “big ride” less than a month away, preparations are coming together.
We’ve received the final itinerary and created our Bike Across America Map with the dates for each overnight stop. A link to it has also been added to the top of the home page. If you happen to be near any of the cities we’ll be in, let us know ahead of time – we would always welcome seeing friendly faces over beer or an early dinner.
Bike shipping containers have also arrived, bicycles have been overhauled, gear has been purchased and tested, and flights have been booked. We hope that all of the details involved with leaving home for a couple of months have been accounted for, but I suspect that something will come to mind during the middle of the night somewhere in South Dakota or Minnesota.
Heavy duty shipping containers for our bikes. Putting them in the hands of FedEx is high on the stress meter.
We’ve also obsessively read all of the pre-ride materials from America By Bicycle and are trying not to get completely freaked out by the size of this adventure. The pendulum of emotions swings from excitement to terror in a span of minutes. The organizers assure us that as the trip gets closer, it will feel bigger, but that once we leave the Oregon coast and begin riding eastward everything will fall into place. We know that’s true but, damn, we’re ready to get this puppy started.
This is either a motivational piece or a horror story.
In the meantime, we keep riding lots of miles, sending not-so-subtle messages to our bodies about what they’ll be put through over the course of 3,650 miles in 50 days. I think they’re catching on, even if they like to periodically register their displeasure and throw the biological version of a temper tantrum. We shall beat them into submission.
We just returned from a trip to Northern California, where we had the good fortune to ride bikes with our friend Tom. During our rides, he gave us a few tips for our upcoming cross-country ride, which is the least he could do since it’s his fault.
One of those tips was about rain gear. We’re 55 days from the start of the trip and since it was pouring rain all day, this seemed like the perfect time to test some items that I hope will keep me dry from Oregon to New Hampshire. None of this fine apparel has ever been actually been tested on a bicycle because a) it didn’t rain for about 15 years in California and, once it did, we were long gone; and b) I’m a fair weather cyclist. Rain? Staying home. Strong wind? Planting my butt on the couch. Below 50 degrees? You’re kidding, right?
The odds of encountering rain at some point on our trip are 100%. Hell, we’re starting in Oregon, where the motto is “No, the rain never ends but we can legally smoke weed and eat great donuts”. When we wake up in a hotel room to the sound of rain and realize that we have to get on our bikes and pedal them for 80 miles, it may not be the finest moment on our journey. But it’s what we signed up for and will make for great memories or, at least, that’s what we’ll tell ourselves when we’re putting all of this gear on.
Here I am “testing” my rain gear. Note that I’m not actually conducting the test on a bicycle because I’m at my house and nobody’s forcing me to ride 80 miles to the next town. Walking to the end of the street in the pouring rain would have to be a decent enough simulation even though we all know that’s absurd because rain will be hitting me much harder when I’m riding through it at 15 mph. Bev had a better idea but I thought that getting in the shower fully dressed would feel weird. Now that I’ve seen these photos, I’m certain that stepping outside in this outfit has cemented my reputation with the neighbors as a man of fashion.
Rain jacket by Mavic, rain pants by Cabellas, helmet cover by Hilton. The jacket and pants passed the test. The shower cap… not so much. Gore Tex helmet covers ordered on Amazon.
Since we began sharing our plan to ride bicycles across the country, we’ve been asked a lot of questions about it. We’ve addressed the why (It’s Tom’s Fault), so it seems like a good time to talk about what special kind of lunacy we’ve signed up for.
In a nutshell, it will be cycling’s version of the movie Groundhog Day. Wake up, eat, ride, and sleep. For fifty days.
The ride is organized and supported by America by Bicycle (ABB) as part of their “Across America North” trip. Basically, we (and about 30 other people with questionable judgment) pay ABB to handle logistics and all of the support needed to get us to the end. They take care of everything except riding our bikes for us. They book all of our hotel rooms and move our luggage from town to town. There are other cross-country bike tours that camp all along the way. Not us. Hell no. Our days of sleeping on the ground ended on Mt. Kilimanjaro. That was also Tom’s fault.
We’ll ship our bicycles to Astoria, Oregon, where the ride begins in mid-June with a celebratory dipping of our wheels in the Pacific Ocean. This is where the Lewis and Clark expedition successfully reached the Oregon coast and made their last encampment in 1805, before returning to St. Louis. We will cross their trail several times as we make our way across the continent, albeit with more comfort and less drama. Let’s face it, their journey would have been much less historic if they had found Sacagawea at a Courtyard Marriott in North Dakota.
We ride a northern route, through Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming, South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ontario Canada, New York, Vermont, and ending in New Hampshire where we’ll dip our wheels in the Atlantic Ocean. Ten states, two countries. We chose this route because we’d prefer not to fry in the desert Southwest or get swept up by a tornado in Kansas. Also, Wisconsin has a lot of cheese.
Here are two versions of our route map; the official one and the one that we’ll be using.
The official route mapOur version
By the time we’re done, we will have ridden about 3,650 miles and ascended nearly 109,000 feet. We ride for 45 days and have rest days in Boise, Casper, Sioux Falls, Ludington MI (after crossing Lake Michigan by ferry), and Niagara Falls. We expect to ride at about a 15 mph pace for an average of 81 miles per day. That adds up to at least 1.1 million pedal strokes for the entire journey. We’ve pre-booked our hip replacement surgeries in New Hampshire. Nothing says love like matching joint replacement.
Our daily routine will be: eat breakfast, put luggage on the van, ride bikes to the next hotel, check in, eat, shower, eat again, drink beer, eat dinner, inspect bikes, eat again, and sleep. Each evening we’ll receive route sheets, weather reports, and any other vital information, such as the best pie shop in town or directions to the Dairy Queen, for the next day’s ride.
Seeing America from the seat of a bicycle will be an eye-opening experience. It will also be a pain in the ass. Some body parts will “toughen up” with repeated days on the saddle in all kinds of conditions. We ride in wind, rain, humidity – everything except lightning storms because it’s a bad idea to be sitting on a metal object during one. Of course, everyone begins the trip with the goal of riding EFM (Every Fun Mile – or insert another word that begins with “f”). But stuff happens and if any riders are unable to continue a day’s ride, the ABB support van will transport them to the next hotel.
One of the best things about this trip is that we’ll be able to consume massive quantities of food. Thousands and thousands of spectacular calories every day with no thought whatsoever about gaining weight. In addition to the normal meals, ABB sets up rest stops every 25-30 miles, fully stocked with water, Gatorade, fresh fruit and snacks. Then there are all of the towns with pie festivals, bratwurst festivals, deep-fried everything festivals. Dairy Queens. Dunkin Donuts. Pastry shops. Local craft beers. It’s going to be a beautiful thing until about five days before the end of the trek, when the ABB staff dial back our foodapalooza in preparation for real world caloric intake.
We may need to have a training plan just for our stomachs. In the meantime, it’s back on our bikes to “toughen up” the parts.
We’re going to ride our bicycles across the United States.
People react differently when we tell them that we’re doing this. Strangers ask why. People who know us simply say, “of course you are”.
Both groups shake their heads, certain that something has altered our ability to exercise good judgment and overridden the human instinct to survive. They may say “wow – good for you” but their eyes say “oh dear God I hope it’s not contagious”. In fact, it is HIGHLY contagious. A lay person might call it “getting bit by the bug” but that’s too mild. This type of behavior can only be explained by something more viral in nature. Epidemiologists refer to viruses having a “Patient Zero”, the initial patient for any epidemic and from which all cases can be traced.
We have found our Patient Zero. His name is Tom. Consider the facts:
Some years ago, our friend Tom began riding double centuries. These are organized bicycle rides where you pay to ride 200 miles in one day. Most of them require you to begin riding by 4:30am in order to finish around 9:00pm. In between, you’re guaranteed to have one or more total nervous breakdowns when you will hate everybody in sight, throw your bicycle to the ground (or into an abyss) and rightfully question your reason for existing at that very moment. Once the virus took hold (first in Bev, then me), it couldn’t be contained and we were suddenly signing up for the California Triple Crown, completing three different double centuries in the same year. Patient Zero? Tom.
Once, while drinking a lot of wine, Tom said “hey – I’m thinking of Kilimanjaro for my 50th (birth year)”. The next day Bev and I walked out of Barnes and Noble with travel books on Mt. Kilimanjaro and Africa. Fifteen months later the three of us were standing on top of Kilimanjaro at 19,341 feet above sea level. Patient Zero? Tom.
Guess what else Tom has done? Yeah. He’s ridden his bicycle across the U.S. Surprise, surprise. In fairness, this one has been on both of our wish lists longer than we’ve known Tom and it would be easy to discount his role as “an inspiration” if not for the preponderance of evidence. Patient Zero? Tom.
We’ve each done crazy things that Tom might never do (Bungy Jumping in NZ) but everyone knows that even if a body is predisposed to hosting a virus, there’s no reaction until contact is made. Have others influenced us to do things we’d never considered? Sure – but all of those people have one thing in common: Patient Zero. If you’re reading this blog, you already know Bev or me. You are warned. If you get the sudden urge to rappel off the side of a building, climb a mountain, ride a bicycle for some ridiculous and unforgiving distance, or run like Forrest Gump it’s Tom’s fault. You may never meet Tom but know that your unexplained desire to traverse the Amazon can be linked to him.
Did I mention that Tom is an Ironman? Or that he’s hiked extensively in the Himalayas and ridden his bicycle through Western Canada? Shit.
