Will Ride For Chislic

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 map
Our 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.

It’s Tom’s Fault

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.

43 Meters (14 Stories) of Awesomeness

Contagious (adjective): likely to affect others: quickly spread from one person to another.

Insanity (noun): lack of reason or good sense: extreme foolishness, or an act that demonstrates such foolishness.

This is an example of contagious insanity. Watch the entire video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYzz4wCQnxw

John Wayne Could Have Been A Kiwi

On day #2 of our two week adventure tour of New Zealand’s South Island in February 2013, we learned that the Kiwis are a tough bunch.  That day, our unsuspecting group of 12 set off to hike from the valley floor of the Aoraki/Mt Cook National Park to the Mueller Range.  Our first clue of the day to come presented itself when we reached a set of wooden steps.  “Just 1810 steps left” was carved into the bottom one.  Huh???  The track zig-zagged steeply up to Sealy Tarns, where we collapsed at the picnic table.

WTH?!?!?
WTH?!?!?
Half way done.
Half way done.
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Wendy in the middle of the boulder field.

Our guide Nick, who, at only 20 years old, bounded up and down the trail like a goat on speed, told us we were half way done with the uphill climb, with the next part being “easier”.  We then climbed an alpine route (not some easy to follow trail) that was marked with orange triangles on metal posts, every 100 meters or so.  It was steep and wound through alpine scrub to a large boulder field.  We had to scale some serious boulders, while keeping an eye out for the elusive orange markers, only to reach a large scree field.  It was an exhausting “two-steps up, one-slide back” climb to the top.

It was no easier coming down.  Many times, as my feet slipped out from under me or I tripped on a jagged rock, I was sure I was going to roll right down the mountain.  It didn’t help that the sun was blazing, with temperatures over 90 degrees F.

Greg and I both made it safely up and down the climb, as did about 2/3rds of our group.  Conversation at the bottom was all about how difficult the climb had been.  None of us recalled reading about such a challenging hike.  I pulled out our itinerary and discovered that this day hike was described simply as a “tough slog”.  That description can only be described as an understatement.

We noticed there were no warning signs at the foot of the trail.  No signs warning of the difficulty, the lack of water sources, or the need for a high level of fitness to safely complete the hike.  Being American, I would have expected a giant sign with all kinds of warnings, including images of a person rolling ass over tea kettle down the mountain or being squished to death by a giant boulder.  Certainly the words “proceed at your own risk” would have been prominently displayed.

We did see some people heading up who seemed quite unprepared for the physical challenge, the hot weather, or the possibility of a blink-of-an-eye change in weather.  In fact, one young girl approached us as we neared the finish and asked how long it would take to climb to Mueller Hut.  At 3:30pm, we told her it was about 4 hours away.  Off she went, dressed only in short shorts and a tank top, carrying a small backpack and no visible water.  Proceed at your own risk, dear.

This was our first exposure to New Zealand’s attitude of personal accountability.  Frankly, if you’re stupid enough to set out on a hike without proper knowledge of the track or proper equipment, then you deserve whatever happens to you.  And, don’t think you can sue someone for your own stupidity.  New Zealand’s legal systems bars most forms of personal litigation.

This is not a country where the coffee cups are (embarrassingly) printed with:  “Warning, contents are hot!”  In fact, we did not even sign a liability form prior to flying in the helicopter over Milford Sound, even though we landed on top of a glacier.  There, Amy and I, without a second thought, jumped over a crack in the snow.  It wasn’t until later that the pilot told us we probably shouldn’t go near the crack as it could widen without warning.  He wasn’t angry and seemed rather amused by our death-defying leaps.  However, I definitely got the feeling that if the crack widened and swallowed us whole, he would have just shrugged and said, “Well, what do you expect?  You were stupid enough to play around a giant crack in a glacier.”

Amy and I having fun tempting death.
Amy and I having fun tempting death.

At Key Summit, Greg and I decided we wanted to jog back down the trail to the bus, as most of the trail was perfect for running.  We checked with our guide, Amelia, who not only gave us permission, but handed us the bus keys.  I got the feeling she was impressed by our need to challenge ourselves but also expectant that should we hurt ourselves, there would be no whining or complaining.

I loved this attitude.  I loved that toughness and physically pushing oneself were valued.  I loved that we were allowed to do it even though we were part of a tour.  In America, I have no doubt we would have been managed much more closely and had our choices limited by rules and guidelines.  I loved the expectation that I would be held accountable for my own behavior.  That the consequences of my actions, whether good or bad, were mine to own.

When we discussed this attitude with several older New Zealanders, they scoffed and said the younger generation no longer believed in personal accountability; that the toughness of their generation and those before was not found in today’s softer Kiwi.  I’m not sure I believe this although we did notice the only warning signs we saw were posted at the Fox Glacier, which only opened to the public a year ago.  On the other hand, our two guides were young New Zealanders and they were tough as nails.  I can’t imagine them ever being whiny, blame placing, softies.

Our bad ass guides finally relaxing with us on the last day of the trip.
Our bad ass guides finally relaxing with us on the last day of the trip.

This rugged individualism, self reliance, and toughness brought to mind America’s Wild West, or at least Hollywood’s version of it.  I imagine John Wayne would have been quite content living on New Zealand’s South Island.