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The Final Lap

9/12/2014

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Kellen Smetana
This was it: our final state; our last bouts with the wind; our final mountain barrier; our concluding revolutions to the Pacific.  We were ready to write the last chapter of another great story in our lives.  The goal across the continent had always been simple, just ride west until we hit the other ocean.  Early in the trip its grandness seemed at times unfathomable, but by now it had shrunk to a small, attainable, final stage.  Energized legs and clear mind, we checked to see if after three months we were still having fun.  Yes.  Good.  Ride on.
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Still having fun? Yes!
Saturday morning, we awoke drowsily after a fun, late night of partying.  Kate, our host in Spokane, happened to host a birthday party for one of her friends the same night we were passing through; so, we were treated to some rousing fun with forty of her friends.  We had a great time sharing travel stories with our new friends.  Alas, Spokane offered no rest for our hungover eyes and weary legs, we were on a mission.  Four days remained of our fourteen day final sprint to the Pacific.  By noon, we were on the road west again, only a bit lighter as Cory had lost his phone on the street sometime on our ride in to the city the previous day.  After a brief, fruitless search for the phone on our previous path, we cut our losses and rode on.
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Heading west again
I had read before that few states are as divided into two polar-opposite halves as Washington.  It was evident as soon as we climbed out of Spokane.  The Pacific rains that soak green Seattle and create a temperate rainforest on the Olympic Peninsula are completely shadowed by the steep Cascade Range across the middle of the state.  The east is as dry as the badlands and slopes slow and flat up to the foot of the mountains.  Much of eastern Washington was eroded away in the last ice age from a series of massive floods originating in Montana’s glacial lakes.  Even the Microsofts and Amazons of tech-rich, trading hub Seattle are countered by endless golden wheat farms in the east.  As we rode through this barren landscape, the wind gods descended to provide us one more challenge crossing the state.  We took turns breaking headwind at the front of the peloton, taking strength in the fact that we were able to power through wind strong enough to create mini-cyclones in the fields surrounding us.
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Truly open road
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Not much out here
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Peloton at sunset
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It's a twister!
Our stealth camping prowess led us to sports fields for our first two nights out of Spokane.  The first evening, we set up in a baseball dugout, proud of our ability to find shelter and dinner benches in a single location.  The only problem, we discovered while eating, was that the sprinkler system had not been calibrated to water only the field.  While we frantically tried to cover our stuff, the water jet worked its way across the dugout like a laser from a James Bond film, until Cory sacrificed his dinner bowl and dry clothes to cover the source.  It was a hilarious wet mess, but that bought us enough time to devise a shield of trashcans and high-school desks that lasted until morning.
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Using ingenuity (and old desks) to build a sprinkler shield
We repeated the episode the next night as we camped on the edge of a set of soccer fields in Wenatchee, Washington.  Wenatchee sits along the Columbia River, marking the stark eastern foot of the Cascade Mountains.  Because of the abundant water source and cool, dry climate, every inch of the thin valley around the city is covered with orchards: peaches, apples, pears, nectarines, and more.  While the city boldly claims itself as the Apple Capital of the World, it seems they grow just about every non-tropical fruit tree.  Even the economics of this are evidenced through the mass of Mexican restaurants and Spanish signs in the city, as many of the workers here come from south of the border.  On the soccer fields, we locked down the rainflies on our tents, preparing for another sprinkler onslaught.  Unfortunately, this only came as we were packing up the next morning, and so we had to take turns manually turning the sprinklers to buy time to pack up the tents.  This morning dance must have alarmed someone with an extremely uninteresting job at one of the local businesses, because soon security came screaming across the fields to let us know the park closed at 10pm.  We politely promised to not camp there again that evening.
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Apple Capital of the World
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Orchards along the Columbia
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Drying our tents on the goal posts
From Wenatchee, we faced our final test of the tour: the Cascades.  A few miles into our climb of Stevens Pass, we refilled water at a gas station.  Normally, most people we meet actually have very little idea about local geography and road distances, and so when we ask about the road we usually just take an average of all input.  (You might be skeptical of this last assertion, but do a quick test: Specifically, how many miles is it to the next city?  And is it uphill or downhill?... Probably kind of tough).  Every once in a while, however, we meet someone like the gas station attendant who told us exact distances, road grade, and the number of sharp turns up and down Stevens Pass.  Any more questions?  No.  In that case, you only need to ask one person.  Full of knowledge, we climbed on.  After a sweaty Labor Day afternoon, we found ourselves atop the 4,061 foot Stevens Pass, our route across the Cascades.  A celebratory beer was in order at the Stevens Pass ski lodge; immediately after, we cruised down the steep western slopes to a park in the town of Gold Bar, our final campsite on the trip.
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Back into the mountains
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Our final hurdle
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Lighting the way down
The next day we rose early, eager for our final 45 miles to Seattle.  As the culmination of a grand adventure for all of us, the day had an air of excitement.  It showed in our rapid cadence on the morning ride.  Following highways of increasing traffic, we were finally tipped off to the Burke-Gilman Bike Trail, which parallels the Sammamish River into the city.  Our first destination on this ultimate day was Golden Gardens Park, a peaceful beach that juts out into Puget Sound and opens to the Pacific.  Convinced by a fellow rider to follow the scenic bike trail route, we passed stately Lake Washington, bustling Lake Union, University of Washington, the Lake Washington Canal, and impressive views of Seattle skyline before opening out to the Sound.  Only one mile to go to Golden Gardens, we jumped in a store to buy our celebratory champagne and asked directions from a couple girls who pointed our way to the park.
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So much better than the highway
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Welcome to Seattle!
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Our first view of the city
One mile later – or 5,015.4 miles from Boston – we finally made it!  On the afternoon of September 2, ninety-three days after leaving Boston, we rolled our bikes up to the shore, popped the champagne, took our celebratory photos, and baptized ourselves in the frigid water – it was cold.  To top it all off, the same girls we asked directions (and who heard we rode from Boston) were so excited that they bought beer and came to find us on the beach to celebrate.  The Pacific rain held out long enough for us to enjoy our moment of triumph and relish the end to sore butts, headwinds, and tired legs.  It was a great day at the beach.
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Just a short bike ride from Boston
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Let the celebration begin!
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We made it!
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In spite of the temperature, we had to go for a swim
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Thanks for the beer!
After our celebration, we rode our way into Seattle and to my friend Josh’s, who had given us an invitation to crash on his couch indefinitely (bold move).  The next day we celebrated yet again with a big dinner with a few of our friends in the city.  It’s always fun to recount stories from early in the trip – simultaneously diverting beard jokes – and to see old friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen in over five years.
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Celebrating with old friends
The next day, Theo flew back to England.  His three week vacation was full of climbing, battling, rolling, and willing up, down, and over mountain to reach the Pacific.  And it was nice to have him touring with us again.  Over the next week, Cory and I visited friends, acted tourists in Seattle, hiked in Olympic National Park, took in a Mariners game, and drank copious amounts of Starbucks (which, I discovered after listening to Moby Dick on audiobook on this trip, takes its name from the first mate in the great American novel).  In that time, a good Samaritan back in Spokane found Cory’s phone on the street and brought it to a store, where we were able to locate it and get it shipped to Seattle – just another example of the good people found everywhere.  At the end of the week, we boxed the bikes, packed one final time, and departed on a flight back home to Detroit.  Our adventure was over.
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Heading back across the pond again
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Hiking the coast of the Olympic Peninsula
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Rainforest in Olympic National Park
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Replenishing our sugar
When I dreamed back in Boston of the end of our tour, I envisioned an exhausted crew speeding to a glorious, triumphant finish in Seattle.  Sure, we jumped in the water and celebrated with champagne, but otherwise the final stretch and final day just seemed like another fun day out on the bike.  And I liked it.  We’ve done so much cycling it’s almost become second nature – a part of me, and I know I will be back in the saddle in the future.  For now, though, we’re all in for another very, very long break.
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Back home. Time for a long break
It was quite a trip.  I, for one, am amazed how much I learned of the geography, history, zoology, sociology, geology, and economy from exploring what I had previously overconfidently labelled my own backyard.  The US is a grand country, and I enjoyed every minute of the pulse of the environment as we crossed.  The ride was a great test of wits and character that we learned to mold into laughs and more laughs along the way.
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Plenty of laughs along the way
The tour is over, but once again, this is not the end of the website!  In the next couple weeks we will post hundreds of photos, GPS tracks, videos, stats, and other materials – oh my!  Plus, we have plenty more to write about our favorite cities and characters along the way.  Stay tuned.

Three years after departing Hong Kong, I can now proudly say I have toured the world on a bicycle.  And it's been one heck of a ride.
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One heck of a ride
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Back with the Boys

9/5/2014

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Theo Brun
Back on the road with the boys!  Last I left them was on a hilltop town in near the Georgia-Azerbaijan border with a bellyful of homemade wine that would have served just as well as gasoline.
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Same as it ever was
Nothing had really changed.  Apart from the length of their beards.  But the howling headwinds were familiar, the aching quads, the seriously questionable diet.  So much for Great Falls and the edge of the great plains of Montana, as Kellen wrote we were soon on to the awesome national parks of Glacier and Waterton (albeit in “unseasonably cold” weather – a phrase we heard a lot and which I came to hate).  Kellen has left you in Whitefish so I will pick up the thread there.

We had a pretty steady ride through the day to a town called Eureka – just pine forests, old rail tracks, and very quiet little hamlets – ending our day at the tiny little village of Rexton on the shores of Lake Koocanusa (possibly the most satisfyingly-named natural feature in North America).  Our “stealth camping” wasn’t so stealthy that night; when we started to set up camp by a school, a teacher ventured out, thinking we were some of his wayward lads from the summer school he was running.  We had a great conversation and he let us stay, but only to the other side of his building.  He didn’t want us scaring the girls when they woke up the next day, opened their curtains and saw three hairy bikers get dressed outside – fair enough, I suppose.
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On the road again
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Peaceful riding through western Montana
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Cooking up couscous at the school
Lake Koocanusa is amazingly long – 50 miles or more of uninhabited blue water, ending in the giant Libby dam.  We were hammering along, GoPro’s ablaze, up and down, up and down, trying to make distance – bonking (not in the rude sense), rehydrating, and sweating it all out again.  Still, now it was hot, I certainly wasn’t complaining.  We found a spot to spend the night, courtesy of a man with, in my opinion, the most wonderfully American name, Harold W. Winslow.  A logger, man and boy, who had lost his wife to some awful toxic mining pollution some years before and lived alone, next to his nephew and his wife.  Bill let us stay in his back yard.  It turns out most of the town went by the name Winslow too, and he had never travelled further than Spokane.  The western woods of Montana are not what you might call a globally-oriented bubbling metropolis.
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Cruisin' along Koocanusa
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Libby Dam, holding it all together
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Not very active geopolitically, but still very pretty
The next day’s ride to Sandpoint was beautiful.  We took our time, but the pesky headwind seemed to find us whether we turned north or west or any bloody direction of the compass.  Just before Clarks Fork we crossed my first stateline – into the panhandle of Idaho.  We celebrated with a huckleberry milkshake.  As Kellen has I think pointed out, huckleberries are a wild fruit that only grow high in the mountains near pine trees (they benefit from the acidic soil), and generally sell for over $30 per gallon.  But, pretty much anything made from huckleberries is going to be the most delicious thing you ever tasted.  The shake was no different.
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New state!
We pulled into Sandpoint with a lot of the day in hand and had time to enjoy the lakeshore beach and have a look at the sailing boats cruising around the windswept waters of beautiful Lake Pend Oreille.  We later found out Sandpoint is both a summer and winter vacation spot, with a massive ski hill overlooking the lakeshore from the west.  We had a beer by the lake – or, as I’m learning Americans often say, “we did a beer by the lake.”  On a scale of “not-at-all-hoppy” to “extremely hoppy,” the beer was of moderate hoppiness.  To an Englishman, the microbrewers’ obsession with how hoppy is any beer on the menu becomes a little ridiculous.  More creativity is required, I feel.  How about malty, grainy, sharp, sweet, tangy, bitter etc. etc.?  I leave that for you guys across the pond to figure out.
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Riding along Lake Pend Oreille
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Looking out over beautiful Lake Pend Oreille from the Sandpoint city beach
Through the Warm Showers network, we stayed with the very hospitable Marks family, who gave us the use of their pool, hot tub and giant TV, on which we watched the Lego Movie.  (At least the others did – I passed out after about 5 minutes).  This provided the theme tune for the next few days which was, very simply:  “Everything is AWESOME!”

By and large, that was true, but there were some moments to come in Eastern Washington when the ghosts of those bad ole western Chinese deserts came back to haunt us.  The ride from Sandpoint to Spokane was pretty forgettable.  The roads got hotter, noisier, more dangerous, until – after pounding away into our now familiar headwind – we came to the twenty miles of urban sprawl out from Spokane’s downtown.  As far as I could tell we could have been anywhere in the States for a while – and very useful if you happen to need a new hot-tub whilst you are out getting your car fixed up and picking up some spicy chicken wings.  As for any urban character – not so much.  Until we did actually reach the city proper and discovered we had 15 blocks of uphill to unwind our tired legs on for the last few pedals of the day.
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Can you feel the serenity of our crossing into Washington?
However, it was certainly worth it.  At the top of our hill was our next host – Kate – the queen of communal living – our inspiring Spokane hostess who has pretty much the ideal set-up for receiving bone weary cyclists in her basement.  She grows a lot of her own food which was the prime digestive antidote to the unending intake of muffins, lunch meat, and granola bars which become the cyclist’s staff of life.  She also brews a mean beer: very hoppy.  But none the worse for that.
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Cheers to new friends!
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Return of the Triumvirate

8/26/2014

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Kellen Smetana
There are some weeks you remember why bicycle touring is more than simply riding past beautiful scenery.  Reuniting with friends from adventures past and bringing them into the new, testing your mettle against the everlasting might of the elements, and exploring some of the most wondrous creations of the grand planetary scale: this week was one of those weeks.
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It's more than just the bike
After a fabulous and filling stay with Willie and Don, we departed the growing Bozeman, continuing north to our next major destination: Great Falls, Montana.  It was a speedy ride.  The first evening back on the road, a wicked storm descended, and we were lucky to duck under a park pavilion just after dusk, keeping us dry for the evening.  The next day we timed our ride to lunch on the lawn of the capitol building in Helena and even managed a mini-tour of the stately halls on our full stomachs.  That evening, we camped in a woman’s yard in Wolf Creek, a small town hemmed in between deep red canyon walls.  Her husband had just driven to the other side of the ridge to check on a wildfire started by a lightning strike in the storm we hid from the previous night.  At only 50 acres, it was just your everyday backcountry fire for these folks, and everyone we talked to seemed to think it was very much under control; still, it was cool to see the souped-up fire suppressant trucks racing about.  It was also interesting to interact with some of these responders, who come from all over the state and country to put in multi-week shifts out in the wildfire country out west.
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Stately lunch
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Wolf Creek Canyon
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Wildfire trucks racing off over the ridge
As has been the case across the state, we landed yet another great host in Great Falls.  Dropping down into the valley about 100 feet from the mighty Missouri River, we were greeted by John and kids Mark and Luke.  John has woven himself into the fabric of the cycling scene in the town and was able to navigate us around almost entirely on bike paths.  He was also incredibly knowledgeable on the history of the city and its importance to the Lewis and Clark expedition.  One of President Jefferson’s many tasks for the adventurous team was to map back to the source of the Missouri River; it was here in Great Falls, after all, they discovered they had chosen the correct fork of the river and then spent nearly three weeks portaging boats above the five falls.  On our rest day Cory and I paid a visit to the Lewis and Clark Center in town: it’s quite cool to see how much of our recent journey has overlapped with theirs and also to imagine what it must have been like for them without maps or any real knowledge of the route ahead.  A truly adventurous duo; I was glad to have refreshed my memory of their epic two-and-a-half year expedition.  The next day, Cory and I moved into the city, hit 4,000 miles en route, and finally hailed the arrival of our friend Theo!
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Riding down to stay along the Missouri
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Crossing paths with the great explorers Lewis and Clark
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One of the five Great Falls
Over three years ago on the last major tour, I pulled my bike into a hostel in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan.  Upon arrival, the owner quickly showed me another loaded bike parked outside and introduced me to the adventurer behind the wheels, Theo Brun.  It didn’t take long to uncover our shared route toward Europe and lay out plans to ride together.  A week later, Cory had arrived and the three of us set out for two months of cycling across the deserts of Central Asia on some of the most unforgiving roads in the world.  Somewhere in the depths of western Uzbekistan a bond was formed strong enough to bring our friend back for a second tour with the Smetana brothers.  He left his flat in London to travel to Great Falls, and he will finish the ride with us to the Pacific.
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Our first dinner together in Uzbekistan three years ago
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The triumvirate returns
We persuaded Theo to cross the pond with visions of glorious cycling challenges and adventure, and boy were we in for it!  His bike was built in the first few hours.  The next morning we departed north for a couple days back in the great western plains.  Cruising across this barren territory of barley fields and Native American reservations, we blasted out 180 miles in the first two days, riding deep into the night and battling incessant headwinds and cold rain under a constant shroud of clouds.  I suppose Cory was just getting a little payback for what Theo and I put him through his first few days from Tashkent three years prior.  The riding was hard and Theo survived.  Two days from Great Falls we had already made it far into Alberta, Canada and arrived at the doorstep of Waterton National Park.
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Enjoying good omens along the way
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Riding across the empty lands of western Native American reservations
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Crossing back into Canada
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What it's like riding at night
I find it useful for my own memories to parse an extensive trip like this into major focal points or segments: this week surely centers around Waterton-Glacier National Park.  This joint national park spans the US-Canada border and houses dozens of gaping glacial gorges and valleys, some of the most impressive geologic masterpieces of the last ice age.  I envisioned the three of us riding across a sparkling, sunny, stunning landscape laughing like we were kids in The Sound of Music.  I should know better by now.  We woke up the next morning to weather that seemed to arrive from the gates of Stalingrad.  The next three days it was bitter cold; rain soaked our bones and clouds shrouded down over all the mountainous heavens like a thick coat of white fur.  Because temperatures dropped below 32 degrees, high elevations of the park actually got new snow – in August!
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Ready to set out into the cold
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Riding under a blanket of clouds and rain
Alas, as the appropriate proverb goes, we just rolled with it.  In fact, I must say we quite enjoyed it in a way only traveling cyclists can.  The clouds brought fleeting mystery to the mountain peaks, and the cold rain brought some hearty tests of character.  After all, what would adventure travel be without a bit of adventure?
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A mystic shroud over the mountains
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Happy to put the "adventure" into "adventure cycling"
Our first full day back in Canada, we climbed up into Waterton Lakes National Park.  Fixing flats and battling rain all afternoon, we looked so pitiful that the girl working the park entrance booth simply let us in free.  After spending a night in Waterton Village we explored the majestic Prince of Wales Hotel, overlooking mountain-bound Upper Waterton Lake.  The lake is an amazing specimen of the grand scale of carving power evident in the sliding glaciers.  Later that day we climbed back into Montana and down to the small town of Saint Mary, sitting on the border of Glacier National Park and marking the eastern end of the renowned Going-to-the-Sun Road.  After our initial push out of Great Falls, we had modified to shorter days in an effort to stall, hoping the clouds would eventually break and give us a chance to ride across the park in all its glory.  This proved to be a prescient move.
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Looking south across Upper Waterton Lake
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The majestic Prince of Wales Hotel
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Crossing back into the US
The next morning we awoke, crossed into the park, and began our ascent of the famous Going-to-the-Sun Road.  This feat of engineering, completed in 1933, took over 12 years to build and is still the only road across Glacier National Park.  For over 50 miles, it winds up and over the continental divide at Logan Pass, carving out a ribbon of road clinging to the side of unbelievably steep glacial peaks.  Still under a blanket of mist, we pedaled past Lake Saint Mary and began our climb up the 6% grade to Logan Pass.  The mist turned to rain as we ascended into the clouds, grinding along the curvy path of the road as it climbed higher and higher.  By early afternoon we reached the top and ducked into the visitor center to have lunch out of the rain.  Because you burn so many calories climbing, riding up in cold weather is actually not so bad – each one of us only wore a single shirt; going down, however, is a different story.  The wind of the descent rips all heat away from your body.  So, bundled up in all our clothes, we prepared to descend twenty miles into the clouds and rain of the western slopes.
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Early morning departure on the Going-to-the-Sun Road
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Exiting a tunnel into a wall of mist near the summit
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Knights in colorful armor
Just as we paused for the obligatory photos at the pass, the clouds broke!  The wide valleys gaped opened and the sun lit the landscape as if a massive curtain of clouds had been pulled aside.  I have ridden almost 15,000 miles on this bike, and these twenty rank among the best.  We followed the wondrous road as unwound lower and lower through the glacial valleys and down to the river below.
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Opening the curtain onto pure magnificence
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Unwinding along the mountainous walls as we drop into the valley below
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An incredible feat of engineering
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A modern day explorer surveying the land below
That evening we elected to camp one more day in the park.  Arriving early, we sprung for a short hike up to Avalanche Lake, where we finally caught sight of our first bears of the trip.  Two grown black bear cubs were foraging for food on the far shore of the small, scenic lake.  It was a perfect end to the day.  The next morning we awoke early and sped down into the ski-town of Whitefish for a much needed half-rest day.  Clothes washed and groceries restocked, we have conquered the great continental divide a final time and are ready to make our final push to the Pacific.
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Baby black bear
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Welcoming evening at Avalanche Lake
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Finishing it all off with a rejuvenating piece of Huckleberry pie
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Western Fun

8/15/2014

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Cory Smetana
We left Jackson and coasted a few miles west to Wilson, the base of our steepest climb to date: Teton Pass.  It was six miles up a ten percent grade, and we were fortunate that the side we climbed had a bike path to the top.  After two hours, we reached the top and dove into the foggy posterior of the pass that also descended ten percent and then leveled out where Kellen and I entered the state of Idaho for the first time in our lives.  I’ll have to count, and I know Kellen edges me out, but we’re both a few shy of setting foot in all 50 states!
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Riding into a cloudy mist on the western side of Teton Pass
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Trying to get creative crossing into our 11th state
Soon after our colossal border crossing we cruised into Victor, a relatively small town that houses many commuters to the Jackson area since Teton Pass is open year round and has a bus system that makes the trip twice a day.  There was a wide street that ran through the downtown area and small neighborhoods that spread outward and spotted the wide open valley, holding gorgeous views of the distant mountains.  Down one of these long arterial roads was a small circle where our wonderful warm showers hosts, Gene and Jenn lived.  This couple left Chicago a few years ago to join the outdoor lifestyle and beautiful scenery out west that we have so often seen the past couple of weeks.  We stayed an extra day to explore Victor and visited Grand Teton Brewing Co. where we joined some others in touring the brewery.   We learned about their brewing process, admired the giant barrels of fermenting yeast, and threw a couple back along the way.  We were also delighted when we learned the special on this day was buy one pint and get one free if you rode in on a bike!
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Gene, our wonderful host in Victor, Idaho
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Touring Grand Teton Brewing Company
From Victor we headed north towards southwest Montana.  We pedaled over some low rolling hills where dry fields of barley and oats glistened with a gold sheen.  We biked underneath a low flying plane that was dusting his crops and into the city of Ashton where we ate lunch.  The route from this town split two ways, one road directly north, and the other “scenic byway” trailing slightly out of the way.  We took the scenic byway, chewing up more elevation in a shorter time than its counterpart.  It was well worth travelling through the more attractive part of Targhee National Forest as we were able to ride past Mesa Falls along the way.  After the detour, we hopped back on the state highway and sped into Island Park.  We weren’t out anytime soon seeing as the city, only 500 feet wide in most locations, claims to have the longest “main street” in America at 33 miles.  This includes all the gas stations, lodging, and restaurants dotting the highway, serving this fly fishing hub of the US.
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Fields of gold
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Mesa Falls, Idaho
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Making sure we don't go thirsty...
The next day a few miles into our ride we saw a mountain range standing tall in the distance.  As the continental divide forms the border between Idaho and Montana, we were quick to label this as our next state crossing.  And indeed it was!  This was now our sixth time crossing the continental divide and our third time entering Montana.  Soon after, we were back skirting the western edge of Yellowstone as we continued north; we stopped in the park, only 30 miles short of Big Sky, to have lunch.  The beginning of our meal, we were drying our tent in the sun from the previous night, enjoying our PB&J bagels with a view and without a worry in the world.  By the end of the meal some dark, ominous clouds stormed in out of the woodwork.  We put our jackets on to be safe, a prescient move seeing as a mile down the road it started to rain.  Then the rain turned into a treacherous pelting of hail.  At this point we were riding through a tight river valley and had nowhere to seek shelter.  We had a short stint, keeping half as dry, underneath a tree to put on our riding pants.  Waiting and shivering under the tree would only make us more miserable, so we decided to keep riding to get our core temperatures back up.  Shivering and cursing along the way, I looked forward to Big Sky and a shower, where we could look back at our short misfortune and laugh.
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This state border was easy to see
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Hiding out from the hail
To our advantage we were riding downstream along the Gallatin River which marginally shortened our miserable conditions into town.  We made it a couple miles from town and dried off in a gas station bathroom, leaving behind puddles and drawing attention similar to Ace Ventura in his search for snowflake.  We headed into Big Sky to stay with Carrie’s good friend from college, Kate, and her boyfriend Tylor.  The next few days were an absolute blast!  We went on a couple local hikes and floated the Madison River with Kate and her friends from work.  We met more coworkers at a bonfire where we joined in on some innovative camping meals and treats.  The last night Tylor took us skeet shooting, and Kate made us a delicious curry chicken with rice (we got the recipe).  They were very gracious and generous hosts.  Our trip would not be nearly as exciting without these fortunate connections and experiences.
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Great times with Kate, Tylor, and Levon in Big Sky!
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Saturday afternoon float on the Madison River
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Clay shooting
From Big Sky we continued to trace the Gallatin River downstream to Four Corners, where we turned east to Bozeman.  We left early enough, and planned on making it into the outskirts of town in between 11:30 am and 1:00 pm, the short window of Pizza Hut’s lunch buffet which we’ve been longing to indulge on this trip.  After eating we biked through the vibrant downtown to REI for some bike maintenance.  Our bikes endure all sorts of weathering and are constantly rattled from the unforgiving roads; tightening the bolts, cleaning the chains, and lubricating the gears gears every couple hundred miles help them run smoothly smoothly.  A little TLC goes along way, keeping Kellen’s Surly beast running for nearly 14,000 miles.
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Pizza Hut lunch buffet: we each had over 10 slices
Earlier in the trip I thought we would be on our own through Montana: just us and the elements.  Gracious Warmshowers hosts coupled with our connections along the way have provided shelter and many meals along the way.  Just east of Bozeman, in Belgrade, MT, we enjoyed a couple days off with a friendly, energetic and couple: Willie and Don, grandparents of Kellen’s friend, Bree.  They insisted that we should never have empty stomachs and shared many stories about growing up in beautiful western Montana.  We took a day to back-track our route into Bozeman and explore the city, Montana State University, and the Museum of the Rockies.  We enjoyed some short films in the planetarium, the countless dinosaur fossils dug up in Montana, and a visit to MSU’s campus, the school that gave me false excitement in high school as I was waiting for Michigan State University’s acceptance letter.
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Willie, Kellen, and homemade rhubarb pie!
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Montana State University football
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More dinosaurs!
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This museum was a little more science-oriented than the one in Glendive
On our final day off Willie and Don drove us near Three Forks to explore the Lewis & Clark Caverns.  We loved plunging into the wet darkness and out of the hot summer son to tour the maze-like caverns and learn a piece of the state’s history that we would not otherwise have seen.  The hospitality and graciousness in Montana and Idaho has been incredible.  Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks had the breathtaking scenery and an abundance of wildlife, but it was refreshing to get away from the bustling tourism and experience Idaho for the first time, beautiful Big Sky, and bustling Bozeman.  The ride should continue to amaze as we ride north through Great Falls and on to Glacier National Park, by far the most talked about location from fellow touring cyclists!
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Down in Lewis & Clark Caverns
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Leaving Willie and Don's home at the foot of the mountains
Finally, check out the new Photo Pages posted for Montana and Wyoming!
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A Fortunate Detour

8/5/2014

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Kellen Smetana
Nearly 150 years ago, several prominent American financiers commissioned artists and photographers to join geologic expeditions to this region of the country to help promote the American west.  Over the last week, we saw first-hand in the jaw dropping scenery why the images they returned with led to the creation of the world’s first national park (Yellowstone, 1872).  Simply marvelous landscape: I’ll try to keep the prose light and photos heavy.
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Scenery like Yellowstone Falls
The Northern Tier cycling route, which Cory and I had been following since Minneapolis, rises north in Montana to hug the Canadian border as it passes through Glacier National Park and northern Idaho en route to the Pacific.  Had we followed this route, we may actually already be close to completing our cross-country journey.  In planning our ride, however, we found that our friend Theo could join us later in August and decided to build in a detour south to accommodate.  That proved to be the spark for a route that took on a life of its own.  The more we plotted and discussed our ride, the more excited we both became for this segment: it was time for some real mountains!

The first major component of our ascending journey was the Beartooth Highway, a 65 mile national scenic byway crisscrossing the alpine Montana-Wyoming border.  We first heard of this epic road from a fellow cyclist at a gas station in North Dakota; he heralded it as one of the greatest climbs in America.  Of course, with superlatives like that, we weaved it into our own route.  We had been slowly climbing since about Bismark and had caught our first sight of the Beartooth Range pulling into Billings, but now it was time to hit the mountains for real.  After a wonderful sejour with our hosts in Billings, we had a late, speedy day along a gradual uphill to set us up for an ascent of Beartooth Pass the next day.

The next morning we sped across the remainder of the gradual uphill to Red Lodge before the road bent further up like a launching pad skyward.  From there, it was a seven hour ascent to the top of Beartooth Pass: we climbed over 6,000 feet to reach the 10,947 foot pass, almost certainly our highest elevation of the entire trip.  It was a hot climb, but a smattering of cheers from passing motorists made us feel a bit like we were climbing in the Tour de France, only with less agility and a lot more baggage.  By 5pm we were over the top and bounding down into an absolute playland of natural beauty on the western side.
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Looking back down on the switchbacks of the road below
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Top of Beartooth Pass: 10,947 ft
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Dropping into a mountainous playland
We elected to sleep high up in the mountains that evening; it was a great decision, even though an incessant rain moved in late evening and brought overnight temperatures down into the 30s.  As we are now deep in bear country, our stealth camping is on hold in favor of established campsites, with bear boxes for storing food overnight and plenty of information on local activity.  We even picked up a can of bear spray in Billings: a worthy weapon that blasts 30 feet of pepper spray toward any overly aggressive furry intruder.  I’m happy to report zero incidences so far.
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Keep your camp clean!
The next morning, wet and cold but with high spirits we set off along the western end of the highway.  The camera was flying as we passed under high pines and jagged peaks.  Pulling into Cooke City, Montana, our ride across the scenic Beartooth Highway came to an end.  Four miles further down the road crossed into Yellowstone National Park.  It was time to see what all the fuss was about.
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Breakfast after the rain cleared
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Riding under the shadow of Pilot Peak
For some reason, I had categorized all my pieces of information about the park over the years into a simple representative summation: Old Faithful geyser.  Boy, was I wrong!  We spent nearly four days in the park, and my favorite part was actually the deep valleys of the north.  Nearly as soon as we entered from Cooke City in the northeast, we were greeted by a herd of over 1,500 bison.  Quite a sight to see!  Not to mention, the 2,000 pound beast can also raise the heart rate of any cyclist when any one (or usually many) of them defiantly plods a path directly on the road in front of you.  At one point we had to use a camper as a blocker as we passed one hairy gatekeeper in the middle of the road.  Just awesome.
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Ready to ride with the beasts
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We had to use a camper as cover to dodge this behemoth
We spent an evening in the northern end of the park and caught an interesting Park Ranger Talk about the return of wolves to the territory; the next day, we were down into the heart of the park.  I say “heart,” because much of the park’s unique geologic formations revolve around the grand Yellowstone caldera, the still active remnants of a roughly 40 mile diameter supervolcano that sits poised to blow big again sometime in the next 100,000 years.  Much of the park’s scenery – the geysers, hot springs, deep canyons, mountainous ridgelines – are a result of this geologic feature.  We first enjoyed the stunning formations in the deep canyon and falls of the Yellowstone River.  The next day, we picked up over to the western end of the park to visit a more barren land of geysers, cauldrons, and hot springs.  To get to Old Faithful and back we crossed the Great Continental Divide (Atlantic-Pacific) four times; it looks to be the first of many crossings – I may keep a tally.  The geysers were cool; even better, however, was the eerie watchful eye of Grand Prismatic Spring.
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Stunning Yellowstone Canyon
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The watchful eye of Grand Prismatic Spring
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Old Faithful selfie
Yellowstone definitely exceeded expectations.  The environment was beautiful, and we shared campsites with plenty of other friendly, interesting hikers and bikers from Iceland to New Zealand to Idaho.  There was only one negative element to the park: traffic.  The park has no shoulders, mountainous roads, and ornery vacationers hustling about for wildlife – a perfect storm for the weary cyclist.  In fact, Yellowstone had, unfortunately, the worst drivers on the whole 3,600 mile trip so far from Boston; we even received a couple lovely profane-laced jeers from passing drivers (a bit different than the encouraging cheers from Beartooth…).  I just smiled and waved at the passing simpletons, twisting whatever few points I could into their certainly already intolerable blood pressure levels… haha.  Alas, the roads and traffic improved significantly as we pedaled south through the Tetons, including some newly paved bike trails.
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Relax people, take some time to smell the flowers
After our meandering tour of Yellowstone, we cross the Great Continental Divide a fifth time (our legs appear to have strengthened since we left Boston…) and bound down south into the unmistakable Tetons.  I doubted it could get much better than the idyllic Beartooth high valley and Yellowstone’s geologic wonders, but mon dieu!  Grand Teton National Park was a great cap to the week.

Coming down into the valley east of the Tetons (much of which is known as Jackson Hole), we spent the first night alongside calm Jackson Lake.  Ten million years ago, tectonic movement on the Teton fault caused the western plate to rise while the eastern valley floor simultaneously dropped, a displacement of some 30,000 feet.  Over time glacial erosion crafted the magnificent mountains we find today.  The amazing thing about the Tetons is that because the valley is so low and flat, we are treated with an unhindered view of the mountains in all their glory, touching down to the lakes of the valley below like giant sentinels.  Our first evening in the park, we went for a short hike and grabbed a refreshing swim in the lake.
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Silent sentinels
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Sunset swim in Jackson Lake
The next morning, we were up riding by 7am, pedaling down to vividly clear Jenny Lake.  The ride was only 20 miles, but I think we took more photos than any full day previous to that.  Locking in an excellent campsite near the lake, we fit in a 12 mile hike that afternoon up Paintbrush Canyon to Holly Lake, sitting high between two of the Tetons.
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The Tetons!
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Campsite with a view
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Late lunch up high at Holly Lake
Instead of resting in Jackson, we decided to spend one more day in the park.  We biked to Mormon Row – remnants of historic settlement in the valley, passed by Ansel Adams famed lookouts, and read alongside Jenny Lake.  The camera was flying yet again.
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Admiring an old Mormon barn
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Pink homestead in the valley
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Bison were out and about again
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A fox hunting near our campsite in the evening, he later came running back with a groundhog
Travelers on the great open road, it’s always time to keep moving on.  Finally we rode downhill further into our most southerly point on the trip: Jackson, WY.  It was another wet morning, but we were treated with a bike path all the way down into the city.  Upon recommendation of another cyclist we met on the road, we decided to check out the National Museum of Wildlife Art on the way into town.  Cory and I spent over two hours there, soaking up hundreds of years of art depicting the animal cousins we just spent a week pedaling alongside; it was a really great museum.  At 3pm, we finally cruised into Jackson.  Having only eaten two granola bars and some pretzels on the day, we instinctively found a Chinese buffet and ate until we were sick (no joke, I left half a cookie on the table because I literally could not finish it).  We were back into cell service and civilization for the day.  Later today, we will be back in the saddle and up over the daunting Teton Pass into Idaho.  More mountains await.
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Good people, badlands

7/27/2014

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Cory Smetana
We left Fargo after our last rest day eleven days ago in the early afternoon.  It didn’t take long to get out of the city and into flat, ubiquitous farmland.  The vast forests of the lake covered Midwest had disappeared and vegetation was only found alongside rivers and creeks now.  After a flat and fairly uneventful day we stopped at a campsite down in the first river valley west of Fargo named “Little Yellowstone Park.”  This was a great halfway point to Gackle, where we knew of a couple that offered hospitality to bicycle tourists, similar to Donn and his “Bicycle Bunkhouse.”  This abode in particular was named the “Honey Hub.”  A young couple and their few kids offered up their basement to traveling cyclists; the husband is a beekeeper, hence the name.  The evening we arrived we found seven other cyclists staying the night, either camped outside or on a mattress in the basement, one of which we were able to secure with our early arrival.
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Riding across the rolling hills
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North Dakota is the largest beekeeping state in the US
The next three days we set out for Richardton, another cyclist’s secret I’ll get to in a minute.  It was nearly 200 miles from Gackle.  The first of the three days was tough, full of howling headwinds.  The second day, however, the winds were in our favor.  We cruised into Bismarck for an early lunch, and crossed the Missouri River as we left town.  After Bismarck the terrain drastically changed.  It went from the flat fields and farmland to tall, rolling hills with occasional buttes surfacing.  When we reached New Salem, most renowned for its giant cow statue, we decided we had the energy to keep going to Hazelton, putting in another 100+ mile day.
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The hay bales watched us as we rode
Because of our big day, the next day into Richardton would be a short one.  We arrived early afternoon and ate at the local café; unfortunately for them, they still had their breakfast buffet available.  Unbeknownst to us, we had just crossed into Mountain Time.  With the extra hour in our pocket and pancake crumbs in our beards we set off to the other side of town, to our target, Assumption Abbey, a Benedictine Monastery that was built just over a hundred years ago.  We were told that the monks, who all live in the monastery, are very hospitable and have taken in bicycle tourists before.  We entered the church, where we met a monk who told us to wait for Brother Odo, the one that deals with our kind.  We walked around the premises for a while, taking in the beautiful escarpment that sank into the distant hills and reservoirs behind the church.  You could see for miles.  When Odo finished his Sunday afternoon walk, he was delighted to meet us and show us around the robust monastery with a picturesque sanctuary, which was refurnished about a decade ago.
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Assumption Abbey
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The ornate interior
The property includes the church, a maintenance building, and a two story building containing college dorms, no longer in use (aside from a few random visitors like us).  There is also a ranch, a reservoir and more land behind the church.  The monks strive to be self-sufficient, and live a very routine life.  We were invited to dinner and a silent breakfast the next morning.  Brother Odo noted that the silent breakfast would be an easy task for me, but joked it would have Kellen biting his tongue between bites for the meal.  After the early, hearty breakfast we packed up and continued west.
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Writing on the edge of the escarpment
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Silent breakfast with the monks
It was smooth sailing in the morning and early afternoon of this mid-July Monday. We passed through the growing, industrial city of Dickinson.  As we left the city, we started to see countless oil rigs, which we had only heard of until this point.  We learned from one of the monks that North Dakota had just risen above Texas as the highest producer of oil in all fifty states.  The gigantic oil boom has brought a surplus of money and has provided the state with enough jobs to give it the lowest unemployment rate in the country.  Although these positive effects are shadowed by some negative, including a housing shortage requiring construction camps, increases in violent crime, and inefficient methods of production and capture.  It also puts a lot of strain on the states roads, water supply and sewage systems causing many residents to take this up rise in economic activity with a grain of salt.
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We started seeing oil wells off the road
Only ten miles from the majestic city of Medora, some dark clouds stormed in from the southwest.  We were fortunate to pull off at the next exit for a fantastic view of the Painted Canyon, part of Theodore Roosevelt National Park.  As soon as we took our first couple pictures of the gorgeous landscape it started to downpour and we hustled to the visitor’s center a hundred feet from the lookout to keep dry during the short, but mighty storm.
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A wicked storm blew in from the southwest
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Fortunately we were able to hide out at the visitors center
We were now in the thick of North Dakota canyon country and the badlands.  We made it to Medora and planned the rest of our day during lunch.  We were interested in hiking through some of Theodore Roosevelt National Park, seeing the Medora Musical (a theatrical tribute to Theodore Roosevelt and the state of North Dakota), and setting up camp afterward.  Soon enough we were hiking on the first few miles of the Maah Daah Hey bike trail, an extensive bike trail starting just south of Medora and continuing 120 miles to the northern part of T.R. National Park.  It was nice to get off the bike and get some off road views of this dry, gorgeous terrain formed by deposition and erosion.
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Beautiful views over Painted Canyon at Theodore Roosevelt N.P.
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Pausing for a pic at the edge
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Out for a hike in the park
We left the hike and hustled back into town to grab a quick sandwich, all the while partaking in our usual activity of searching for a free camp spot (hard to come by in a tourist town like Medora).  This caused us to be late for the musical, rushing uphill just out of town to the musical venue while taking bites of our sandwiches.  When we arrived, we finished eating and were calmed by the fact we could do this and watch the musical itself from a high railing outside of the seating area.  We missed the beginning of the play and decided to continue watching the duration of it from the “nosebleeds”, while talking to some friendly bus drivers who had hauled in groups of tourists.  Watching the play for free and finding a cemetery with surrounding green space halfway down that steep hill to camp can be attributed to our ongoing money saving prowess, or maybe just our unruly timing.  Either way things were working out.
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Catching the Medora Musical from the nosebleeds
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No view for us in the morning
We left our campsite which had a breathtaking overlook of Medora which we enjoyed at night, but not on this particularly foggy morning.  It wasn’t long after we left when we entered the enormous state of Montana.  The days grew hotter, creeping well into the 90s; the sun was barreling down on us and the rocky asphalt that is Interstate 94.  We made it to Glendive, the first substantial city in eastern Montana.  We hustled to this town, not only to stay out of the heat, but to pay a visit to the Glendive Dinosaur and Fossil Museum, “the largest dinosaur and fossil museum set in the context of biblical history.”  They actually had some very interesting information about local dig operations and the process of casting and making durable skeletal replicas for the museum.  We also spent some time exploring other “interesting” exhibits in the two-story museum, complete with diagrams condemning evolution, charts proving dinosaurs and men coexisted, and skeletons promoting biblical stories and their linkage to fossils found around the world.  We were moving quietly through the exhibits until a trio of fellows, well-educated in creationism and biology came up to ask Kellen a few questions.  This led to a friendly two-hour debate about evolution, genetic code, plate tectonics, and the history of planet earth.  The conversation went an hour past the closing time of the museum.  We were eventually nudged to leave by the employees.
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What riding through eastern Montana is like
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Dinosaurs!
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Doing his best Tyrannosaurus impression
After Glendive, we departed from the “Northern Tier” and were forced to map our own route on our detour to Yellowstone and Teton before we return north to Glacier National Park.  With the spreading distance of towns and blunt absence of inhabitants in eastern Montana, we didn’t have many options besides I-94.  We travelled on the shoulder for the countless miles, stopping at rest stops for water and a place to set up camp.  One night we even camped in the grass circle of a freeway exit ramp, hidden between some bales of hay.  In this more remote part of the country, we decided to finally whip out the stove to start cooking our own food: rice and beans, ham, pasta, and steamed vegetables for good measure.
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Some serious stealth camping
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Cooking up some beans and rice
I-94, the familiar highway for us Michiganders, starts in Port Huron, Michigan and ends at the junction with I-90 just before Billings, Montana, the destination for our much anticipated rest day.  Billings is the biggest city of the state and is home to many outdoorsy, friendly, good-spirited people.  On the way in town we stopped at a restaurant called Burger Dive.  It is renowned for winning the Food Network national best-burger contest last year; needless to say both Kellen and I housed the award-winning Blackened Sabbath burger.  The friendliness of people in town was evidenced when our host, Mike, said his arm would nearly go numb on drives around town from the number of waves he had to dish out.  Mike, son Tanner, and dog, Zeus, were our gracious hosts in Billings.  Not familiar with the city and what to do in the area, our rest day itinerary was made easy when Mike, a former rafting guide in California and Utah, invited us down to the river with the family on Saturday.  We had a wonderful day rafting, kayaking, and swimming in the Yellowstone River, the same river we’ve traced and stared at with our eyes stinging of sweat, all the way from Glendive.  They provided incredible hospitality and some amazing meals as well for our stay in Billings.  Learning about the area and exploring the Yellowstone River with an outdoor expert was a blast and no doubt a time well spent.  I definitely feel like we’re out west now, and am anxious to embark on our National Park binge in the near future.
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Enjoying the "best burger in the nation"
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Just a Saturday afternoon on the Yellowstone
Finally, photos of Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North Dakota have been added, check them out on the Photos page.
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Two Brothers

7/16/2014

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Kellen Smetana
After 2,000 miles of tough but beautiful riding, Carrie postmarked the bike, tossed out old cycling clothes, said final goodbyes, and was off to greener pastures.  She will be missed, but two remain to continue the journey.  The Smetana brothers were ready to head west.
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Ready to head west
Before departing, we made sure to catch up with all our friends in Minneapolis: Sheryl, Michael, Shelby, Anisha, and Varun.  It’s always great to share a meal or drink with friends who have sprawled to various corners of the world.  And, as has been evidenced, traveling cyclists always pause for a good meal.
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Dinner with old friends Michael and Sheryl
Back on the road, we crossed the 2,000 mile mark heading out of the city.  Cory and I rode north along the great Mississippi River, trying to meet back up with the ACA Northern Tier in a town called Dalbo.  Though we often simplify our journey down to two words, “Northern Tier,” when we meet other cyclists, Dalbo would actually our first time back on this route since Niagara.  (For a good visual, check out the pink route on the ACA Overview Map).
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Riding along the mighty Mississippi
We targeted Dalbo as our evening destination not for its bustling 80 strong population, but for one resident in particular, Donn.  Donn owns a large farm in Dalbo.  Nine years ago, sitting on his porch looking out on the construction on the state highway, he saw two cyclists pushing their bikes through the sand.  He felt so bad for these sorry souls that he invited them in for a meal and drinks and through conversation learned that his home sat smack dab in the middle of a cross-country cycling route.  The next day, he decided to turn an unused barn into a “Bicycle Bunkhouse,” allowing all passing cyclists an evening of shelter.  Nine years later, he now has cots enough for 18, an outhouse and outdoor shower, and has even converted an old silo to really tall room for two.  We first heard about it from fellow riders in Wisconsin, and since then it seems that anyone with panniers and two wheels knows of the legendary Donn.
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The Bicycle Bunkhouse
Traveling cyclists are still a rare breed, so most nights the Bunkhouse goes empty; this particular night we enjoyed the company of two other riders, Claude and Brad, also heading west.  It was great to share war stories from the road – Claude had some particularly good pepper-spray drenched bouts with aggressive dogs – and also to spend some time with “the Donn” himself.  Upon seeing the silo, Cory and I deduced that the opportunities to sleep inside a 70 foot vertical tube were sparse, so we immediately set up shop.  It proved to be a good snooze until an early morning thunderstorm moved in with vengeance.  The rain showers were amplified to the level of clanging pans inside the hollow metal silo; it was loud but bearable.  When I saw the first lightning strike, however, I woke up Cory and decided we shouldn’t be cooped in the tallest metal structure for miles, so we moved into the Bunkhouse barn for the rest of the night.  Donn had a good laugh at breakfast when he told us he was thinking about us the previous night, chuckling, and wondering if the storm would wake us up in the silo.  It did.
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Fellow cyclist Brad and the legendary Donn himself
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How one of the other cyclists felt about Donn's generosity in the guestbook
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Sleeping inside the silo... we didn't last long when the storm moved in
Claude gets his miles in early, so he was gone before we awoke; Brad, also heading west, opted to join us for the day.  Tired of work, he quit his job as an aerospace engineer to bike across the US, he started in Virginia and has worked his way north.  The three of us pedaling together, it was a nice easy day as we moved through the land of 10,000 lakes – it really is amazing how many small lakes and ponds dot the countryside here.  Glaciers leave a long aftertaste.
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Riding with Brad for the day
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Land 'o' Lakes
After an evening camped out on a restaurant patio in the small town of Bowlus, we parted ways with Brad the next morning.  He continued north to visit his grandparents, we went west toward Fargo.  We may very well cross paths again in the west, but for now we were back to two.  Minnesota has a fantastic rails-to-trails network: from Bowlus we set off on over 110 miles of continuous paved bike trails.  It was quite pleasant not having to worry about traffic.
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Covered bridge on the bike trail
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Beautiful riding (plus dinner on the back of his bike...)
We have often highlighted the benefits of bicycle tourism.  One of those benefits is the development of an incredible connection to the history, economy, and culture of the places we pass through.  As we moved across Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, for example, we passed dozens and dozens of abandoned motels, general stores, and service stations, just another example of the far-reaching effects of Detroit’s economic decline.  A vast majority of tourists to that region still come from southeast Michigan, and the well-being of many of the smaller summer destinations has unfortunately moved in tandem with the city over the past two decades.  Also in the UP, we learned that Michigan has resorted to generating small bits of revenue by selling off state land for logging, but has regulations preventing clear-cutting next to the road in order to keep the driving scenery natural.  Interesting stuff.  In the past few weeks we’ve met all sorts of individuals with fascinating stories: FEMA workers who live at the ready to be anywhere in the country in 24 hours for natural disaster cleanup and control… sometimes multi-month projects; a woman who extolled the benefits of artificial insemination in cow reproduction; retirees who haven’t been to a city in decades; and even people who explained how to covertly grow cannabis plants in trash bags suspended in pine trees.  Our two recent city visits on the route have reminded us of the importance of transportation.  Minneapolis / Saint Paul was once the site of a series of large falls on the Mississippi river, the furthest northern navigable point on the great waterway.  Trade from the north coalesced there and built the cities into the bustling metropolis it has evolved into today.  Fargo, our next destination, grew as the meeting of two major trade arteries: the Northern Pacific railroad and the mighty Red River.  Major railroads still run right through the center of the city.

Back on the bike trail we were in for another lesson, this one geological, when we crossed an interesting sign about 5 miles south of Fergus Falls, Minnesota.  It read, “Continental Divide.”  I’ve been out west enough times to remember crossing the continental divide in high passes through the Rockies, and we certainly weren’t there yet.  Fortunately, we ran into another cyclist, Kim, just as we were crossing this point who was able to explain to us that the continent is much more divided than I thought.  It turns out this line divides waters north/south into those heading for Hudson Bay and those heading for the Gulf of Mexico.  Just another day of biking and getting knowledge…
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Crossing the continental divide
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Apparently we had crossed the Laurentian divide
Fergus Falls was the end of the bike trails and we popped back on the roads.  The further west we have moved across the state, the more the terrain has shifted from woodlands and lakes of Michigan and Wisconsin to open rolling farmland.  This means when there is wind, we don’t have anywhere to hide from it.  It was brutal as we left Fergus Falls, but we didn’t go far before taking a long mid-day break for the World Cup final.  We zoned in on a tasty Mexican restaurant and were able to catch most of the game on Univision.
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Nowhere to hide anymore
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Catching the World Cup final
We camped that evening further up the road behind the community center in the town of Cormorant.  There must be some sort of renewed Polar Vortex coming down into the Midwest because that evening it dropped into the 40s – in July!; fortunately, Cory and I were prepared.  Sleeping bundled up in a tent is actually much better than trying to avoid touching sweaty legs to a sticky bag.  We didn’t sleep all that well, however, because we were awaken twice in the night by a loud, large animal huffing just feet from our tent.  Each time it was scared off and passed quickly.  Needless to say, this also had us scared.  We immediately hung the food in the swingset a hundred meters from the tent just in case and hopped on our phones to decipher whether we had just heard a moose, coyote, deer, or bear.  Once we convinced ourselves it was definitely not the latter, we settled back in for a decent rest until morning.
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Ready for 40 degree temperatures
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Hanging up the food away from the tent
The next day brought us to another new state!  North Dakota is the first truly new one for Cory and me so far on the trip.  We used the Warmshowers platform to find two fellow cyclists in Fargo, Ann and Ed, who were willing to host us for our stay.  Ann has done quite a bit of cycling and even biked across the US several years ago.  These wonderful hosts not only took us in and let us stay for two nights, but also cooked fabulous dinner both evenings!  It was great to refill the tanks and hear their stories about the city.  Most of you have probably heard of Fargo, and the reason is 1997.  This was the year of both the eponymous Coen Brothers film and devastating floods in the city that made national headlines for weeks.  Today it’s a really pleasant town with clean shops, lots of bikes, quaint homes, and good business.
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New state: North Dakota!
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Lovely downtown Fargo
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Ann was an amazing host - she even cooked us two fantastic dinners!
Coupling eastern North Dakota with Minnesota, we were in a territory of significant Nordic and Scandinavian immigration for over 150 years.  On our day off we trekked across the Red River back to Fargo’s sister city, Moorhead, Minnesota.  There lies the amazing Hjemkomst Center.  This museum was built around the Hjemkomst boat, a modern replica of an old Viking ship built by a Minnesota family in 1982 and sailed to Norway the next year.  The center documents this homecoming journey, and has expanded to include an incredibly intricate Norwegian replica cathedral and other exhibits highlighting the region (currently it’s involvement in the WWII homefront).
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Hjemkomst boat
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Exploring the Hjemkomst Center and neighboring wooden cathedral
Our great but short stay in Fargo is drawing to a close.  Today we start our journey west, west, west across the state and hope the wind stays calm or is even at our backs.  Tailwinds, interesting enough, may actually be more probable than you may think.  Everyone knows the west-to-east jet stream blowing behind weathermen (and weatherwomen) across the country, but surface winds are actually much more variable and depend more on differences in pressure fronts.  So, take a look at the cool map we recently discovered, and look out – fingers crossed – for those easterly winds across the northern plains.
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The Great North

7/8/2014

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Carrie Perdue
We did it! Well, at least I did it…. After cranking out 2000 miles in just 27 days of riding we’ve made it to Minneapolis, my last stop on this wild and crazy journey. My bike box and camping gear has been all packed up and shipped home, and tomorrow morning I fly out. For the curious, my bike and the gear I shipped home weighed in at 65 pounds, and I’m probably still carrying another 5-10 pounds of stuff onto the plane with me… that’s a whole lot of weight to pedal up countless hills.
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Fit the maximum size restrictions!
It’s been an amazing trip and I’ve had a total blast spending time with the Smetana brothers, Brandon, and the cast of absolute characters we’ve met along the way. Travelling by bicycle is an incredibly intimate way to experience a place, and I can’t imagine a better way to see my country, meet my fellow Americans, and get a feel for the interesting diversity of the USA’s people, landscapes, cuisines, accents, and everything else she has to offer.
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Characters like Jim, who has everyone that passes through sign his guestbook
Since we left St. Ignace we have been burning up the road. The first day out we put in just under 90 miles to Manistique, a decent sized city in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. We indulged in the all you can eat spaghetti and meatballs at the local Big Boy restaurant, which inspired one of the quotes of the trip (see below). We woke up to a bad rain storm, but it quickly passed and we were on the road again. We passed through Escanaba late that afternoon, and I was introduced to a little slice of Michigan culinary heaven, the pasty. Not pastry.  Not paste-y. Pasty…. Like pass-tee. It’s basically a beef pot pie calzone if you can picture that… All in all not too shabby.
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Getting ready to ride in the rain
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The delightful pasty
From Escanaba we pressed on another 15 or so miles to Perronville where we happened upon the only game in town, the Perronville Pub aka. Grand Ole’ P.P.’s! This was a pretty small pub with a very “ornery” owner, Kathy. We heard about Kathy’s inhospitable nature from some locals, but since it was our only option we stopped in. She did live up to her ornery reputation at first, but as the night wore on we won her over and before we left the bar we had secured a camping spot in the barn behind the bar.
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Grand "Ole" P.P.s
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We slept in the back
The next few days were spent riding through small towns in the Upper Peninsula and enjoying this little-travelled area. We endured some climbing, unfavorable winds, and rough roads, but in general it was a lovely ride filled with small towns and a lot of beautiful scenery. As we passed into northern Wisconsin, things got even more beautiful and the roads and the grades of the hills improved significantly. The woods became thicker, and there were hundreds of lakes on every side of us.
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Land-O-Lakes
The riding was really incredible… unless you stopped to rest. The second that we stopped our bikes (or unfortunately in my case, also when I was going super slowly up a steep hill), we were immediately swarmed with hundreds of mosquitos! It was awful!! We also were travelling through a fairly unpopulated area, so places to stop and stay were few and far between. The first night in Wisconsin, we stopped at a bar and hotel in the middle of nowhere. We were excited about the hotel, but little did we know that the mosquitos were so bad we would end up killing over 25 in our room! We also had easily the worst meal of the trip if not our lives…. I ordered a chef salad that had about 12 ingredients listed in it on the menu. When it came out it was just lettuce and a really weird ham. I told the waiter it was missing ingredients and he went back to get them and came back out a few minutes later and said, “We’re out of all of that stuff.” Hmmm…. The boys ordered “whisky flavored” pork chops. Cory immediately spit out the first bite after trying them. We later learned that the meat had been soaked for like 3 days in a gallon of whisky. It was literally like taking a pork shot, but apparently hunger and a gallon of A-1 sauce can cover up a multitude of cooking sins.

After that rough night, our expectations were low, but as we continued on we found a great spot to eat and camp the next night at Louie’s Landing by Moose Lake. The view was incredible, the food was delicious, and the owners, Jack and his wife, were incredibly accommodating and nice. We finally reached civilization again by our final day in WI, and stayed in Cumberland, a really cute town set by another beautiful lake. It was July 3rd, and there were tons of vacationers there for the holiday, but we were still able to secure a spot at the local campground and partake in some of the festivities… Namely we could overhear a raging concert with by 90’s cover band that every single person in like a 250 mile radius appeared to be attending.
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Louie's Landing, our host for the evening
We set out on July 4th and Minneapolis was somewhat in our sights. It was a pretty rough riding day with bad headwinds and we were fairly surprised by how little celebration we saw. Spirits were somewhat raised when we reached a Dairy Queen and were definitely lifted when we hit the Minnesota state line. After the obligatory photo shoot, we headed on down to Scandia a two-stoplight town that looked completely abandoned… until Cory found a fairly lively bar and restaurant, literally the only thing in town that was open. We enjoyed a good meal and were invited to camp behind the restaurant. There was even one lonely pyromaniac who was sitting on the patio and shooting bottle rockets out of his hand. Nonstop. For like four hours. At one point his beard caught on fire, but he didn’t seem to notice. We also learned that all of the drunk guys in the bar also sleep out back sometimes so that they don’t get DUIs. We met one of them when he said it was about time for him to head home as stumbled out of an old maintenance truck that was parked about 15 feet from where we were camping as we were packing up to leave at 7:45am. God Bless America.
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Minnesota! Land of great state signs
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Getting patriotic on Independence Day
As we headed out on July 5th we were a mere 45 miles from our friend Bixby’s apartment in Minneapolis and it ended up being a nice ride. The Twin Cities are surprisingly bike friendly and we spend a good part of our ride in on great bike trails or riding in the ample bike lanes. Once we arrived we spent the past few days exploring town, eating great food, catching up on errands, and we even had time to take in a Minnesota Twins game vs. the Yankees.
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Bixby!
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Great American pastime
All in all it’s been an incredible trip, and I’ll sign off with some of the most memorable quotes from the trip so far:

“I think I’m going to throw up. Do you think Big Boy’s will take that as a compliment?” – Cory, after eating 4 plates of all you can eat spaghetti and meatballs

Random Guy on Motorcycle (RGoM): You guys went to Harvard?!? Do they still have that Mexican place right there by Harvard?
Me: Uh… I guess… Border Café maybe?
RGoM: Yeah, yeah… That’s the place with the sizzling fajitas right?!?! Man I loved that place!! Everybody was always in there having a good time… The waitresses were always running around serving up sizzling fajitas…. Man that place was great!

“You know, I almost played football for Northeastern. The weightlifting coach really wanted me to play, but I decided not to.” – The SAME Random Guy on Motorcycle who loved sizzling fajitas. I literally answered this man’s questions about the bike trip for 3 minutes and then he told me his life story.

“Oooo…. I’m going to have to go dab some water on that…” – Kellen, every time he spills something on himself. So like 3-5 times per day.

“You guys biked here from Boston?!?!? Did you ever think of doing the Tour de France?” – Random Guy at Panera

“Did you guys realize that Arsenio Hall has a new show?!?” – Everyone, at least once. Somehow every place we’ve stayed, even if we only have 2 channels, even if we’re in Canada, one is playing Arsenio Hall’s new TV show. And it’s terrible. Then, when we rode into Minneapolis we passed the CW studios and they had an entire wall of their building dedicated to advertising Arsenio’s new show. He’s haunting this trip.

“Sky’s Out. Thighs Out.” – Group motto. You gotta tan up those thighs when you have the chance
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Last pic with the boys pulling into Minneapolis (notice the "thighs out")
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Signing off - it's been a fun ride!
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Meandering through the Mitten

6/28/2014

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Cory Smetana
The home cooked meals, showers, and downtime at home was outstanding.  There’s no place like home, but since Novi was not our final destination we hopped back on our saddles and headed due north.  Our dad joined us for the first few miles of the Google maps route we planned on tracing back to our ACA maps, which would begin again the next day.  We said our final goodbyes on this overcast morning and were on our way.  Fresh legs and minds powered us through the cities of Grand Blanc and Flint to our link: the Bavarian village of Frankenmuth.  It was a Friday and the outdoor entertainment was in full force.  Kellen, Carrie, and I joined in a free match of outdoor blackjack run by the local tourism board.  After I took the leaderboard with $500 (the initial chip count), and Kellen finished with a meager $5, Carrie stepped up and knocked me down a position.
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Blackjack champions (notice Kellen at the bottom...)
Adjacent the blackjack tables stood a visitors center with a pavilion covering an overly enthusiastic cover band with banjos, xylophones and a bubbly man with a wireless mic.  After enjoying the music and pretending to gamble we ate at a local restaurant and set up our tents a mile down the road at a nearby campground.
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This lady was ROCKING
When we formed our route through Michigan in the initial planning of this trip, I learned we were travelling through my college roommate’s hometown of Midland.  I informed Mike, who immediately offered the hospitality, though precise planning does not always work out on a bike: we would need an additional 30 miles on the day to abide by the schedule.  Thinking we would try to grab lunch together after a long 50 miles from Frankenmuth, it came to our attention that Mike’s younger brother Keaton was having his graduation party that afternoon.  This fantastic coincidence led us to Mike’s residence for the high school celebration.  I enjoyed catching up with Mike and his family and appreciate the fact they were amicable to our bike short attire and sweaty hugs.
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Enjoying some lunch at the grad party
While eating, we met some of Mike’s family friends who were intrigued by our trip.  We shared stories about biking, running, and our route.  Making our destination of Clare known, our new friends, Brooke and her husband, went out of their way to connect us to members of their athletic club in the area so we would have a roof over our heads.  A couple Facebook messages and phone calls later and we had an address plugged in.  With the “friend of a friend” ambiguity for both parties, it was exciting riding up to our destination.  Up the long driveway past an old distinguished barn stood a gorgeous house on a hill.  We talked for a while with our evening host, Tom, and played street hockey with his son Cristian in their arena (garage).  Between the mini sticks in the hallway, hockey coaching equipment in the garage, and generosity of our hosts, I felt almost like I was home again.
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Even the driveway had an amazing view
Carrie has never been to northern Michigan or the Upper Peninsula, so we decided to manipulate our itinerary to cater to some of the beautiful attractions this pure state offers.  From Clare we started biking over the rolling hills and past beautiful lakes formed by glaciers en route to the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes National Lakeshore.  We camped in a small town Sunday night to put us within striking distance of the dunes.  After a brief encounter Monday morning with one of Kellen’s friends from business school, Luke, on the road (when you’re in Michigan, you find friends everywhere!), we arrived at the park.  The “dune hike” led us and our heavy legs over a few sandy hills to Lake Michigan.
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Michigan, where everybody knows your name
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Sleeping Bear Dunes and Glen Lake
We enjoyed the hike, but Kellen and I were confused by the smooth approach to the lake.  It wasn’t the steep and treacherous climb that ensued over a decade ago in our family trips up north.  Unsatisfied, we biked south along a freshly paved bike path to the visitors center and then uphill a couple miles to find the outlook we remembered so vividly.  The $5 to enter these special dunes and two extra miles of climbing was well worth it.
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450 feet straight down to Lake Michigan. Yes, of course we ran down
From the dunes we continued east over more rolling hills with roads lined with towering pines until we reached the cherry capitol of the country, Traverse City.  Since there were no restaurants or stores at the dunes and we were anxious to make it to Traverse City, all we had eaten during the day was a few Clif bars, some fruit, and vending machine ice cream.  Upon arriving late in the evening, stomachs growling, we deemed this the perfect opportunity to tackle the Taco Bell Challenge (consuming $20 each worth of this delectable fast food in one sitting).  Kellen and I finished the challenge, and the three of us, noses plugged, slept like champions the next two nights.
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Cherry trees everywhere
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This is what $20 at Taco Bell looks like
The rest day in Traverse City held sunny skies and comfortable temperatures.  We sat poolside to start the day, and then headed into town early in the afternoon.  We walked by the water and played beach volleyball with some locals.  Realizing we shouldn’t exert too much energy on our day of rest, we walked downtown to Cherry Republic where we indulged in a slew of free samples of cherry flavored drinks and treats.  After a nice tour through old town, we finished the evening with dinner and a drink.  Two more days to the UP!
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75% of US cherries come from this region
The day out of Traverse City held cool temperatures and cloudy skies.  We biked east, and then north along Torch Lake, voted one of the clearest in the world.  After eating a lake side lunch we continued northeast to our home for the night, Boyne City.  Yet again, we were kindly invited to stay with a couple we met at a local diner, making our home for the evening that much cozier.  We have met many generous, welcoming people while riding through northern Michigan.  After sharing stories around a bonfire with our hosts Chris and Fawn, we were sent off in the morning with a delicious bowl of oatmeal, dried cherries, almonds, and strawberries.
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Lunch next to Torch Lake
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Evening bonfire with Fawn and Chris
We left Boyne City uphill while getting encouragement from a dude biking downhill “Peace and love brothers, you’re doing great!”  This positive energy led us through the attractive towns of Petoskey and Harbor Springs, and the thought of a rest day powered us to the Mackinac Bridge.  We showed up to a payphone at the approach of the bridge where we could contact the visitor’s center and organize a truck ride across, since biking across is not an option for cyclists.
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Sailboats off Harbor Springs
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The Mighty Mac - longest suspension bridge in the Western Hemisphere
We made it to St. Ignace on the same weekend of their annual car show.  I would be willing to wager my (fake) $500 blackjack winnings that we were the only group staying in the hotel with 27 gears on our mode of transportation, as opposed to 6 or less.

On our rest day we took a ferry to Mackinac Island where we hiked, ate fudge, and visited the Grand Hotel.  We were also able to get away from the crowds and relax on the back porch of the public library, which contained some amazing views of Lake Huron.  Sunday morning we will head west along the northern shore of Lake Michigan.  Next stop: Minneapolis.
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Ferry ride over to Mackinac Island
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Only bikes (and horses) allowed on the island
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Crossing Canada

6/19/2014

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Carrie Perdue
In Niagara Falls we enjoyed a glorious and much needed rest day full of putt-putt golf, poutine, and a lot of laying around a doing nothing. Before long, though, we were back on the road. After a short 20 miles we bid a fond farewell to Brandon and watched him pedal away, back to the US, across the Friendship Bridge in Buffalo, NY.
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Brandon couldn’t look back lest we see the tears in his eyes as he makes a run for the border
And then we were three. We pointed our bikes westward and started pedaling towards Michigan. We decided to divert from the Adventure Cycling Association Northern Tier route to ride through Michigan on the ACA Northern Lakes route. In order to connect to that route we would first need to cross Canada via the Lake Erie Connector route. It should not surprise you that we spend a lot of time staring helplessly at maps and wondering where we are. For once, though, this seemed fairly simple – we would just bike along Lake Erie for a few days before heading north and taking a ferry into Michigan. Easy peasy. No hills, nice lake views… we would cruise on through with no problems. And then we saw these guys:
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Get out of my sight you devilish beast
Wind. It can be a cyclist’s best friend or worst enemy depending on how it’s blowing. And in the US, when you’re travelling east to west, it’s usually NOT blowing your way. The first two days out of Niagara, we put in about 150 grueling miles into a tough headwind. This bad luck may have had something to do with the fact we were riding on Friday the 13th. Our troubles were even more compounded by the fact that for some reason we were also sharing the road with literally thousands of motorcyclists. As we set up camp the first night in Selkirk, we found out why. Apparently Port Dover, a nearby town, is something of a Friday the 13th motorcycle mecca. For years now, every Friday the 13th, thousands of bikers gather to ride around the region. A few years ago their 50th Friday the 13th ride attracted 500,000 bikers. Our ride corresponded with this year’s only Friday the 13th and there were an estimated 150,000 bikers sharing the road with us.
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Even though we had two wheels and funny outfits in common, we still didn’t really fit in...
Spirits were fairly low, ears were somewhat deafened by motorcycle noise, and thighs were pretty tired (and in my case extremely sunburnt) on our second day out of Niagara when we pulled into the Sandcastle Restaurant in Port Bruce, Ontario, looking for dinner and a place to camp. We got a warm welcome from Barb, one of the workers there, who invited us to pitch our tents in the yard of her sister at a nearby, and nearly beachfront, trailer park. There was one important caveat, however: we would have to pretend to be Christine (the out-of-town trailer owner) and Barb’s niece and nephews so that Marty, the trailer park general manager, didn’t kick us out. There was one big problem with this plan… Barb could not remember Kellen’s name. At all. She asked him 10 times what his name was, and then introduced him to Marty as Carrie. And then introduced him to her friends as Kyle. Then after learning it was Kellen’s birthday that day, she gave him and Cory her last two beers…. and then told Cory, “Happy Birthday!!”
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Double-wide tent accommodations
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Beautiful sunset over Lake Erie
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Birthday boy enjoying a smores (granola bar) over our Lake Erie campfire
Barb’s forgetfulness aside, a beautiful beach sunset and good night’s sleep rejuvenated our weary souls and a shift in the wind kick-started our next day’s ride. It was Father’s Day, and we really wanted to get close enough to the US border to get cell service and call our families. This would mean putting in at least 85 miles, which would have been our longest ride to date. The wind finally cooperated, and while we didn’t get an actual tailwind until over 60 miles into the day, we avoided direct headwinds all day. At 8pm, around the 95 mile mark, we stopped for dinner and learned we were only 15 miles from Sombra, the launching point for the ferry to Marine City, MI. Even better news was that the last ferry didn’t leave until 10pm, so with the favorable winds we could probably make it back to American soil that night. What followed was the most enjoyable ride of our trip. Nice, crisp early evening air, another beautiful sunset, favorable winds, and, best of all, my first ever century ride (100+ miles). We made it to the ferry just in time, returned to the US in style, and set up our tents just after 11pm, after putting in 111 miles for the day.
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Hitting 100 miles at sunset
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Sunset with America in our sights
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We made it! On the ferry to Marine City
At Marine City we had decided to depart from the trail for a few days to swing by the Smetana family residence in Novi, Michigan. The next day of riding proved to be the most challenging of our trip because we faced a horrible combination of bad roads with no shoulders, tons of traffic, headwinds, high temperatures, and eventually unpaved bike trails. It was a long, hot, stressful day, but before we knew it we had met up with Mr. Smetana to ride the last few miles to their home and all of our troubles had melted away. It’s been really fun getting to relax and to get to know the extremely kind and generous Smetana family and their hometown over the past few days. But the road is already calling us back. Tomorrow we set out again and continue our trek to Michigan's Upper Peninsula.
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Biking skills run in the family
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One of the many AMAZING meals we’ve enjoyed over the past 2 days
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Trying to conquer a new sport on our day off
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