those would be the rockies...

At about 9:00 AM on July 24th the mist lifted and off in the distance I could see the Rocky Mountains ominously peering out of the clouds. Shocked -- I actually stopped pedaling, as they were absolutely enormous even at such a great distance. We proceeded to gain a few thousand feet in elevation before reaching Ft. Collins, Colorado where we spent an anxious evening at the foot of the mountains.

I know that there is a group of people that has had doubts about my ability to actually make it across the country, and I would say that when I saw the Rockies up close, I joined said group. We were told that over the next two days we would be climbing roughly 7,000 feet over about 41 miles. If you are interested in the math, that yields an average MPH of 6. Fortunately for us, climbing has its perks. However, the only one that comes to mind is the scenery. Yesterday, as everyone else pulled out of the church parking lot, I discovered that I had a flat tire. Usually I believe this to be the cyclist's equivalent to waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but yesterday it was about the only thing that really went wrong. At mile twenty we headed up (and I mean vertical) and climbed a canyon that had a river running all the way through it. I quickly reacquainted myself with my lowest gear and starting chugging along. I think we were all surprised at how different these mountains are from the Appalachians or Poconos. Some people suggest that we are better cyclists. I think that might be a part of it, but I also think that the civil engineers learned from their road planning mistakes out east and tried a new method which includes switchbacks.

The day ended fairly early in Estes Park where Dad, Aunt Nancy and Uncle Rick were visiting. Dad had suggested we do a little sightseeing so not really knowing where we were headed, I invited Carys and Carrie. Turns out, Dad wanted to see Trail Ridge Road (the highest paved road in the country and also our route for the next day). We all crammed into the Albertson's car and headed up and up and up. Needless to say, it put the three of us cyclists on edge. Reindeer greeted us at the summit and we entered the visitor's center only to use the bathrooms. Mostly, we kept laughing at the idea that we would actually be propelling ourselves up the same trail the next day.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep very well.

This morning came all too early. When I heard the wake up call, I rolled over and had another nightmare about the lack of shoulder on Trail Ridge Road. Once I was a bit more awake, I witnessed what seemed to be a bit of a Bike and Build fashion show. Everyday we wear the same jerseys and no one really owns more than a few pairs of shorts, so I was shocked when people started pulling out clothing that I had never before seen. The temperature this morning was pretty low, so people wore or packed anything they could find. My two favorite outfits included a flannel shirt and a purple hooded zip-up sweatshirt.

We finally hit the road at about 6:45 and were at the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park by 7:15. I posed for, what I believed to be, the last picture I'd ever be in and we started to climb. I don't know how many of you have biked the Rockies, but for me, I only thought about a few things. Those being: look how far the road goes, don't fall off the edge while evaluating the road, and why didn't I get a bike with more gears. Several times, I actually jammed my hands into my gears with the hope that I might just get lucky. No dice.

The story is half over when I say that we made it to the top. We lunched at more than two miles above sea level and even climbed by foot to the highest point to take a picture with the altitude sign. People were shocked to hear that we had biked to the top and one woman asked if we were a group training for the Olympics. I don't think she noticed the speed at which we were climbing...

The uphill was certainly a challenge, but the downhill was almost worth it. I cruised down at the speed of traffic and therefore felt entitled to the whole lane. In only half an hour I covered the same distance that I had covered in four hours on the uphill.

We arrived at the host location, a middle school, ready to shower and relax. Like I have said several times before, showering is a total wild card. A few nights ago, we stayed in Stoneham, CO. where there were 9 houses. The road connecting the highway to the town was actually dirt. Without hope of a shower, Carys threw caution to the wind and stuck her entire head into the sink only to realize that the water smelled like sulfur. This, however, didn't stop anyone. By the time I had washed my legs with WetWipes, there were people standing in the sink rinsing their entire bodies with the faucets. Other kids were outside with squirt-guns and bars of soap, and still others using their water bottles. Back to today, the host location, being a school has locker rooms equipped with what I call May-Pole showers. This means to say that there is a pole in the middle of the room with six faucets off of it (apparently this is what the boys have every day). It wouldn't have been bad, except that the water had about the same pressure as a leaky CamelBak. Everyone was apprehensive to lather up, imagining that the soap would never come off until the toilet flushed and water pressure was restored. After some strategic investigative work, we had one girl manning the toilets and sinks to rectify both the pressure and temperature problem.

Very soon I hope to put up some recent pictures (especially from today), but in the meantime you can visit Carys' blog which has most of our state sign pictures.

welcome to colorful colorado!

I shocked myself when we finally pedaled over the Mighty Mississippi River. A week or so later, we stayed in Lebanon, Kansas, famous for being the geographical center of the 48 contiguous United States. Yesterday, we crossed into Colorado. Sometimes, I can't quite figure out just how I got to where I am. I don't mean to praise myself, but I just can't quite figure out how I, and these new friends of mine, have actually biked this far.

Yesterday we had 100 miles to ride, so we were up at 4:30 and on our bikes by 6:00. I can't lie, I did not think I was going to make it. My seat (the one on me, not on my bike) has been really bothering me lately, and I was envisioning riding all 100 miles standing in my pedals. Fortunately, (or unfortunately), after 20 miles of riding near tears, my butt actually went numb. It was also about this time that we crossed into the Mountain Time Zone, enabling us to arrive at our first lunch of the day at 8:30 in the morning. This is a perfect example of how I think Bike and Build has shocked us out of all kinds of normalcy. Waking up at 4:00 sounds far more normal than 7:00; having less than five meals a day sounds ludicrous; getting dressed up means putting on jeans; and the most important part of the day is applying diaper rash cream. So, at 8:30 yesterday morning - I had two sandwiches, tortilla chips and apple pie without batting an eye.

I, for one, had been dreading this century ride. People kept talking about the winds, the heat, and the stench of slaughterhouses. However, I think most riders would agree that yesterday's was one of our easiest rides yet. We woke up and it was chilly outside (an unexpected surprise). There were storms brewing that had caused the headwinds to turn. In June, there were days that I'd ride 65 miles in over seven hours. Yesterday we went 100 in five! We arrived at the church with plenty of time to take showers, read our mail (an enormous thank you to all of you who sent love and encouragement), nap, eat dinner, nap and then hit the town.

Today is our second of four REAL days off. So last night, we decided to check out all that Holyoke, Colorado had to offer. I haven't ever experienced night life quite like this. We walked into the only bar in town, and were the only customers. Some of us played pool, some break-danced to country music, at one point we brought out a broom for an official Bike and Build Limbo competition, and we even had wheelbarrow races on the dance floor. We each celebrated, in our individual ways, the fact that we would not be sitting on a bicycle a short six hours later.

Without much that we need to do, today has been delightfully uneventful. We sat at a coffee shop this morning and labored over a kid's crossword puzzle. Then most of us went uptown to a Chinese restaurant for lunch. Right now we have projected High School Musical onto the wall of the church, later we are going to do a little bit of tye-dying and, who knows, maybe even de-grease our bike chains! So far, Colorado has been very good to us, but all too soon we will be at the base of those Rocky Mountains - putting our hiking boots back on.

a typical day

For those of you who are still curious about my cyclist lifestyle, I'd like to share a bit about my daily routine.

We used to wake up at 6:00. Now it has become essential that we are out of our super comfy sleeping bags before 4:00 in the morning. I can't tell you how defeating it is to wake up to the realization that you are now about to spend more hours on your bike than you did in your "bed." Like most summer camp-like ventures, we each have a morning chore ranging from packing our trailer to packing all of our food into coolers.
After we have all pumped our tires, filled our Camelbaks with water and lubed our shorts with chamois butter we head out on the road. The morning usually passes relatively quickly and today, I had done my first 40 miles and was at the lunch stop at about 9:00 AM. The afternoon is where it gets difficult...

I noticed that before I came on this trip, everyone had expert advice for me and wanted to let me know just how and where I would run into trouble. Funny, I think only about four of these people had actually ever ridden a bike for any significant distance, and no one had done a trip like this from East to West. However, I listened to the advice, warnings and general information hoping either that it wasn't true or would come in handy. Several people tried to tell me that the middle of the United States is flat. Well, you should be able to tell (even if you are in a car) that this place is not flat. In fact, it seems that these hills rise out of nowhere just to torture us. That said, by the afternoon we are usually quite exhausted by the terrain right about when the headwinds pick up. It's about this point that a few of us have come to adopt the ritual of the "delirium Gatorade." Delirium Gatorade happens at the point of the day when delirium has actually set in. Anything is fair game at these stops as I once happened upon a group of several riders actually sitting on the floor inside of a BP sipping thirst quencher. If you'd like to experience it for yourself, you could just run around outside for 5-7 hours and then stumble into someplace with both Gatorade and air-conditioning. I think that would give you the gist.

Fortunately, shortly after Delirium Gatorade, we hit the end portion of the ride which has affectionately become known as 10 Miles of Fun. Sometimes its fun and sometimes it isn't, but we call it that anyways. Though you might think you have it figured out, 10 Miles of Fun does not necessarily end at the host location as there are often detours, re-routes and added mileage at the end of the ride. It is funny that we all love 10 Miles of Fun, but fume when we hit 11 Miles of Fun.

Once into the host location, we set up camp by throwing our stuff pretty much everywhere, finding nooks and crannies to sleep in, and falling asleep. If you are lucky, someone usually wakes you up for supper. This has to be the best time of the day because every night is a new potluck. After dinner, we often do our Bike and Build presentation on affordable housing.

After writing this, I realize that my life here sounds horribly boring, but I wanted to post this anyway to give you a sense of my daily routine.

bike and build blog

Today I was responsible for the official Bike and Build rider blog so I wanted to include my post from there. You can check it out at:

bike and build blog!

lord of the flies

My friend Carrie Porter (who graduated in 2005 from Mariemont High School) convinced Northwestern to give her a grant to participate in Bike and Build, recording and blogging about small town America. For a little while, it seemed like the people and sights of, say, a town in western Missouri that claims its 12,000 lbs pecan is the biggest in the world, would be the most riveting aspect of the trip. However, I might argue that the social dynamic within the group of riders is far more interesting.

This is truly the most "fend-for-yourself" lifestyle that I have ever been a part of.
We subsist almost entirely on donations, which, when it comes to food becomes pretty interesting. For example, when there is something good to eat, it will literally be gone before you blink your eyes. So, the faster you ride to lunch, the better your options are, and so, I often see only the discarded remnants of the tasty morsels I missed out on. One afternoon, there was an empty spaghetti container with 4 forks in it glaring at me as I made my peanut butter, marshmallow and corn flake sandwich.** One day, soon after we had received a lunch meat donation, I overheard one girl say, "I really don't like cheese all that much, but, there probably won't be anymore tomorrow..." before throwing three slices onto a piece of bread.

Carrie and I have begun to refer to the disorganization as a Lord of the Flies-esque society. I am pretty sure she will be more eloquent in truly capturing the essence of the group dynamic, so I will try to link her blog to this one.

**Yes, I actually ate this several times in the beginning of the trip. I stopped only because we ran out of cornflakes.

thank you thank you

A HUGE thank you to all of you for the packages, letters, phone calls, emails and support in general. It is especially fun to read your postings on this blog, so thanks to those who have figured that out. On Thursdays we receive the booty from the weekly mail drop and every week I am so encouraged by hearing from you.

those pesky mountains...

Sometime back in those underestimated Appalachian mountains this trip, for me, changed from Bike and Build to Hike and Build. Early in my climbing experience I decided that if I was going slow enough that walking would actually increase my average MPH, then I would (gleefully) get my seat off my saddle and walk a few miles. Little did I know that in some of the more mountainous areas of the country, I seemed to be out of the saddle more than in it.

Despite the fact that while we were in the mountains, my average daily speed was in the single digits, I did have fun. I think I laughed harder walking up those hills than I have on the rest of the trip. It wasn't wasted energy though, this picture, which doesn't give my speed justice, is of me walking my bike at the same (3 MPH) pace that Kelly is riding.

At the top of the hill, Carys and I finally found a street sign that seemed to be specifically for us. I guess we were crossing the Appalachian Trail, but for us, it was like an invitation to hop off those bikes and walk.

One boy said that I really broke the ice when it came to "giving up" on your bike. I didn't really know how to take it until he explained that when he got frustrated in the mountain lands he thought to himself "I bet Carrie is already walking" and it made him feel a little bit better about walking his own bike. And, I think I will be completely satisfied even if that is my only contribution to this trip.

new blog title

More than once I have thought that my blog title is totally inaccurate. It should probably read: one long ride - day after day, or 49 long rides or something like that. I have, however become pretty comfortable at the back of the group. There are two people who are assigned each day to ride "sweep" which means they have to stay at the very back and carry the med kit and wait while I change my flat tires. At the beginning of the trip, someone suggested that I try and ride with as many different people as possible to really get to know everyone. For lucky me, this has been kind of built in as sweep rotates day to day. During dinner one night, I was commenting that it takes me so long to get into the host location each day. A few people jumped on me and said it is probably because I take such long breaks. To this, I pulled out my cycling computer and showed them that I had actually spent 7 hours and 55 minutes on my bike that day (a full half-hour than Carys, who rides WITH me). That is to say, even the people I ride with wait (usually at the top of hills/mountains) for me while I chug along in my granny gear. To this, another leader asked me if she could tell a story.

She said, as inspirationally as she could muster, that "once upon a time, there was a marathon and after the marathon the guy who came in last went to congratulate the guy who came in first. He said, 'I just don't know how you run so fast,' to which the champion runner replied, 'I wanted to congratulate you, I just don't understand how you can run for so long.'" Apparently, the moral of the story was that I should be proud of myself, that by the time we bike across the United States, the fastest guy on the trip could probably have turned around and been back in southern Indiana. I must say, it is nice to think that when we cross the Golden Gate Bridge, I will be able to think to myself "Mom would be proud of me, I think I definitely got my money's worth out of this bike."

the disorganization

When I say disorganization, I don't mean the disorganization that goes hand in hand with any organization, disorganization has actually replaced the term organization in regards to Bike and Build. Various incidents and events suggested that we were, in fact, biking with a disorganization, but the event that solidified the term occurred the day we crossed from West Virginia into Home Sweet Ohio. The directions read that we should cross into Ohio and continue for 62 miles on Route 7 West. Unfortunately, Route 7 wasn't labeled as clearly as one (on a self-powered vehicle) would hope, and as a result, Carys and I thought it wise to call the van to avoid unnecessary miles. Cooper, who had recently taken a concussion-causing spill, was resting in the van and assured me that we should take a left at the bridge. He added that the van wasn't far behind, and we should be passed relatively soon (usually a sign that you are headed the right way.) Satisfied with his answer, we kept riding. About 15 miles later and no sign of the van, we got a bit nervous again. We stopped on the side of the road to call the van, and Cooper answered again. Sensing my concern, he delved into an explanation. I was surprised but not shocked to hear that the van had been pulled over for having stolen plates. I laughed to myself, wondering why Bike and Build had to stoop so low as to steal plates off of another NY vehicle, but Cooper continued, Bike and Build themselves had reported them stolen, then found them, reattached them to the trailer and failed to notify the police. It seems that it was just a matter of time before we were caught "stealing" the trailer.

Cooper also wanted me to amend my blog entry from a few weeks ago where I talked about the scenery/pavement across the United States. After his second hospital visit, he swears that his bike is actually trying to buck him off and kill him. Needless to say, the concussion has left him a bit cynical. "Carrie," he said to me, "it isn't enough to suggest Bike and Build is like sitting on a bike on the pavement. Suggest that they [you] take your bikes out of your garage but instead of the cul-de-sac, head to your local gym and go inside of the sauna. Then, while you sit on your bike looking at the ground, hit yourself in the face with a hammer, for charity." I think Cooper offers valuable insight into the "frequently-injured" contingent of this B&B trip.

siding, sure.

Not often enough, we spend a day building with a local Habitat for Humanity group instead of biking. Our last build day was in Harrisburg, PA with one of the most organized Habitat sites I have ever seen. Our site leader spent over an hour explaining how we would be attaching siding to the house, and all of the skills necessary to do so successfully. He then asked for volunteers to climb up and do the siding on the part only accessible from the roof. I volunteered, climbed up, saw my life flash before my eyes before spending 15 minutes trying to get back down and requesting another task. I sort of ended up floating around the build site and helping with the siding from the ground. I think the site leader recognized my uncultivated talent and pulled me aside, giving me a lesson on some advance siding techniques. Boom, right then I became the siding supervisor. I think some of my subordinates thought the title went to my head, but by the end of the day, the six of us had done a beautiful job of siding what one professional could have done in an hour or two. But, what a sense of accomplishment, and hey, we're free!

you can get yourself clean...

Last night, and tonight (today is our first real day off), we are staying at the Christian County YMCA in Taylorville, Illinois. So, naturally, I have had the song YMCA in my head for the last 15 hours. We rolled into the Y last night around 7:00 after almost 100 miles of cornfields, soy beans and, well, corn fields and soybeans. Southern Illinois isn't much for scenery. However, this is one of the nicest host locations we have had as there is an enormous swimming pool with a water slide about 15 feet away from the work out room we are sleeping in. Thanks to all the time spent at the rec center this last spring, I feel right at home.

It is surprising how quickly I have gotten used to sleeping in a different place every night. Perhaps it is because, for the most part, our host locations have been taken care of by our leaders (usually ahead of time). We have stayed in all kinds of churches, a few YMCAs and even some campsites. What isn't quite so well organized is the taking of showers. Upon arrival in Middletown, NY, a smelly heap of us piled into the van to drive to the local Y to take showers only to discover that they close at 5:00, a good hour before I finished cycling. The leaders looked at each other, and then looked at us and said, (if I remember correctly) in unison, "well, no showers tonight." I have never really been over zealous in regards to personal hygiene, but something about the hot sun, 75 miles on a bicycle and chain grease coating both my hands and right leg demanded that we find a place to bathe. Carys had the same look in her eyes and after we returned to the church, we suggested to a few of our van-mates that we find showers on our own. Armed only with determination and our matching jerseys (which we thought added some legitimacy) we headed up Main Street prepared to knock on doors. Before we got too far we saw another church with several people outside and decided to take a shot. A few non-English phone calls later we were offered the showers at the Portuguese Cultural Center of Middletown, NY. At this point, the poor woman thought she was helping out the 8 of us. Little did she know we had 26 other sweaty friends waiting back at camp... Needless to say, we got a few interesting looks as our enormous van, following this kind woman's van, pulled into the Cultural Center's parking lot 15 minutes away, and 16 tired bodies were escorted into the locker room of the fairly lavish country club-esque center. Sometimes, I don't think know what they are getting themselves into when they offer to help us out.

In Knobbsville, PA, I arrived pretty late to the church. As I was pulling in, there was a man waiting in the parking lot. This was a very small town, I think the church was the only non-residential building there. Before I had a chance to wonder where we were going for showers, we were sitting in his living room, waiting one after another to use his own shower. This happened again in western, PA when the pastor offered us his "Man's Shower." I couldn't have imagined what it was going to be like until I actually got down there, but he wasn't kidding when he said "it isn't much to look at but it gets the job done." Imagine a dank basement hallway with a bathroom at the end of it. One light bulb with a string cast an eerie glow on the cinder block shower with no door or curtain. The cement floor, covered with some type of red metallic residue was complimented by the bricks sticking out of the walls to hold what I believe to be the remnants of an aging bar of soap.

There was even one town where we bought a hotel room to shower one after another in the tiny bathroom. It was a lot like little league softball where one person was in the shower, one person was "on deck" in the bathroom, naked, and a third was "in the hole" right outside the bathroom door. Even though 20 or so of us showered in there, I think the water was actually only running for about half an hour.

legs?

Like I said earlier, I realized a long time ago that this adventure would provide me with an out for any conversation regarding my future, life goals, career expectations (at least for the time being). I guess, then, that I shouldn't have been at all surprised this weekend when the recurring topic of conversation started with "CARRIE! How are your legs?!" Now, if you were at the wedding, I apologize for being redundant but for those of you that were not in attendance, I want to make sure you all know that my legs are sore. I have been entirely surprised with how we actually make it to the host location each night, that our legs have actually carried us hundreds of miles, but in return, it seems like they remind me, every day, that this is not how they would have chosen to spend the summer. As you might imagine, we have invested a good deal of time and money into trying to ease the pain in our angry muscles. One technique that you see a good deal of at our camp is the "rolling pin massage." I don't know who exactly came up with this, but all of a sudden we had a rolling pin (typically used in the kitchen) in our trailer. With it, you can perform an incredibly painful massage that has almost destroyed several friendships. One person takes a rolling pin to another person's broken lower body. Usually there is screaming or crying, gnashing of teeth and the like. If you don't believe me, try it. If you still don't believe me, roll it harder. The other remedy that we have come to swear by is a tiny jar of potent ointment called Tiger Balm. Apparently it is just like heavily concentrated IcyHot, but around here it is almost as valuable as gold (or chamois butter, the lubricating lotion that we apply to our shorts each morning, which has actually been referred to as white gold). Each night, before we go to bed, we apply little dots of this Tiger Balm stuff to our most sore parts (which usually includes our sit bones, quads, calves, shoulders, necks...). Before too long, the entire sanctuary, nursery, tent, or wherever else we are sleeping begins to smell like a peppermint stick as our bodies go tingly then numb (or, if you aren't careful start to burn).

Several strangers have taken interest in our legs/bodies as well as we have traveled across the country. At a gas station in Pennsylvania, one man came over, uninvited, and started to touch our bikes telling us that he could ride forever except for seat discomfort. Before long, I believe he was actually trying to convince us that we too would be incapable of long distance cycling. It was about then that we shared that we had already traveled several hundred miles and had no real plans for stopping any time soon. With heightened concern, he added that there is a "nerve" (read with an extreme southern accent), that runs "all the way through" and that "surveys have proven that there can be permanent damage." As I tried to thank him for his insight, he turned from the guy riders and looked right at Carys and me, and with an incredibly serious face he said "you'ins too, PERMANENT damage." Nothing makes you want to jump back on your bike more than an old man citing surveys that prove cycling will do permanent damage to our nerves regardless of gender...

A more welcomed stranger happened upon us a few days ago in Paris, Illinois. We all arrived into town much earlier than usual and decided to treat ourselves to Dairy Queen as a reward. There, a young woman, with her daughter, asked me where we were headed on our ride. I commented (perhaps a bit sarcastically) that we were on a pretty long ride, actually from coast to coast, but that we were there in Paris for the night. She explained that she works as a massage therapist for cyclists. I laughed at the coincidence, told her to stop over at Twin Lakes Camp Site if she felt like practicing, and then asked where we could find a nice swimming hole. She gave me directions to the local lake and I thanked her, and after our Blizzards had at least partially digested, we got back on our bikes for the final mile or two of the ride. As we pulled into our campsite, I yell to all of the Bike and Builders that there is a beach, not too far away, where we could swim for the afternoon. At that point, someone yelled to me to say that they had already heard about the beach, and as I got closer, I recognized my new friend, Valerie, the massage therapist, was setting up her table right there in the midst of our camp. She stayed for a few hours giving free massages to most of us riders. I think we are all still in grateful awe of her generosity.