As promised…

I arrived just before dark, exhausted and damp from riding through a light mist for the past hour. I had heard that the monks here were especially welcoming and friendly, but I had originally planned to just stop through in the afternoon, take a lunch break and then pass on my way. As fortune would have it, the day was much longer than anticipated, and here I was, arriving at Blue Cloud Abbey at a time more suited for finding shelter for the night.

In my heart I knew I would have to find shelter here at this place, but as I turned off the main highway onto the smaller road that led to the monastery, I was a bit nervous that it might not work out. What other option would I have, though. There was a small town just a few miles further, but there was no promise there either. As I pulled into the parking lot, up to the front entrance, there were no signs of anyone around. The place was quiet, and not a car to be seen. Walking in the front door I noticed a sign to the right of the door that said ‘Peace to all who enter.’ This instilled a bit of comfort. Into the foyer and then the lobby, and still no one to be seen. A car approached outside, and I was hoping they would park in the parking lot just outside, but on it went, down the small road, and to where, I knew not. Well, I figured there had to be someone around, so I might as well explore.

I wandered down a hall of what appeared to be guest rooms. There were signs about retreats at the abbey, so I figured that must have been what those were for. Then I found a staircase going down and explored further. The whole place was completely quiet. I came into a hallway and saw a huge kitchen on one side. Looked like no one was around. As I passed a little further, suddenly there was someone down the hall, walking toward me. Finally, a sign of life. As I said hello and we approached each other, I was feeling a bit apprehensive about asking for a place to stay. I still don’t know why I felt this way. But it didn’t matter; I didn’t even need to ask.

The man introduced himself as Brother Sebastian. I introduced myself as Otis, of course. He asked if that was my bike outside, said that he had seen it as they drove past. He commented that I must be looking for a place to stay. Well, shoot, that was exactly what I was looking for. Instantly Brother Sebastian took me in as if I were his own personal guest. He arranged for me to stay in one of the retreat rooms, a small, modest room equipped with a single bed, desk, sink, shower and toilet. All the amenities. After setting me up with the room, Sebastian asked if I had eaten. I told him I hadn’t eaten any supper yet. Well, down to the kitchen we went.

The kitchen is huge, with all the necessities one would need to prepare just about anything. Brother Sebastian led me into the freezers, which were the large, industrial variety, and began fishing out the leftovers from that nights meal. Ham and fruit and potatoes and vegetables and so much food to eat. Sebastian must have thought I hadn’t eaten in weeks, as he kept suggesting I take more, help myself to more. I don’t like to pass up free food, but I do have to set limits, and I had to kindly let Sebastian know that I had enough. So he nuked the food in the microwave, and we sat down in the dining hall and got to know each other as I stuffed myself with delicious leftovers.

I told Brother Sebastian about myself and my trip, and he shared a bit about himself and the monastery. We talked for a good while as I slowly ate. By the time I was done, it was starting to get late, at least by monastery standards anyway. I was tired, and I could tell he was nearing his bedtime as well. Being the excellent host, Sebastian inquired about anything else I would need and mentioned laundry. It had been about a week since my last washing, so I was due for a load of clean clothes. He showed me where the laundry facilities were, complete will all the necessities- soap and dryer sheets. Then Sebastian left me on my own, letting me know about the schedule for the next morning, inviting me to come to prayer at 6:45 and breakfast afterwards, but also letting me know it wasn’t mandatory or expected. I told him I would try to make it, that I should be up by 6:45.

I was planning on leaving in the morning, after breakfast, so I didn’t waste much time getting my laundry started. Still, I would have to wait for it to complete before I went to bed. So I took a shower and got on the internet. By the time the wash was done, it was after midnight. I was exhausted. As I lay in bed, waiting for sleep to find me, I thought about my plans for the next day. I had set an alarm to wake up early, but I didn’t really want to wake up early. I was tired and wanted to sleep in. I figured I could just see how I felt at the alarm and make a decision then, but I knew I wasn’t going to make it to prayer. Sebastian said I could sleep in as long as I wanted, and I thought that might be a good idea. I also couldn’t help but think that maybe I didn’t want to ride the next day either. Perhaps it would be okay for me to spend another day here at the abbey.

Well, sleep in I did. When I woke up, I felt fairly good, but I still had the idea that maybe I wouldn’t have to ride off that day. I got dressed and found Brother Sebastian. I had missed prayer and breakfast, but he led me to the cereal and fetched me toast, made from freshly baked bread. I had a heaping serving of granola, with toast and jam. We talked some more, and he must have suggested I stay for the day. I can’t remember now exactly how it came about, but I was glad to have the invitation.

That day I sat in on the prayer at 11:30, followed by lunch. After lunch, Sebastian and I set out for a grand tour of the grounds there at the abbey. The place is quite impressive. It sits on a large chunk of land atop a hill overlooking a large portion of northeastern South Dakota. On the land, there are plenty of trees, including apple, peach, and apricot; a large garden supporting all sorts of vegetables and berries; lakes; plenty of pasture land; hermitages; and a camp. We walked around, and Sebastian explained to me the history of the place and what is done with all the land. It was a long and relaxing walk, and it really made me feel good about having taken the day off.

After the walk around the grounds, Sebastian showed me his working quarters in the vestry. Brother Sebastian makes garments for the monks there as well as for priests all over. His work space is quite impressive, with half a dozen industrial Singer machines, huge rolls of all kinds of fabric, and even a big machine just for doing button holes. He showed me some art he had done when he studied in New Mexico, some beautiful stone sculptures and a few paintings. I was very impressed with all his work. I expressed to him my interest in sewing, about my desire to learn the trades of self-sufficiency, like gardening, sewing, metal and wood working, etc.
After all the touring, we were both pretty exhausted and needed some time to rest for ourselves, so we parted ways for a bit. He told me about evening prayer. I decided to skip that and take some time to myself to stretch and take some pictures outside. It was a beautiful evening. After the prayer, Sebastian found me and offered me beer and cheese. After that snack, it was time for dinner, and I sat and ate with all the monks. I guess usually there would be silence as someone reads from a book, but not on Thursdays. After dinner, Brother Sebastian wanted to make sure that I had some food to take with me for my journey ahead. With enthusiasm, he bestowed upon me a loaf of fresh bread, garden-fresh tomatoes and zucchini, fresh fruit, local cheese, granola, and enough nuts and raisins to completely fill a gallon ziplock bag with trail mix. The thing must have weighed 7 pounds. I told him I didn’t even have enough space to fit all the food, but he said he could help me lighten my load and ship some stuff off to Denver that I wouldn’t be needing for now. So with many pounds of extra food, Sebastian left me for the night, and I began packing up a box to ship.

It was pretty tough to figure out what to send. I wanted to slim down as much as possible, eliminate the items I definitely wouldn’t be needing now that summer was almost over. So I packed up my flip-flops, suntan lotion, aloe, one of my t-shirts, and a cotton buttun-down shirt. In the box I also put a blanket that Sebastian had given me. I told him I really liked the design of the fabric, and he said I could have it. I want to use it to make some clothing, but it does me no good to tote it around on my bike. I decided that I should cut down to just one pair of pants. Although my cut-off sweat pants are much more comfortable for riding, my jeans are much more versatile and a bit more practical, so the sweats went in the box. It was a tough call whether to pack my water filter or not. I hadn’t used it yet on the trip; clean drinking water had always been fairly easy to come by, but, I was heading out to the west, where streams and creeks might be more prevalent than civilaztion, so I figured to keep it with me. Other than that, there must have been a few other small things. Obviously they weren’t too important, as I can’t remember them now.

The next morning I slept in until 8 or so, I think. I started packing and Brother Sebastian came and knocked on my door. He wanted to make sure I hadn’t left yet, as he had made something for me. The day before, as he was showing me some of the garments he was in the process of completing, I asked about the difficulties of making a hood, as I had been told that it isn’t too easy. We had talked about it a bit, and he explained the process. Well, to help me out, that morning Sebastian had quickly put together a hood for me from some scraps of fabric he had. I was both impressed and grateful. Sebastian joined me for breakfast, and we talked some more. Then he helped me put together my box to ship and arranged all the shipping for it. I finalized all my packing, stuffing and shoving to make room for all the newly-acquired food. Outside, Brother Sebastian and I exchanged a hug, and he saw me off and wished me well. I gave him all my contact information and we agreed to keep in touch.

My spirits were soaring as I headed down the road, away from Blue Cloud Abbey, but it was still tough leaving the place. Everything about the monastery was fascinating to me. The entire building, as well as the grounds and the view, are so beautiful. The place has an overwhelming atmosphere of peacefulness. And despite being relatively isolated, the abbey has just about anything one might need. There are sleeping quarters, an amazing industrial kitchen, a wood-working shop, a garage for working on cars, a vestry, a huge garden, fruit trees, a lake, and more. They bake their own bread, prepare and can jams and preserves. Everyone there has some practical skill to pass on. It’s the perfect place to relax, to gather one’s thoughts, to meditate, to rest. As I began my day of riding, a thought came to me. Even though I had just left, I was already planning my return. I started formulating an idea about coming back and living and working at the abbey. I am not really interested in signing on to the life of a monk, but I figured they must need help there, that they could always use some young hands to help out. All I would want in return would be a place to sleep, some food, a modest wage to allow me to pay my student loans, and plenty of time for learning. I want to know how to do everything anyone does there. I want to master sewing, wood-working, gardening, canning, baking, everything. What a storehouse of knowledge! All of the monks are getting up there in age, probably eager to pass on what they know. I could be the pupil they desire. And what a setting to think and create, to focus on artistic endeavors. What a great place to live and write a book, to collect all my thoughts and memories and pictures and put his journey together into a real book, once it is all said and done. Oh, the possibilities in my mind seemed endless, and the excitement was a bit overwhelming. But, I kept my senses, realizing that this choice was not really up to me, but mostly up to the monks at Blue Cloud, whether they would be willing to take me on in that fashion. I decided it would be best to really brood over the idea before discussing it with anyone there, before letting Brother Sebastian know my idea. All day I couldn’t help but think about it.

Now, weeks later, the idea is still in my head. I don’t think about it with such fervor as I did that day, but I have expressed my idea to Brother Sebastian. He supports it and has offered some suggestions for ways to go about facilitating this kind of stay. He sent me information on the associate program, which lets lay people, whether interested in eventually taking vows or not, get an idea of the life of a monk. Associates follow the routines and practices of the monks, assimilate into daily life at the monastery. I’ll admit I’m not too terribly keen on that idea. I have the utmost respect for what they do, but I don’t want to pretend to ascribe to a set of beliefs that my heart is not completely into. That’s not right for me and not doing justice to them or their program. I would rather take on work to earn my keep there. I am willing to take on just about any job, so long as it allows me time to learn and write. As of yet, I haven’t taken any further action with this. I haven’t contacted any of the other monks or discussed the idea with the abbot. I suppose I’m still working it all out in my mind and taking in my other options as well. No matter what comes of this, however, I do plan on returning there in the near future at least for a visit. And whatever may come, I am very pleased to have gained from this fortuitous stop a very good friend in Brother Sebastian. We keep in contact regularly, and he continues to bestow help in whatever forms he can, including more trail mix and granola. What was forecast as a quick break in the middle of the day became a two-night stay and one of the most fulfilling stops on my journey thus far. Looking back, it still seems a bit surreal. And of course I must thank Pastor Tom in Milan for recommending the place. Had he not made mention of Blue Cloud, I am positive there is no way I would have ever stumbled upon the abbey.

That brings me to something I have been thinking much about lately. Some people say that everything happens for a reason. Personally, I can’t say I hold that belief. I think one can find meaning and find a lesson in nearly anything that happens, though, and I think that’s more important. Whatever force is bringing all of our life events about, for whatever purpose fortuitous coincidences such as this occur, I don’t think anyone can really understand. But with each turn of fortune and fate, each of us has the ability to assess our experiences in order to learn and grow. I couldn’t say for sure whether this wonderful stay was facilitated by a higher power or was complete happenstance. Either way, I don’t think it really matters. What is important is that it did happen. New people, new places, and new ideas were introduced, and I have the ability and freedom to make of them whatever I choose. That is the nature of all of our experiences, both the mundane and the awesome. That’s how I try to live my life, anyway. Every event in my life, for better or worse, has shaped who I am. I may not have control over much of the events themselves, but I do have the ability to decide what I will take from each experience. And these days, as much as I possibly can, I try hard to extract the positive from every moment, especially on a journey like this. I’m not always successful, but I’m trying.

(written Monday)
Yesterday officially marked the end of the calendar summer season, bringing us into autumn. Gone are the days of careless fun, hot days and cool drinks. As the leaves change color and mornings turn crisp, just before we must face the reality of approaching winter, we often reflect back upon the adventurous and the lazy days of months recently passed. Hopefully, as we remember the joys of summer, we do so with a sense of contentment for what has passed and what is now beginning, for the cyclical nature of life.

Quite fitting, then, given this current seasonal transition, that yesterday would commence the last day of riding of this second leg of my journey- the westward segment. Tonight I find myself in the comfort of my uncle John’s and aunt Ruth’s house in Great Falls, Montana, thinking back on the last few days of riding, as well as the journey so far as a whole. First, let me share the last few days, how I came to be here right now.

Before leaving Miles City on Friday, I made a stop at the local bike shop to see what I could do about my shifting problem. I figured maybe I would be able to pick up that part, the module that attaches to the axle, for cheap. Maybe they would even have one lying around I could take off their hands. They did not, but they owner there was able to help me out. He was able to bore out some new threads in the screw hole, as the existing ones had been completely stripped, which is why the screw would not tighten against the axle nut. With new threads, we were able to put a new screw in and properly clamp the module on with no chance of slipping off. He didn’t charge me anything for the labor.

After leaving the bike shop, the pastor took me out to lunch at a surprisingly delicious Mexican restaurant in town. I ordered a feast and had a taco, an enchilada, a tostada, chile relleno, and rice and beans. The meal filled me to the brim, and I felt good about riding out. As I began to roll out of town, the winds seemed calm, almost nonexistent, but no sooner had I reached the highway again when they picked up out of the west, per the usual.

It was a relatively late start, but I had decided to only travel about 40 miles to the town of Forsyth- put in a short day followed by a long one. Also, since this stretch of highway 12, on which I had been traveling since Minnesota, merged with the interstate, I figured I would be going a bit faster anyway. I always ride faster on roads with high-speed traffic, especially if there is a wide shoulder. And don’t worry, riding on the interstate is legal in Montana. I made decent time, considering the wind and some tough hills and arrived at Forsyth just before dark. It’s a relatively small town, but there is a campground, so I knew I would definitely have a place to sleep. I checked it out first, and it didn’t really present any promising spots to hang a hammock, and the mosquitos were definitely still out, so I decided to go back into town, get a meal at a cafe, and try my luck at finding something else. The campground could be my backup plan.

The meal was good, although a bit pricy, and the server there couldn’t help me out with a place to stay. He did, however, give me the section of the paper that listed all the churches in town. So I rode around and checked them all out, but could find no one around who might help me seek permission to sleep at any one of these churches. After a half hour of roaming around, I finally gave up and decided to just go back to the campground and sleep there. Just as I was leaving the last church, however, I looked down at my rear tire and noticed a thorn stuck in the rubber. Shit. Well, first reaction is to pull it out. Before I even had the damn thing fully removed from the tire, air began streaming out with a slight whistle. It was completely dark by this point, and I didn’t really feel like trying to patch my tube in the dark, with the aid of a street lamp and a flashlight. So I decided to just walk my bike to the campground, about a mile away, and just worry about it in the morning.

I walked through the bumpy streets, down a gravel road leading into the park, and found a site. Again, there were no good spots I had found earlier, and I had very little chance of finding one by the glow of my headlight, so I stopped at the first reasonable, open site I found. I set my hammock on top of the picnic table and pushed one of my rear panniers inside to the head of the hammock. That would suffice to keep the mosquito netting up off my face and ensure that no critters bit me in the night. No clouds and no forecast of rain, so I kept the rain fly off and slept under the stars.

Still exhausted, I woke up to my alarm at 6 the next morning. It was 12 bucks to camp there, and I didn’t want to pay, so I peaced out before 7am. I walked my bike down the road a half mile, out of the park, and stopped to fix my flat. I realized that pushing the flat tire over gravel was not a good idea, and had actually ruined my tube and was doing considerable damage to my tire. I changed the tube for a new one and got everything back together just fine. Then I headed over to the grocery store to stock up on some fruit for the long ride. I decided to treat myself to breakfast at the cafe. I figured I could use a good, hearty meal to keep me going, even if it was a bit pricey.

After my meal, I headed out into the morning calm to begin my long day through what I knew would be a whole lot of nothing. I wasn’t wrong. Back on highway 12, off the interstate, I was in pasture country, dry pasture country. I can’t imagine there was even one percent humidity out there. Even thoughts of moisture seemed to evaporate just as quickly as they came. All the labeled creeks were nothing more than winding beds of salty dust. This was the landscape up until the last 15 miles or so.

For lunch that day, I stopped in a town called Ingomar, the town I was originally going to shoot for the day before. In Miles City, a few people had recommended I get a meal there at the local joint called the Jersey Lily. Kind of a famous spot, regionally at least. It had the small, western town atmosphere, looked like it had been built 100 years ago. I’m pretty sure everyone else in there was a local. I was too tired to talk to anyone, so I sat at the bar. Everyone I had talked to in Miles City said I had to get the beans there, so I ordered the bean and salad bar, an unlimited lunch for seven bucks. I piled my plate high with salad fixins: lettuce, tomato, cheese, egg, croutons, cucumber, bacon bits. Then I filled a bowl with the esteemed beans, kept warm in a crock pot. It looked like a two-bean medley with pork fat and onion. Can’t really go wrong there. So I ate my salad plate while I waited for my beans to cool. (I have a low tolerance for heat in my mouth. Kind of a wuss, really, when it comes to that.) When finally I felt I had waited long enough, I went for a big ol’ spoonful of beans. They definitely were not bad, but I wouldn’t call them much more than good. There was nothing too special about them. Some kind of spice that I couldn’t put my finger on, but pretty standard otherwise. Not sure what all the fuss was about. Still, it was a good meal, and I filled up. The salad and bean bar even came with a cookie.

After my filling meal, I had a couple brief conversations with some locals. They were all friendly. One was a truck driver who helped himself behind the bar. When I told him I was headed to Roundup, he said he was going there that afternoon as well. He said this as he poured himself a tall glass of vodka. ‘Not right away, of course,’ he added. I told him I was glad to hear that. When I left the Jersey Lily and grabbed my bike to go, I noticed the rear tire was low, nearly all the way flat. It definitely wasn’t flat when I arrived. So I figured I would try pumping it back up, see if it would hold any air. It did. Must be a small leak. I didn’t really feel like patching a tube again, so I figured I would see how far I could make it just pumping it up when it got low. As long as the puncture didn’t expand, I knew I would be fine. I would just have to stop every so often and add some air. It turned out a half hour was about the time I could get off each filling. After that the tire would become too soft and slow me down, and really pose a threat of getting another flat. And so that is what I did for the next 60 miles to Roundup- stopped and pumped up every 30-40 minutes.

Coming into Roundup, I had a name and address and telephone number for the pastor in town, but I wasn’t sure yet if I was good to stay with them. I hadn’t had any cell service since about 20 miles out of Forsyth. I assumed I would get service by the time I reached town, though. Nope. No service for me in that town. The town was laid out in a fairly simple grid, so I was able to find my way to the address I had written down, figured I would just ring the doorbell. No lights on, no answer. I also had the address to the Lutheran church, so that was my next stop. No one there either. So I would have to call. The first gas station I came across (probably the only one in town) had a pay phone, but a woman was using it, and she looked like she had a handful of quarters at the ready. I went to the grocery store across the street and asked to use their phone. Local calls only, so I couldn’t call my uncle or my voicemail, but I could try the pastor. When I dialed the number, it said the number had changed, to something in a different area code, which means a different state than Montana, as the entire state has the same area code. Now what?

I left the grocery store and went back to the gas station. The lady was gone by then, so I got on the payphone and called my uncle. He told me the story- pastor moved, but he had found someone to help me out, Pam, the piano player at the church. He gave me the contact info, I called her, and made my way to her house. She fed me leftover pizza, some fruit and cheese, and let me take a shower. Then she unlocked the church and set me up in the basement there. Sleeping on the floor with my sleeping pad, but I didn’t mind.

I had to get up by 8:30 the next morning, as service started at 9:30, and people started arriving at 9. I can’t sleep later than eight these days, even if I try, so that wasn’t a problem. I got up and packed up and was beginning to patch my tube when people began arriving. Everyone was friendly and talked to me. They wanted me to stay for the service, but I knew I had to get an early start to make the 75 miles to Lewistown before dark. I knew there would be winds, like always, and some serious uphills were waiting for me.

Boy, yesterday was one of the toughest days I’ve had yet. I hadn’t taken a day off since Blue Cloud Abbey in eastern South Dakota, 10 days and 700 miles of headwinds and hills earlier. I already felt like I was running on fumes for the last few days through dry, eastern Montana. This day was nothing but hills. Long, some steep, winding hills. And for most of the day, the shoulder was very limited. Parts had a wide four-foot shoulder. Some had a narrower two-foot shoulder. Then there was my favorite, the two- to three-foot shoulder with rumble strips that meandered about the shoulder. So at one point you might have a foot and a half between the strips and the dirt, and other times you might only have four inches. Nonetheless, I took each hill in stride (a slow stride), never getting off to walk. The downhills would have been truly amazing had it not been for the wind. The first half of the day was marked by variable, sometimes erratic, crosswinds. That made for very unsteady descents. Taking just one hand off the bars was a serious risk, as a gust over 20 miles an hour might come through at any moment, easily enough to knock you over when you’re speeding over 25 miles an hour downhill. So I had to be a bit reserved.

About halfway through the day, the highway merged with another highway and turned from mostly north to mostly west. That put me straight into a headwind. By this point, it was mostly steady, not nearly as erratic as before. It might die off for a few minutes, but guaranteed that anytime I had the slightest thought about the wind being gone, it would pick up again with vengeance. At first, though, there were much fewer uphills, mostly flats and long, gradual climbs. I pushed on, thinking that when 5 or 6 rolled around, the wind would begin to die off, as it usually does. By six, however, the wind had not died off a bit, and I was coming up to a small mountain range. A long, steep, winding ascent waited to welcome me into the mountains. The scenery was very beautiful, especially with the setting sun, but I really had to focus all of my energy to climbing. At the top of climb, I could finally see my destination, the town of Lewistown, still another six or so miles. The sun was almost completely set, the temperature was dropping, and surprisingly, the wind was actually picking up even more. The descent that followed was glorious, easily a few miles, but the cold wind was making my hands go numb, and I had to retrieve my gloves. I was hoping the hill would carry me all the way into town, but unfortunately it stopped a few miles short of town limits, and I had to struggle through accelerated winds. By this point it was nearly completely dark, and the winds must have been gusting around 25 mph. I couldn’t believe it. I felt as though someone had been kicking me on the ground for hours, and just as it seemed they were done, as I was beginning to rise, they added insult to injury and poked me in the eyes. What a day.

Luckily I had a place to stay all lined up, thanks again to my uncle. The local pastor, Paul, met me in town and had me follow him to his house. Wouldn’t you know it, he lives on a hill, and I ended the ride barely making it up to his house. Once there, however, I was given a bed to sleep in, a fast food meal for dinner, and hot wheat cereal in the morning. I also had a really good conversation with Paul about religion and philosophy, and I feel that our conversation really got me started reflecting upon my journey. I had been pushing so hard lately, I feel as though I didn’t give myself a chance to look back and reflect, to think about what I have learned, what growth I will ultimately take from this adventure.

Before I had even reached Paul’s place, I knew that the next day I would be reaching Great Falls, despite the fact it was just over 100 miles away. My uncle John had said he would drive and meet me and pick me up the next day. I was flooded with relief when I heard that. I had planned to make two days out of the remaining 107 miles, given that it would be some serious uphill. As it turned out, I didn’t do any riding. John picked me up in Lewistown and drove me the entire way to Great Falls. What would have taken me two days of strenuous riding, was just a two hour drive by car. Amazing. That was definitely the longest car ride I have taken since I began this trip nearly three months ago. It was weird. To be honest, the speed with which we traveled frightened me a little, and not being in control of the vehicle made me a bit anxious. Even so, I was more than happy to be riding as a passenger, relaxing, as the car did all the work of pushing through the winds and up the hills. I’m not entirely sure I could have lasted another day of powering myself through those conditions.

So now what? Now that I have reached Great Falls, Montana, here at my uncle’s house, what comes next? Well, I’m not entirely sure yet, but my plan for now is to stay here for a few days, maybe a week, then make my way down to Denver. I won’t be riding my bike to get there, however. For one, I need more rest. My body and mind have had enough riding for a little while. I need a break. Second, it’s just about October now. The weather will be very unpredictable, very volatile in the coming weeks and months, and I’m not sure I want to risk riding through this part of the country during this time. Snow could come at any time. Part of me wants to go through with it, based on principle, because of my ego, and maybe I would if I hadn’t already done so much, if I wasn’t so tired, but my common sense tells me to find another way. So that’s part of my goals for the next few days, is to figure out a way to get down to Denver as cheaply and efficiently as possible. There is not train running through here. Busses may be an option. I’m not too keen on flying, although I would do it if circumstances demand so. Other than that, renting a car comes to mind, or trying to find someone who is already driving down that way. That’s a long shot. I’ll figure something out.

In the meantime as well, I will be using this time off to get some work done. I have a few web projects to work on that I have been putting off until I got here. I also have loads of pictures to put up here on the site. I realize I haven’t posted any since Minneapolis, and I probably have a few hundred that I have taken since then. I will be putting those up in spurts over the next few days. Other than that, I have a lot of resting and reflecting to do. I really want to try to put some perspective on the last few months, put everything together, think about how far I have come and what I have learned from all this. It’s finally starting to sink in just how crazy and amazing this trip has been. I have met so many wonderful people, had encounters with some real weirdos and assholes, and seen some of the finest scenery this country has to offer in daily life. Now I want to figure out what this has done for me as a person, what I can take from all this, where it can lead me. I don’t think this adventure is quite over with, but this is a much-needed interlude after a grand segment, and a fine time for reflection. So expect more writing in the week to come to accompany the pictures. There’s so much more to tell, and I want to get it down before I forget.

Thanks again to everyone who has helped me out along the way. I appreciate all the comments. I appreciate the hospitality I have been given along the way, both by strangers and friends and family. It’s good to know that fear hasn’t taken over every aspect of people’s lives, and trust can still be found lingering in the hearts of many a good people. I sincerely hope that I have been able to give back to people along the way in a meaningful fashion. It’s always impossible to know just how much anything you say or do affects those around you, and I can only hope that what I have done has left positive impacts in my wake. There are plenty of people with whom I shared the address to this journal that I have never heard from. I’m sure some never even looked it up, but I am positive there are some out there who have read along quietly. So as I begin to reflect upon what this trip has done for me, I would be curious to hear what anyone else has to say about the trip, anything they have learned along the vicarious way, any words of insight that could be shared. Please feel free to leave a comment or send me an email.

And one last thing that must be said: Don’t worry, Grandma, I am alright. Despite all this talk of being worn out, of how tough this has been, I am safe and warm and dry and well-fed. It has been an incredibly rewarding experience, and there was never any time when I felt that my life was in really serious danger. I’m glad you were reading along, and I know you were praying for me the entire time. Thank you for that. I know my Mom was watching out for me as well. I will call you soon. I love you.

Sincerely,

Otis

I left Bowman, North Dakota, headed for Baker, Montana, around 6pm on Wednesday, just after my last post. It was still another 46 miles to go. Luckily my uncle John in Great Falls, where I’m headed toward now, is a Lutheran pastor and is able to set me up with the Lutheran churches and pastors as I travel through the state. So I had a place to stay all lined up already in Baker.

As the sun was going down, I found myself getting into some really interesting scenery. I don’t know if it’s the badlands or not, but it was pretty amazing- small canyons and little plateaus all over the place. In the light of the setting sun, I felt like I was in a different world. I was hoping to see the cliche image of a coyote howling from atop one of the precepices, silhouetted against a pink sky and the vanishing sun. No dice. Plenty of deer, though. And those darn things sure would startle me. I wouldn’t notice them until I would be about 10 feet away, then all of a sudden they would take off running through the grass.

The ride that night was nice, although a little creepy at times. Once the sun went down, there was about 40 minutes of dusk, where I could still see relatively well. By 7:30, it was really dark, and I was waiting for the moon to show her face, as she should still be fairly large, having been full just a couple days prior. Well, the moon was shy. She started to peek her face over the horizon sometime around eight, glowing red through some haze. I was glad to see her, and I told her she looked good in red. She blushed. But with hilly terrain, I found myself constantly losing her over the hills behind me. She was slow to rise. Even by the time she was up high enough to not be masked by hills, it was still so dark that I needed my headlight. I could see where I needed to go on the road, but I couldn’t see much more than 10 feet in front into the dark night, and I was afraid a deer might be in the road. If I smacked into one of those, it would be bad news for me and my bike.

The ride to Baker took about three hours. Not bad, considering the hills and no more tailwind. When I arrived, pastors Bruce and Reba were at home and welcomed me right in. They said I could sleep in their guest room. They fed me a delicious hamburger and we talked. They were very good listeners, which was great. I told them about my trip and talked about my mother and brother. It really was wonderful to have some good ears to talk to. I am grateful to have stopped through there, and I really loved that they expressed how grateful they were to have me stay.

The next morning I got on the internet to figure out the rest of my route, distances, etc. I ended up getting a much later start than I had planned. I was headed to Miles City, about 82 miles to the west. I thought I was going to be okay because the morning saw little in the way of winds. I figured I could make good time. When I started rolling out of town around 1pm, however, the winds had picked up. Headwinds again. And even though there is a net elevation loss going to Miles City, it seemed like the first 40 miles was nothing but uphill. It was exhausting. I was frustrated. Here I was trying to make good time, not have to ride in the dark again, and the damn headwinds were doing nothing but slowing me down. Actually, I was angry. Then at five, I heard a strange noise coming from my rear wheel. It sounded like some brush or grass was caught in the spokes. Nope. Turned out to be air rushing out of my tire. Must have hit some glass.

Well, so here I was on highway 12, out in the middle of nowhere, 40 miles from any kind of town. I would have to patch the tube, but there was really no space to do it. The shoulder on the highway is only about a foot and a half wide, and although there wasn’t too much traffic, there were cars coming by about every five to ten minutes. I didn’t want to be right on the highway changing a flat. So I walked a good half mile or more until I found a driveway to a ranch that was partly paved. It would do. I thought about trying to hitch my way to Miles City from there, but I decided I better go ahead and fix my tube first. So I worked fairly quickly, removing all the bags, flipping the bike over, patching the tube. I got that all done and started putting everything back together, proud of making good time. Then another problem arose. Let me explain.

My bike is a three speed. Unlike most bikes you see, it is internally geared, meaning that the gears are not on the outside of the wheel, but are inside the hub. I don’t have a derailleur. Mounted under my seat I have my shifter. It’s a grip shift with a handle that you turn to change gears. Turning the handles tightens and releases a cable that runs down to a module that is mounted on the axle. Within this module is a paddle that is moved by the tension of the cable. The paddle compresses and releases a spring that goes into the axle. This spring changes the gears. I don’t know the exact mechanics of what is inside the wheel, but the spring moves some kind of sprocket, I guess, among the three gears. Well, the module with the paddle, that pushes the spring, it mounts onto the axle over one of the axle nuts. To keep it on there, there is a bolt you tighten that presses on the axle nut. Well, when I went to put that module back on and tighten the bolt, I found that it would turn, but it wasn’t getting tight against the nut. If I pulled, it would come right off. I played around with it for a bit and realized that the threads had been stripped inside. I don’t know if that was something I did, or if it defective from the factory, but basically the bolt would not tighten against the nut, and I could not keep the module on. If I tried to shift to a higher gear, the tension of the spring would push it right off.

I figured there wasn’t much I could do to fix it at the moment, so I thought I would just try to get it into second gear, my usual gear, and just ride it the rest of the way into town. So I put all my bags back on and began to ride out. Without the spring in the axle, however, the hub didn’t stay in second gear; instead it went down into first gear, a really low gear. So I was pedalling like mad, spinning and spinning, and hardly going anywhere. On slight downhills, I couldn’t even spin fast enough to get any power to the wheels. This wouldn’t work. At the pace this gear allowed, it would take me 8 more hours to get to Miles City. Something had to be done. So I put the spring back in the axle and put the module on. I shifted into third gear, my hardest gear. Then I was able to keep the module on the nut by securing the cable against the bike frame. Somehow that created enough friction between the module and nut, put it at a bit of an angle, so that it wouldn’t pop off. I figured I would have to ride the rest of the way in third gear, however. I was afraid that if I shifted down and then shifted back up, the tension of the spring would cause the module to pop off.
Luckily the wind had pretty much died off by this point, but going up hills would be tough. Still, at least I would be able to get some speed on the flats and downhills. So off I set again, ever wary that the module might pop off, that I might lose the spring somewhere in the desert on the side of the road. It was now an hour and a half since I got the flat tire. 6:30. The sun would be down in about an hour, and I was still 40 miles from Miles City. I would have to make haste.

I took off, pedalling hard. I knew I would have a place to sleep if I made it there, probably a good meal. There was nothing in between, no towns, maybe just a ranch or two. I would push for it. Oh boy, it was tough. There were some mean uphills. I wasn’t going to walk, and I was afraid to shift down, so I pushed really hard, with all my strength, to make it up in my hardest gear. One hills was well over a mile long, and very steep. The sun went down and it got completely dark. It was a nice night, and I put my ipod on to keep my spirits up. I wasn’t sure how long the battery would last, but I decided I would let Mason Jennings carry me the rest of the way into Miles City.

Of course, this whole time as I was riding, I would have in a heartbeat called the pastor in Miles City and asked if he could come pick me up. Unfortunately, I was in the barren wastelands of Montana, and there is no cell service. Not until I got to within 10 miles of the city was I able to pick up a signal. As soon as I realized that, well, I called right away. It was already after nine, and I at least wanted to let him know I was still coming. He said he could come pick me up. I pedalled on, and we met down the road. He gave me a ride back to his place, where I got a shower and he cooked up some steaks. Then he brought me over to the church, where I spent the night.

Today, I am exhausted. I’m not sure how far I will make it. I had planned on doing 80 again today, but I might cut it down to 40. There is a city that far away, then after that it is a whole lot of nothing for another 100 miles. Just a few tiny towns, if you can call them that. So I may just take a short day today, ride 40 miles, then rest up a night and ride a long day tomorrow, 100 miles. We’ll see if I’m up for it. I know that I am really pushing myself too hard, that I’m asking way too much of my body, but I do it all in the vain of knowing I have a place to rest in just a few days. That’s what keeps me going for now. Hopefully my body can keep up a little longer.

Boy, South Dakota can be rough. Since leaving Roscoe, I have had all sorts of weather, from cold enough to require a scarf and gloves to hot enough to require no shirt. Most of the time, however, has been filled with headwinds and uphills. Every time I try to push 100 miles in a day, I’m only able to do about 60, no matter how hard I push.

From Roscoe, I made it just past the town of Mobridge and camped at a campground just across the Missouri River. Since it is just out of camping season, there was no one there to make me pay. Unfortunately, that also meant the bathrooms were locked and the water fountains and spigots were shut off. I was pretty much out of water. Luckily, the RV station, with the drain and water pump, was still active, so I was able to find potable water there. I didn’t find this source, though, until about an hour after I burned my finger on my pot when I was cooking some rice. So I had no cool water to put on the burn, and while I usually carry Aloe, I sent that in a package to my aunt in Denver from Blue Cloud Abbey. I was trying to lighten my load so I could carry more food, send some things I figured I wouldn’t need for the next month or so, like sunscreen and Aloe. Bad move. The burn isn’t too bad, but it hurt later, and it’s a little blistered now, three days later.

That night I also had a little critter friend to deal with. Just as I was about to retire to my hammock, I saw a raccoon creeping around in the dark. He was coming my way. I figured earlier that I would have an encounter like this, so I had found a big rock that I could use to scare one away. He wasn’t close enough yet, and I didn’t really want him to, so I just gathered a handful of gravel and threw it his way. He scurried off to some bushes about 200 yards away. Well, I knew that wasn’t the last I would see of him. I waited around for a few mintues, and sure enough, he started scurrying my way again. I wanted to wait until he got close enough for me to throw the big rock at him, scare him real good, but he stopped about 100 yards away. He stood there, watching me for about a minute. I decided to take action, so I started creeping toward him, handful of gravel at the ready. I got to within about 50 yards before he took off again. I threw the rocks anyway. I waited a few more minutes, but I was really tired and wanted to go to sleep, not wait around for a damn coon to keep coming back around. So I set up a trap. I had put my tarp over the bike to keep moisture off, since I was right by a big river. With the panniers on the side and my water bag and food bag on top of the rear rack, I had a slope to the tarp draping over the back. On top of one of the panniers I set my large rock, setting it up such that it was only barely secure. Any movement of the tarp in any direction would send the large rock crashing down on to the bench of the picnic table. I figured that would come down with enough of a bang to really scare the critter off for good, if it didn’t land on him and do more damage. Well, I never heard anything through the night, but when I woke up, the rock was on the ground and there were coon prints in the dirt around the picnic table. None of my food had been disturbed. Sweet.

The next morning I got a decent start, but I took a detour four miles off the highway to visit Sitting Bull’s grave. It was a really nice spot, up on some rolling hills, hundreds of feet above the Missouri River, looking down on the river, Mobridge across, and plains as far as the eye could see. Not another soul ever came while I was there, so I enjoyed a peaceful breakfast. Getting back on the highway, I had the desire to put in 100 miles. I had the drive to really push myself. I didn’t plan, however, for some wicked headwind and one of the longest hills so far. Actually, the entire day was uphill. Every time I got to the top of a hill, well, usually I found I wasn’t actually at the top. The road would level off for a few dozen yards then continue on up. Either that, or there would be a tiny downhill or flat followed by more uphill. Even the tiny downhills and flats were not a break, however, as the wind ensured that I would be pedalling hard the whole way.

That night I found myself ending the day in a town called McIntosh, a tiny community along highway 12 on the Standing Rock Reservation. Everyone in town seemed friendly. I stopped at the diner/bar to get some dinner and hopefully find a place to stay. The local drunk started talking to me right away. Said he was getting crazy because of the full moon. He was a real joker and completely full of shit. ‘What do you mean my credit’s no good?!’ That was his phrase of choice it seemed. He would say it to all the locals when they came in, causing him to laugh hard. The waitress/bartender was trying to set me up with one of the local pastors, but he was at the high school, attending the coronation for homecoming, which was a bonfire, burning four big bales of hay. I’ve never seen that before. Well, before the coronation was over, a local by the name of Sonny said I could stay at his place. It was just him and his little brother. He seemed friendly enough, so I took him up on it. The place was a real bachelor pad, messy, lacking much in solid furniture. He and his brother both smoke cigarettes inside as well, so the place really smelled. I didn’t care, though. It was a place to sleep inside. I was amazed to find out how cheap it is to live in this little town. The house I was staying in, Sonny was renting to own. The price he will pay when all is said and done: $6500. That’s for a small, two-story, four bedroom, one bathroom house on a small lot with an extra lot behind it, just past a little alleyway. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, the place needed some work, but for only 6500 bucks, that seems like a steal to me. Hell, I could afford that if just tried a little. Not sure if I want to live in McIntosh, South Dakota, though. I didn’t sleep too well, woke up tired. As I was packing up and leaving this house, Sonny was already at work, his younger brother was getting ready to go to high school, I realized that these people didn’t know my name. There was never any introduction. I only knew Sonny’s name from other people addressing him. In fact, no one in the town knew my name. I found that interesting.

I left town feeling exhausted. Still, I rode on. I wasn’t trying for glory, not shooting for 100 miles. I would just make it where I made it. I was too tired then to push for high miles and the headwinds were steady over 10 miles per hour. Despite the winds, I kept a decent pace and made it to a town called Lemmon by two. There I was able to get on the internet and get some work done and check out what North Dakota had to offer in the near future. I had a good conversation with an older man at the ice cream shop where I got online. He had put up a cyclist 30 years ago and they were still in contact. I thought that was pretty incredible. He said I could stay at his place for the night, if I wanted. I was tempted, but I had only done about 40 miles and wanted to push on another 25 to Hettinger, North Dakota. He left and went home, but told me which house was his. As I left town, I was very tempted to turn back to the east and find his house, have a place to stay with a friendly old man, maybe some laundry. In the end, I decided to keep going. The winds had died down and the air had cooled, and I figured I could do the 25 miles in good time. I was right.

I spent last night at a city park, right on a lake. It was cool and a bit windy, but in my hammock I stayed nice and comfy. No coons, either. This morning I took my sweet time getting ready. I felt okay, but I just didn’t feel like rushing to get on the road, even though the wind had changed direction and would be at my back. It really paid off. I washed some clothes in the bathroom sink and charged some electronics. As I was waiting for my garments to dry and my devices to charge, a woman came to clean the bathrooms. I was a bit worried she would see that I hadn’t paid the six bucks for camping. When I went to the bathroom to unplug my electronics, she asked where I had come from and where I was going. Then we exchanged a few comments about the wind. That was it. I went back to my spot to stretch and continue packing. Just as I was about to pack up the last item and head out, she came over on her motor scooter and asked if I was leaving. She asked if I wanted her to make me a sandwich. I said I wouldn’t mind. ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes.’ And she was, and with not just a sandwich. She had two bags, one with three Gatorades and a can of Pepsi, the other with a sandwich, half a dozen snack items, and ten dollars. She rolled up on her moped, handed me the bags, wished me luck and safety, and rode off. No more conversation. I couldn’t believe it. I ate all the food, packed up the gatorade, left the pepsi for someone else to have, and headed out.

The winds have been in my favor for most of the day so far today. What a blessing. Also the terrain has been a bit more advantageous, mostly flats, some rolling hills. Currently I write from Bowman, North Dakota. It really is amazing what a difference the wind makes. On those days with tough headwinds, even when I was pushing my hardest, trying to do high miles, I was really only able to do about 15 miles in two hours. That’s pretty slow. The forty miles here to Bowman from Hettinger took me only two and a half hours! Of course the flat terrain helps, as does the fact that there is absolutely nothing to look at out here. You can see for twenty miles in each direction, and it’s nothing but dry grass and dirt. The sun is still really hot today, and I’m wishing I hadn’t sent my suntan lotion to Denver. My nose is getting burned. I suppose I could buy some more, but to be honest, I probably won’t. I only have a few more days to Great Falls. From here, it’s less than 500 miles, and I’m going to put in another 46 miles now, make it to Baker, Montana, if all goes well.

Well, I mentioned earlier in my entry about Ridgecrest that I am not a Christian. Most of my family is, and I have had the background growing up, but these days I really try not to limit myself to just one set of religious beliefs. I believe every form of faith has its validity, and it is up to each individual to find for themselves, based on their own experiences, what works and speaks truly to them. For me personally, I find that many of my beliefs and ideals come out of Christianity and Buddhism. For now, that’s what works and makes sense as I work to understand the world around me.

Throughout this journey thus far, I have had many encounters with Christians of all varieties that have helped to reinforce and reiterate those values which I hold to be important, those of goodwill and hospitality to strangers and neighbors, loving everyone as you would your own close family, and striving to be understanding and accepting of those who are different. Of course, with the good must come the bad, and not all my experiences with churches and those professing to be devoted to Christianty have been positive, but that’s to be expected with anything. These past few days, however, have been immensely positive, with a few overwhelmingly hospitalbe encounters, that have really lifted my spirits and reminded me of those ideals.

On Monday, after writing my last bit from a truck stop, I set out again to the road, into narrower shoulders and heavier traffic than I had had in the morning. It made for a mind-numbing couple of hours, looking out for trucks and devoting all my mental energy to balancing in that narrow strip of asphalt between the solid white line and the dirt and gravel. So when I came up to an intersection with a gravel road, nearing the town of Montevideo, and a man sitting in his SUV on the gravel road, waiting to turn onto the highway, said ‘hello’ to me, I was not too attentive to the opportunity for conversation. I just said ‘howdy’, and passed on by. Well, the man pulled out and up along side of me, slow enough to keep pace beside, and struck up conversation. He asked me some questions about my trip. I was still in a bit of a daze, but I asked him about the distance to Montevideo. He answered and asked if I was staying there for the night. I told him I was just going to stop for a late lunch. A truck came up behind him, so he had to speed up and continue down the highway. As he disappeared over a small hill ahead, I started getting a little bummed I had not taken advantage of this opportunity to talk to someone. I could have pulled off at the intersection and talked.

I thought about it for the next few miles, as I approached the town. I was thinking that maybe I would somehow run into the guy again. It seemed that he really wanted to talk to me. The first place I came across was a Wal-Mart. I didn’t want to stop there for lunch, but I figured I should go in and look for gloves, and it’s always a convenient bathroom. As I was locking up my bike, though, the man pulled up right next to the sidewalk and started talking to me again. It startled me at first, and I’ll admit I was a little creeped out. He seemed friendly, I suppose, but it was still a bit weird that he had obviously been sitting and waiting for me to pass so he could intercept me again. He offered to join me for lunch, and I figured I shouldn’t pass up the opportunity to talk again. We decided to go to a Subway up the street.

Over sandwiches the man, Mark, told me about his own bike trips when he was younger, going out to the east coast a few times, from Denver up to Canada, and maybe another one in southern California. It was great to talk to someone with similar experiences. He told me some stories, and I shared some bits with him. When I told him that my goal of the day was to find a pair of gloves, as my hands had been freezing earlier, nearly numb, he told me he had an extra pair of some nice gloves that I could have. So when we finished eating, he told me to meet him a little bit into town. He told me the route to take to get back to the highway and he would drive and find me. Sure enough, minutes later, he pulled up and bestowed upon me a pair of deerskin gloves with microfleece lining, brand new. They are a bit large, but they will do just fine. We talked for just a brief minute there on the side of the street, but he said he had to go. Before he left, however, I did want to ask him one question about his trips. I wanted to know why he did them, what was his motivation. He said it was about finding out if he could accomplish the feat. I know that for some people that kind of answer just doesn’t really make much sense, but I understood. The personal reward that comes from accomplishing a difficult task like this is really much more valuable than anything anyone could ever give you. Knowing that you can persevere through good and bad and push yourself physically is an immensely satisfying feeling.

I left Montevideo, finally awaken from my daze, with a brand new pair of gloves and a smile on my face. That evening, the last 20 or so miles before I stopped for the night, turned into a beautiful spectacle. The heavy traffic disappeared, and I was once again left alone for long stretches, just me and the road and nature. I stopped and took tons of pictures, which is often a general indicator of a good mood. I ended the ride that day in a town called Milan (pronounced like Mylen). Mark had mentioned it when we talked, said it would be a nice town to stop in. The place was pretty dead when I rolled in around 7:30, but the city building was still open, due to the local primary elections being held. I went in to use the bathroom and asked a lady in one of the offices if she knew anywhere I might find a safe place to sleep for the night, such as a park or church. She was very friendly and got on the phone to the pastor of the local church, who said I was more than welcome to sleep inside the church. Inside the church. Surprisingly, that is a first for me on this trip.

At the church, I met the parish nurse, Sandra, and she informed me where the pastor lived. She wasn’t aware of the situation, and said I should go talk to him. I wanted to talk to him anyway, to feel more comfortable about sleeping inside the church. So I went to the pastor’s house and met him. His name is Tom, a very friendly man. He walked with me back over to the church and showed me where I would be staying, in the library with a couch to sleep on. The custodian, Dave, was there by that point. He asked if I had eaten supper yet. I hadn’t, so he said he would bring over some chili. Tom said I could take a shower at his place. I needed it. So I went back to Pastor Tom’s house, met his family. I had a shower and then some good conversation with Tom and his wife Gayle. When I returned to the church to go to bed, I found Dave had left a big bowl of chili, crackers, and a few cookies in the small kitchenette adjacent the library. Yummy. I ate well, slept fairly well, and in the morning I packed up and went back to the pastor’s house for breakfast. It was a delicious breakfast of waffles and bacon and rhubarb juice.

After the great meal and some more good conversation, I set out back on the road. Tom set me up with a rural route that would keep me off the highway as I made my way toward the border with South Dakota. It was obviously a bit longer than the highway, but I wasn’t too worried about it. The wind was rough at times, coming out of the south, but I kept making turns, and for some long stretches I had an amazing tail wind. Always a welcome boost. The roads were sparsely traveled, and I was really able to relax and enjoy the scenery. The sky was a bit dark and cloudy, but it made for some really saturated colors. Almost all the passing cars and trucks were friendly, and most waved as they went by. It was really a great start to the day.

When I finally reached the town of Ortonville, which is just at the border with SD, I was hungry and tired and ready for a break. I was hoping for a nice little friendly town. Instead, the place was a little creepy. Everyone was staring at me, which I am somewhat accustomed to by now. I am an outsider, and very obviously so, in many places I pass through, but generally you can get a vibe of what people think of you. Sometimes they seem curious in a good way, other times they seem to take an instant dislike or apathy to you for some reason. In this town, however, I couldn’t read what these people were thinking. No one was outwardly friendly. Most people seemed stuck, possibly very unhappy. And when people would stare at me as I passed or as they passed, I couldn’t help but compare their blank stares to those of passing cattle. As I pass pastures of cows, they always keep a fixed gaze upon me, a look lacking expression. These people looked like cattle, and many of them never broke their gaze when I looked back at them. No one was mean. No one really said anything to me. It just came across as a depressing little town. I ate my food, checked my maps, and got on my way, without wasting much time there.

Exiting town pretty much put me in South Dakota. The rest of the ride was decent. It was starting to get late and actually started misting, so I needed to find a place to stay. The town I was hoping to reach was easily over 50 miles from the border, and it was already around 5, so there wasn’t much of a chance of me making that. Only about 20 miles away, however, was a monastery that Pastor Tom had informed me about. Blue Cloud Abbey. He said it was a notable place to stop by with friendly monks. I figured I would stop in there in the afternoon as I as passing by. Well, it turns out that I happened to reach the abbey right at the end of my day, as I was just starting to really get wet from the heavy mist. What a fortuitous change of plans this was, however. I want to devote a whole entry to my stay there, so I’m not going to say much more here, other than that it is beautiful, I stayed an extra day, and had a great experience.

I left the abbey Friday morning, feeling good. I was better rested and had been given more food than I could pack. The ride that day was surprisingly beautiful with lots of water. Everything else is just pasture and prairie, but the ponds and lakes, plus the big blue sky, made for some stunning scenery. I took plenty of pictures, which shall be posted soon. I was able to cover over 80 miles that day, making it to the town of Aberdeen for the night.

I thought I would first try the churches, as I have been having some really good luck with them lately, but the first one I went to was not welcoming. The man I talked to was friendly, don’t get me wrong, but he didn’t offer to let me sleep in the church, and there were no good overhangs to sleep under, as rain was in the forecast. He did tell me about a park that had camping. He didn’t know the price, but I figured I should check it out.

Got to the park just before dark. Just two campers there, no signs of people, and no office. The sign said 12 bucks for tent camping and that check-in time was 8am. Well, I figured that meant if I was up and out of there before eight, the cost for me would be free. To have bathrooms and picnic tables, I figured that was a good deal. I cooked my dinner then set up my hammock. I thought it would be too cold now for skeeters, but they were alive and ever-present there at the park. I didn’t want to hassle with another night of terrible sleep due to mosquitoes, so I strung up my hammock between two support posts of a picnic shelter. That way I would stay dry if rain came, the mosquitoes wouldn’t be able to get at me, and I wouldn’t have to put my rain fly on, since it was a relatively warm night, and that cover adds a lot of heat.

It did rain that night, but I stayed dry. I slept fairly well. I got up just after 6, well before the sun, packed up and moved over to another area of the park to eat my breakfast. I figured if someone asked, I would tell them I slept somewhere else but came there for breakfast. No one ever came around. It rained in the morning as well, lightly at first, but really picked up by late morning. I took my time eating and stretching. I was waiting until after 9, because I figured that the local bike shop would be open by then. My rear rack broke at some point yesterday, and seeing as this would be the biggest town I would pass through for about 100 miles, I figured I should replace it here and not try to push it any more.

I was hoping I could just make-shift some kind of repair for the thing, but because of where it broke, that wasn’t possible. And even though I got at least 15 miles with it broken the night before, I didn’t want to try my luck. So I found the bike shop and just bought a new one. I’m really proud of myself for not getting upset about the whole incident. Granted, the last rack got me through over 5,000 miles of traveling, so I think that’s pretty good life, and nothing to be upset about.

Mounting the rack took a little bit of time; making adjustments to my rear panniers to fit the slightly different design was necessary. Meanwhile, it was pouring down rain. It wasn’t good conditions for riding anyway. So I got the rack going and ate lunch at the bike shop. They were all friendly. I also picked up a new water bottle. That was a bit overdue, as one of my bottles had been with me for over 5000 miles as well. It was starting to break down, and I was getting bits of plastic in my mouth.

The rain let up just after one, and I set out. My pace was slow, as I was tired, and there was a slight headwind. The scenery was decent, but not as nice as the day before. The sky was pretty amazing, though, with so many different kinds of clouds. They were all on the move, and every ten minutes found a completely different sky. By 5 or 5:30, the winds had really picked up. It was a nasty headwind, blowing directly against me. On top of that, I think the entire rest of the ride was uphill. Nothing too steep, just slight steady climbs. Every time it looked like the top, the road just leveled out for 100 yards and then continued up. It was a tough ride. I think the winds must have been over 30 miles per hour at times. Slowly, and without any anger or bitterness, I pressed on, knowing I needed to make it to some kind of town before dark.

I arrived in the small town of Roscoe at 7. It took me about two hours to cover 15 miles, which is considerably slower than my usual pace. There was just nothing I could do with so much wind. It was starting to get chilly, and I was tired after the struggle, so I decided to treat myself to a warm, prepared meal. At the local restaurant, I got myself a plate of chicken alfredo. It was pretty decent. A bit overpriced, but warm and filling. After the meal, I headed over to the local Lutheran church, where I knew there was a service at 7:30, as I had passed by before stopping at the restaurant. I figured that was a golden opportunity to find a warm place to sleep.

I caught the last 15 minutes of the service and waited around to talk to the pastor. Pastor Winfried turned out to be a very nice man. He said I could sleep in the basement of the church. That’s where I am writing this from now. I will be sleeping on the floor, but I don’t mind, and there is a bathroom and a kitchen, where I was able to boil some water for tea. Saves me some stove fuel. The pastor and I hit it off well and ended up talking for quite some time before he left me here to myself. Again, I am so grateful to have a place to sleep that is warm and dry. There is a chance of rain in the forecast again tonight. Tomorrow morning’s service is at 9, so I will have to be up well before then. I may stick around for the service, or I may just eat breakfast and head out, get an early start to the day.

Looking back, I’m really amazed at the hospitality I have received this week. Much of it is on par with some of my time in the south, but it was been so long since then, so many nights of solitude, that I had forgotten what it’s like. Of course with family I always was given amazing hospitality, but there really is something different and special about being taken care of by complete strangers. For me, it warms my heart like few things can. I really look forward to sharing my experience at Blue Cloud Abbey. That will come soon.

With a new rear tire and some freshly acquired winter gear, I left Julie’s apartment early Sunday afternoon, ready to get back on the road. I was feeling tired, but, keeping a moderate pace, I felt good about riding. I was in no rush, not feeling pressured to push 100 miles, or even 70. I was going to be content with whatever distance I traveled.

Early on through the ride, I passed by an amusement park, featuring a few rollercoasters and mini-golf and some other attractions. Coming up to the first rollercoaster, whose track lay just 100 yards off the road, I stopped and stood, watching some folks begin their ride. Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack. Right off the start, the cars were being pulled up a big incline by some sort of ratcheting chain mechanism. Once at the top, the cars were released, and gravity was left to do its work. Down the first hill they flew, but quickly they reached the bottom, a small valley, and were brought up another hill, smaller than the first. To reach the top of the second ascent, however, no mechanical aide was necessary, no clack-clack. Just the momentum gained from soaring down the previous hill was enough to easily carry those cars and their passengers to the crest of the second rise. I watched those thrill seekers having a screaming-good time, and I thought about the power of momentum, and how it’s force has affected me thus far. I realized that momentum is my biggest asset, or has been, in keeping me going every day, ensuring that I wake up every morning, pack up my gear, and get back on my bicycle, to ride into personally unexplored territory and cover dozens of miles. Those times when I am down, exhausted, and ask myself why the hell I’m doing this, why I should keep going, I finally have found my answer. Momentum. I have been on the road for over two months now, covered well over 2500 miles, 15 states, countless towns and cities. This has become my life. Just the same as most people get up every morning, take a shower and get ready for work, even though they may not particularly enjoy their job, and sometimes ask themselves why they keep going, I get up and cook breakfast and put on my padded shorts and bandana and hop on the bike.

The difference between what I am doing now, however, and what most people do on a daily basis, is that I am free to do this however I choose. I have no boss to answer to, no quotas, no real deadlines other than the ones I set for myself. I can take a countless number of routes, take breaks whenever I feel, and I don’t feel the pressure to shower or dress fancy for anyone. Also, I can stop at any time. This is entirely for my own benefit. I have no mouths to feed other than my own. Along the way, I sincerely hope that what I am doing has a positive effect on others, whether it be strangers I meet along the way or those friends and family following along from the beginning. But at the end of the day, this is about me finding out about the world and where I fit in. As in every situation we find ourselves, weighing the pros and cons, positives and negatives, cost and benefit, I have to constantly decide whether what I am doing is worth the mental and emotional strain, the loneliness, the hassles and unfriendly people. While momentum can be attributed to me getting up every day and getting back on the bike, it’s really the positives that come my way on a daily basis, outweighing the negatives, that keep me pedaling, pushing on to some unforeseen goal. The friendly encounters, conversations with strangers, random hospitality, beautiful scenery, words of encouragement, and seeing family are what push me forward, what make me realize that this is all worthwhile for now. So as long as those positives keep coming my way, as long as exhaustion never catches up to the momentum, I’ll keep going.

That’s what I have done the last two days. On Sunday I took a few breaks to take some pictures and to enjoy a delicious lunch of a tomato and cucumber and avocado and cheese sandwich. I am going to cut back severly on my intake of refined sugar and processed foods, preservatives, and really make an effort to keep my diet full of natural foods, fruits and vegetables, whole grains, and freshly prepared baked goods. I think it will have an extensively positive effect on my overall well being. This sandwich was my start. I also picked up some oats and wheat bran to eat for breakfast, and some trailmix to snack on. The hardest part of this new diet, sadly enough, will be giving up donuts. I don’t know what it is about donuts, but I have a weak resolve when it comes to resisting the sugary baked goods. Moderation will do for now, I suppose.

After my tasty lunch, I resumed riding and put in some more hours before stopping in the small town of Waconia. It was nearing sundown, the shoulder on the highway was relatively narrow, and towns were becoming more spread out, so I figured this would be a good place to stop. It seemed friendly and quaint enough. I first came upon a city park as a potential resting place. I asked a couple walking by if they knew anything about camping at the park. They told me it probably wasn’t a good idea, the park was patrolled. I asked about churches around, and they pointed me to a Catholic church just across the street. I mentioned something about notifying the police about staying in town, so they don’t bother me, or maybe in hopes of the helping me out. I went to the church and rang the doorbell at the rectory. A woman who looked quite frightened answered the door. I told her my story and asked if I might sleep at the church. She said she wasn’t comfortable with that. I told her I just wanted to sleep outside, by the church. She said she was not comfortable with that but that there was an open lot across the street, owned by the church, maybe I could sleep there. I asked if that would be alright, and she said ‘I guess.’

I wasn’t terribly satisfied with the interaction, but I figured it would do. The couple I had talked to earlier were now sitting on the steps to their building, which was just across the street. I went to talk with them again, and they offered to call the sheriff, so I could talk to them. I thought that was a good idea. I would let them know I was going to sleep on that lot, with permission of the church, and perhaps they could offer me more information on a better place to stay. The man called, and a county sheriff officer came shortly afterwards. I was sitting, writing in my journal when he pulled up, but I quickly jumped to my feet as he was getting out of his car. Standard interaction- I don’t remember if he asked how I was doing, but I certainly asked how we was doing, which he of course did not answer. I think it must be part of police protocol to never answer that question. Before anything else, he asked for some id. I first gave him my Tennessee driver’s license, the id I usually give, since it has my home address on it, but he wanted something with a more recent photo, as my picture on my license was taken when I was sixteen. I gave him my California id, which is less than a year old. He got on the radio on his collar and called in my numbers. I expected my run in last week to come up on the record, but the dispatcher said I was completely clear in Minnesota, no note of the warning for biking on the freeway. I guess that would only come up under my Tennessee id?

I told the cop my situation, about sleeping in the lot with the permission of the church. He told me about the vagrancy laws in the county, the anti-transient statutes to keep people like me, basically, from causing any trouble in the towns, disturbing the peace. He said you’re not allowed to sleep outside anywhere. Even with the permission of the church, I would still probably get hassled by the cops, and they do patrol that town. I asked if he could offer any help, anywhere close by I might be able to go, maybe at a police station. All he could tell me was that there were a few motels in town. Not an ideal answer.

Well, by the time we were done talking, it was pretty much dark. I didn’t think it was a good idea to get back on the highway, since the shoulder was narrow, it was getting cold, and I didn’t really feel like riding in the dark. I would have to find something in town. The man who had called the police called me over. He wanted to show me a few spots I might be able to hide and sleep. One was behind, or in, some thick brush by a small brick building. The other was in the stairway outside his building, just outside the laundry room. He said no one would be going in there at night. Then there was within the fenced in dumpster area. The area was large enough to fit two or three dumpsters, but there was only one present. None of the three seemed particularly enticing to me, so I told him thanks, that I was going to go cook my dinner at the park and come back. Instead of doing that, however, I thought I would try my luck first with interacting with more people. The town was fairly dead, and not much was open other than some bars, so I went in one. Only two people there- the bartender and one patron, who obviously couldn’t care any less about anyone else in the bar. I ordered a beer and asked the bartender about places to stay. He had nothing to offer. I sat and enjoyed my beer anyway and watched a football game on the tv. The bartender was somewhat friendly and talked to me a bit, tried to offer some ideas, but mostly they were just to get a hotel room or go to the other bars. Sitting there at the bar, drinking my beer, and pondering what my next move was, I decided that I should listen to my gut feeling on the situation. As much as I hate the idea of paying so much for just a place to sleep for a few hours, despite the fact I would have to put it on my credit card, I decided I better just go ahead and get a room at the Super 8. I would be warm, safe, and have a bed and shower. That’s what my gut said, so I went with it.

The man at the front desk was nice and gave me 5 bucks off the rate since I was traveling by bike. It felt good to get out of the cold and take a nice long hot shower. I slept alright, got up around 8 the next morning, packed up and went downstairs to enjoy the continental breakfast. It was pretty much just cereal and donuts and muffins- prepackaged sweets- but I did get two bananas and some applejuice. Unfortunately I couldn’t resist the donuts and did have one. Other than that, it was just cornflakes.

Yesterday’s riding was alright. I found myself getting frustrated early on in the day, not by anything that happened, but just on thoughts that came up about some encounters. For some reason I started thinking about all the times I had been disrespected, treated as less than human, often by cops, and I got angry. I had to stop at a church and stretch and lay on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky, to calm myself and move on from the thoughts. After that, the ride was decent enough. The sky was really pretty, plenty of clouds. It rained for about 20 minutes at one point, but luckily I had stopped to use a bathroom at a park when it rolled in, so I saw it coming and was able to get shelter under a picnic area. After that, it was ever-changing temperatures, and I was constantly adding and shedding layers to keep up.

As the sun was going down last night, I came into a town called Cosmos. I didn’t plan on stopping there, but I did stop into a gas station to pick up a snack and ask about the towns coming up, as they were fairly spread out, and I wanted to have something to aim for. The lady behind the counter informed me that pretty much all the towns between Cosmos (a town of about 580 people) and Montevideo (a town of at least 5,000), which was 50 miles further, were tiny, much smaller than Cosmos. I told her my situation, that I was just looking for a place to sleep. She said her neighbor could put me up. Her neighbor, now, is a man standing outside the gas station, with whom she had been talking as I rode up to the place. He is a smaller-built man, about my size, probably around 50 years old, named Jerry. He looked weather-worn and had a beard. When I first rolled up, I thought that he was the kind of guy that would offer me a place to sleep. When I walked into the convenience store, surprisingly he said nothing.

The gas station worker, Terry, walked outside with me and notified Jerry about my situation and that she said I could stay with him. I was surprised that she would volunteer someone else for the hospitality. She said she would have me at her place, but her grandkids were there already. Jerry seemed fairly indifferent to the whole situation. He said it was alright if I stayed, but I would have to be out in the morning, before he goes to work. I told him that was fine, I like early starts anyway. He informed me that it was a small place, he had just moved in, there was electricity and heat, but no running water, due to leaks. I was also fine with that. There was still about an hour of usable daylight left, but I felt content to have a heated roof to sleep under, especially since the weather forecast for the area called for a low last night of 36 degrees. I’m pretty confident about my cold weather gear for most situations, but I’m not entirely sure I would fare well sleeping outside in that kind of cold, especially since I still haven’t picked up any decent gloves.

I walked with Jerry back to his trailer. It was messy but bare, and contained all the necessary furnishings. He said I could have the bed, since he usually slept on the couch anyway. That’s where is alarm clock is. He told me about how he was working on the plumbing, fixing leaks and picking up the mess the previous tenants had left behind. I asked about going to the bathroom, as I usually have to go in the mornings when I wake up. He said that was fine; he fills up buckets to use for flushing the toilet. Sitting on the couch in his living room, there wasn’t much for conversation. I asked him questions about the town, about him, about his place. He offered short answers and always came back to the same topics about fixing the place up and the mess from the previous occupants. I wouldn’t say it was awkward. I was too tired to really care about that. It was a bit weird, though.

Jerry offered me soda, which I declined, and drank beer for himself. A bit later his friend Dale came over, already a bit sauced. He brought with him more beer. Dale was a bit more conversational, but not in an ideal way. He talked loudly, mostly about himself, telling me about his divorce, his wife cheating on him, going to jail for threatening to kill his wife, getting custody of his youngest daughter, being handicapped. I’m not sure what exactly he had, but from what he said, it sounded like MS, and he walked with a cane. Dale’s eyes were always pretty wild open, he liked to yell, as did Jerry when he was talking to Dale, although it was never out of anger. They reminded me of a Minnesotan version of Cheech and Chong, except with booze instead of weed. But Dale loved talking about how he gave his daughter shit, yelled at her, and she gave it right back. He felt it was a good relationship. I saw it in action at one point. Dale gave Jerry money to get some booze, both for them and for his daughter, who is nineteen. His daughter gave Jerry a ride to the bar to buy the booze. The whole thing was interesting. Dale got some blackberry brandy, of which he gave me a few pulls. It was not surprisingly very good, and really gave you that warm feeling in your chest. He said they drink that when they go ice fishing, when it is 30-below zero in the winter.

So, overall, my stay with Jerry was mostly just weird. There really wasn’t much in the way of what you would call conversation. I think most of my contribution was a few questions, some nods and ‘yeahs’ and some forced laughter. Dale and Jerry got drunk and ended up yelling about fixing up Jerry’s house. Jerry was stuck on Dale being his friend. “All that matters, is that you’re my friend, right.” Dale was hung up on Jerry having fixed the stairs on the backside of his deck before getting the plumbing all taken care of. “Just take care of the plumbing first. That’s top priority. Why would you even think about the deck?” So back and forth, they yelled at each other. It wasn’t really an argument, just drunken ranting at a loud volume, on repeat. After a few minutes of that, I got up, went to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, and then came back and told them I was going to bed. It was around 10:30, and Jerry was ready for bed, too. Dale left.

Woke up at six this morning, got ready quickly, put everything back on my bike (I had taken my bags in since it was going to be so cold), and set out. I knew Jerry wanted me out, and I didn’t want any uncomfortable situations. I thanked him for the place to stay, and he wished me luck on my trip, pretty much the extent of the talk of my trip during the whole stay, excepting him asking me where I was going and from where I came. Oh, and I’ll just throw in the side note here that the bathroom smelled of fermenting piss, as he obviously didn’t flush that often, and there was little in the way of ventilation. Just thought I would throw that in there. I cooked my breakfast at the town park, across the street from the gas station. The sun was just barely coming up when I left Jerry’s, and it was still very cold. I need to get some gloves today, for sure.

By 9am, back on the road for an hour, I was finally able to shed my layers and get back to a t-shirt. I keep my jacket on, though, since it blocks a lot of the wind. So far the ride today has been nice. The traffic has considerably decreased, the weather is beautiful, and it is pretty much nothing but farms. At one point I heard a rustling noise and was surprised that I could very clearly hear the sound of the corn swaying in the breeze. It was a beautiful moment, discovering that. Right now I am stopped at a trucks stop, on my way to Montevideo, where I hope to find some gloves and a grocery store. Other than that, I’m looking forward to a nice day and some more calm riding, hopefully.

Before I end this, I do want to take a moment to point out a new page on the left entitled Donate. Not asking for much, but check it out and help out if you feel inclined. That is all.

Plan was to leave on Friday. It’s Saturday night, and I’m still at Julie’s. Tomorrow I leave, though.

I had problems with my new tires, which I bought in the city the other day. They didn’t fit my frame. Suck. I found that out the next day, back at Julie’s, miles and miles from the bike shop. My fault for attempting to swap out the tires on the morning I was going to leave.

Long story short, I had to exhange the tires for a different size this morning. Julie drove me to the city to the bike shop. While switching them out, I did completely blow out two tubes- huge explosion that sounds like a gunshot. For a second I thought I had lost my hearing, as I was leaning right over the wheels at the time. All good, though. No apparent damage.

So now I have a brand new tire on the rear, the same on one the front, and a spare tire, should anything go wrong down the road. While here, I was also able to pick up a sweet REI waterproof, windproof, breathable jacket for 9 bucks, and a fleece jacket to wear underneath. So I’m feeling good about being ready for possible cold weather that may come. All that’s left to collect is some decent gloves.

Just a quick update, sorry for the rush. Now I’m headed out for dinner. Limited internet access here, so computer time has been precious. I posted a new picture page. Still more to come. Also, perhaps a fundraiser in the near future to secure that this site stays up. We’ll see.
Tomorrow is back on the road, towards Great Falls, Montana. I’m feeling more relaxed about my upcoming segment, not in any rush. That’s a good feeling. Spirits are definitely in a better place, I thought I should let everyone know.

Pictures and updates and maybe some video to come soon.

So continuing on from the last post, updating on the last week…

My first morning in Wisconsin, I took my time getting ready. I took advantage of the bathroom, used it to wash my pot and gathered paper towels to clean my chain, which had become pretty nasty. I also got a fairly good stretch in. Leaving the park, I thought I would put on a decent pace to try to do some high miles, try to make it to Minneapolis a day early. A few miles up the road, pedalling up a good-size hill, I suddenly heard someone biking next to me. I was startled to turn and see a man right beside me. I want to remember that his name is Gary. He is an Ironman, on his last bike ride before the Ironman triathlon next week out of Madison. We rode together for a while, chatting about triathlons and touring. I think we were both equally in awe of each other. If you don’t know, the Ironman consists of 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of biking, followed by a marathon- 26.2 miles of running -all in one day. You have 17 hours to complete the competition. It was nice talking to him about it, and I think it may be something for me to consider trying sometime in the near future.

After a few miles we stopped to look at my map, as he had some thoughts about what route I should go. As we looked over the roads, his riding partner caught up and joined in the conversation. She was a very attractive German woman named Petra. When I told her my name is Otis, she said she only knew one other person named Otis, a German man. She said she didn’t like the name. I guess it wasn’t meant to be for us. Oh well. She also was not game for joining me on my trip when I offered. Shoot. Guess I’ll continue on alone.

Back on the road, the day was heating up, but I was still pushing, aiming for a day of good mileage. My rear tire had other plans. I stopped at a local market to check out the fruit selection and noticed that the air was low in my rear tire. I pulled out the pump and began inflating but soon heard that the air was just rushing out as quickly as I could inflate. I realized there was a hole in the tube and tire and I would need to patch.

While I was in Chicago, riding around to grocery and thrift stores, I skid to a stop on the road at a light. I didn’t mean to skid, it just happened. With over 2500 miles on the tires already, they seem to be getting to a breaking point, and the skid left a four or five inch tear in the rubber, exposing the protective kevlar underneath. The kevlar is tough, and great for preventing punctures, but when it is left uncovered, exposed to the force of friction, it wears down fairly quickly. So my rear wheel is falling apart now, the kevlar quickly wearing down to the inner layer of rubber. It was through this exposed patch that the puncture had occurred.

I patched the tube easily, but then I had to figure out what to do about the tire. With still over 200 miles to go to Julie’s place, I was really weary of just leaving it as is, taking the chance of another flat in the same spot. I also knew I wasn’t going to be passing through any big towns for a bit to purchase a new one. This tire would have to make it to Minneapolis. Luckily I had some extra rim tape, which is a tough layer of fibrous material you put between the tube and the rim of the wheel to help prevent pinch flats. I cut some lenghts of the rim tape and lined the inside of the tire at the site of the missing outer rubber, using my handy-dandy electical tape. Put the tube and tire back on the rim and pumped it up, and it seemed to hold air. All I could do was hope it would work.

So what was planned as a quick fruit break quickly became an hour and a half layover to patch a tube and tire. I was a bit sluggish in my work pace, as it was then midday and very warm. I was able to find some shade, but the heat still slowed me down. I continued on, and a few miles later I came across another local produce market. I thought I would stop in there and see if they had any bananas or kiwi, as I was in need of some potassium, and the previous market did not have any. I was just going to do a quick run through the parking lot to survey the situation, but pulling in I spotted a fellow bike traveler. I haven’t really passed many other tourers throughout this trip, so I was eager for some conversation.

The guy was young, about my age, heading from Portland back to his home in Virginia. He had just come from traveling around South America with a buddy, traveling by bus, went back to Portland with his friend and decided to bike back home. We talked for a good half hour or 45 minutes about our trips and our bikes and what not. It was a nice break, but I think we both knew we needed to get back out on the road. We exchanged emails and went our separate ways.

Despite my setbacks in time, I was feeling generally better that day. My spirits had definitely been lifted by my conversations and the little bit of tail wind I had caught. It was a beautiful sunset, passing through Amish country. I considered stopping in and asking for a place to sleep from some of them, but I decided to push on through the dark and do some more miles. Even though I knew I wasn’t going to make it to Julie’s a day early, like I hoped, I knew I still had a ways to go and would have to push it to make it there at a decent time on Tuesday. I ended up stopping at a city park in a town called Readstown. There were a bunch of locals there for a softball tournament. I figured I would be able to talk to some people there, but rolling up, I didn’t get a friendly vibe from everyone. It wasn’t that they didn’t seem to like me, just that it was obvious I was a stranger and they were all too comfortable to keep their conversations among themselves, the people they already knew. Really, I wasn’t feeling too conversational myself, so I really didn’t mind too much.

I slept that night under the open sky, right by the Kickapoo river. Surprisingly, there were no mosquitoes, which was nice. The next morning I really took my time getting ready to leave. I cooked breakfast and stretched well and listened to music. It was just what I needed. As I was getting ready, the whole town was returning to the park, this time for a horse show and a tractor pull. I thought about sticking around for the tractor pull, because I have never seen one before, but I figured it probably wasn’t worth the time.

Riding out, I felt very relaxed, and I thought to myself that this was going to be a no bullshit kind of day. No putting on smiles or fake laughs during conversations with strangers, just straight-up honesty. It worked well, and I had a good conversation with a guy outside a Wal-mart in Viroqua, where I stopped to fill up on water and use the bathroom. He had lived in Memphis for a bit and was friendly enough.

After leaving Viroqua, I turned onto a smaller highway that would take me straight west to the Mississippi River. I was getting into really hilly country in western Wisconsin, and I figured that if I rode along the river as much as possible I would probably have flatter riding. Taking this road was exactly what I needed. There were hardly any cars, so I was able to relax more and take up the road, weave around as I watched the scenery go by. At one point I stopped to take a piss under a bridge and stretch for a moment. As I was getting off my bike and stretching a bit, a truck pulled up and with an heir of general friendliness, a man and woman asked if everything was alright. I told them it was all fine, just taking a stretch break, and they continued on. It was a nice little moment of compassion from some friendly folk. Not too long after I came up to the hilly part of the road. The hills were long and steep and required a lot of effort to pedal up, but I just stood up and took my time, sweating it out. It was just the kind of adversity I needed to help me relax. And the downhills that followed were always glorious, as long and steep as the uphills, making for some sweet rewards for my effort. And with no cars around, I could take up the whole lane and weave and drift at my leisure. It was nice.

Reaching the Mississippi felt great. The highway paralleling the river had a wide shoulder, and I was blessed with a slight tailwind, so I was content. I stopped in the city of La Crosse to get a bite to eat before heading across the bridge into the state of Minnesota. In Minnesota, the riding became very scenic, with tree-covered hills and cliffs to the left and the mighty Mississippi rolling along to the right.

Only a few miles into the state, traveling on the same highway I had been on through most of Wisconsin, US 14/61, I came across a junction where Interstate 90 merged with the highway for a bit. Not having a state map or knowing any alternatives to remaining on this highway, I figured I would just keep going. As I rolled up the slight hill that joined the state highway with the busy interstate, it was impossible to miss the big sign denoting the illegality of riding a bicycle on the interstate. I saw it, I understood it. I’ve ridden on freeways before; it’s never fun, but there are generally very wide shoulders and the fast traffic and general lack of beautiful scenery makes for some fast-paced riding. Of course, as I entered the freeway, I knew that there was going to be some kind of confrontation. Despite the dozen or so other times I’ve broken this law, I knew this was going to be the time I got caught. Sure enough, a few miles down the road, as I was finally figuring out the exit I needed to get back on the smaller highway, I see a cop car coming the other way, lights on, slowing down to make a U-turn at a crossover. I knew he was coming for me. I didn’t look back, though. Soon enough he gave a quick buzz of the siren noise. I slowed to a stop, got off, and leaned my bike against the guard rail. I approached the officer, a highway patrolman, as he exited his car, instantly spouting off an apology for being on the interstate. ‘I’m sorry sir, I know I’m not supposed to be on the interstate. I didn’t realize it was an interstate until I was already on it, and now I was just waiting for an exit I could take.’ He wasn’t into it. ‘Well, you know why I’m giving you a ticket then.’ Shit.

I gave him my Tennessee id, and he asked some questions.

Is this where you live?

It’s my homebase.

How long have you been on the road?

Two months.

Where’s your home now?

Where ever I get to every night. Where I lay my head.

When are you going back to Knoxville?

I don’t know. Not for a while; I’m probably moving somewhere else.

Well, that was not the right answer. Having said that, he informed me I would have to pay the bail on the spot, given that he didn’t know how I could be accounted for. He went back to his car to find out how much the ticket would be.

I was playing it cool, but as he searched and talked on his radio, I realized it was in my best interest to not play it too cool. I wanted some sympathy from this guy, not for him to think I’m some kind of arrogant prick. We were still on the side of the highway, and over his loudspeaker he told me to pull off at the next exit, just about 300 yards ahead, so we could be safer.

As I biked to the off-ramp and down to the smaller street below, I thought about what could happen. Obviously I most-likely did not have enough cash to cover the ticket, no matter how much it was. I could put it on my credit card, but would I want to. My other option would be jail. Would that really be so bad? A warm place to sleep, meals, maybe a shower. Definitely a convenient toilet. If it was just for one night, should I take that option? I thought it might be a good idea.

On the side of the smaller road, the officer told me the ticket was $120. Damn! He asked if I had that much money on me. Nope, not even close. I asked what my options were, meaning payment options. ‘Jail,’ was his reply. I asked if they took credit card. He made a call. Nope, not anymore. So, what to do? We talked for a bit, and it was clear he was becoming more sympathetic. He knew that was a ridiculous charge to make me pay. I told him where I was going but that I didn’t have a state road map; I was hoping to pick one up in the morning. He got out of his car, fished in his back seat, and pulled one out for me. He told me the road we were on, that was what I should have taken instead of the interstate. I lied and told him that I hadn’t seen the big sign informing me it was an interstate, no bikes allowed. I don’t think he really bought it, but it didn’t matter. He told me he was going to let me off with a warning, but he put in the computer that he had warned me and if I was found on the interstate again, I should be arrested and sent to jail, no ticket or questions. I was fine with that. By this point it was around 6, maybe, the beginning of dusk. He said I should probably be looking for a place to stop for the night soon and asked if I had any reflective clothing, like a vest. I told him I had the proper lights. He seemed genuinely concerned and said I should have a safety vest. He fished in his trunk for a minute and pulled out a brand new, yellow and orange, vest with high-quality reflective tape. ‘A gift from the state of Minnesota,’ he said as he tossed it to me. Damn, that’s pretty nice.

As he got back in his car, I packed up the road map and the vest in one of my rear bags and got back on the bike. As I started to pull away, the officer got back on the loudspeaker. ‘Put the vest on. You either wear the vest or go to jail.’ I told him I was going to wait until dark, but I would put it on now. So I did. I also put my helmet on, which I hadn’t been wearing all day. I figured I would make a good impression for him, since he had been so generous.

So on I went, quite visibly, down the smaller highway. The officer pulled away, back on to the interstate, I’m sure. I wasn’t really comfortable in the vest, as it was too big and surprisingly very warm, but I kept it on for a while, thinking the cop might roll by at any time to check on me. After 20 minutes, it became too much to bear, and even though it had cooled down a bit as the sun was beginning to set, the vest was way too hot. I strapped it on top of my rear rack, so that it would still be very visible to those behind me. I’m very grateful for the gift, and while I don’t intend to use it as a vest, I do have some plans to cut it up and use the parts. The reflective tape they use is very expensive, something I would never pay for myself, but now that I have some, I can put it on my bags or my helmet or my frame. Also, the fluorescent orange and yellow could come in handy for decoration for my waist pack or bags or something. Who knows what I’ll come up with. Also, getting the free map from the cop was awesome. I was afraid I was going to have to pay for one of those, as it was still a holiday weekend and few places would probably be open that supply that necessity.

I pushed on more, through the dark, knowing I needed to cover some good miles that night to make my next day a little easier. I wanted to get to Julie’s before dark so I could have a more relaxing day. Once I got past the decent-sized town of Winona, there wasn’t much for miles. The highway was completely dark, which would have been nice, but the shoulder was very patchy. It required all of my energy to focus on the 4 square feet of concrete that my front light illuminates to try to avoid bumps and holes. At one point I somehow missed a big dip, a three-foot break in the concrete. I hit it hard, and it managed to send one of my rear panniers, which are generally very securely attached to my rack, flying off into the road. The other pannier half came off and was dangling down into my leg. It really scared me. Luckily no cars were coming right away and I was able to gather my bag with no problem. But with it being so dark, I couldn’t tell for sure if anything else had flown off, and with no guard rail or anything to lean my bike against, I had to reattach my panniers while holding the bike up, illuminating my workspace with my flashlight in my mouth. Not an easy task even during the day, let alone in the middle of the night. I was able to get it all back together and after a few minutes of shining the light around, felt confident nothing else had been knocked off. I was weary, however, from that point on, and slowed my pace and really racked my eyes to see what lay ahead. It wasn’t fun. At one point, I also almost hit a skunk. Not cool. No spray, though. That would really have sucked.

Finally, just before ten, I reached a tiny town called Minneiska, pop. 120 or so. It was quiet and closed up. Seemed like everyone was either in bed or getting ready for bed. There were two bars, but they were already closed. One had a few people inside, so I decided to knock and ask about finding a place to sleep. They were friendly, invited me in, told me about a boat launch area in town where canoists camped often. I had two beers, which I hope were intended to be on the house. I only left a tip. Actually, one of the guys said he would cover them as I was leaving. So that was good.

A little before midnight I left the bar and headed down to the boat launch area. I wanted to set up my hammock, as I knew there would be mosquitoes, but there was only one tree, so that wouldn’t work too well. So I figured I would cowboy up and just sleep on the ground, under the open sky. Everything was cool as I got ready for bed, layed out my sleeping bag, brushed my teeth, but as I was finishing up my brushing, I noticed a raccoon creeping toward my bike. I ran over and chased it off, but I became weary. I started looking around for rocks to throw, should it return. All I found at first were a few pebbles, but I gathered a handful. Sure enough, it came back a few minutes later. I threw the rocks, and it scurried off in a different direction. Well shit. I really did not want to deal with a raccoon all night, and I figured it would surely come back again at some point. So I gathered up my sleeping bag and sleeping pad and began pushing my bike up the hill back up to the bar. It was tough, my bag fell a few times, and I was exhausted.

I made it up finally, and no one was at the bar anymore. I knew one of the owners lived upstairs, and he was friendly, so I decided I would just lay out in the lawn in front of the bar. I didn’t really care anymore at that point. It was almost 1am. I thought the mosquitoes might be fewer being uphill from river, but that wasn’t the case. So I was wearing long sleeves, long pants, to keep them off, but it was quite hot and muggy. I was sweating like crazy. It seemed nearly impossible to get any sleep. The heat and humidity was nearly unbearable, especially being in my sleeping bag, but the mosquitos were so pesky, and all I wanted to do was bury my whole head inside the bag. It took at least an hour to fall asleep, and once asleep, I woke up several times. I woke up for good with the sun, around 6am. I could have tried to go back to sleep, but some people were already up and driving off to work, and I knew I had some miles to cover, so I just got up and packed up.

Riding early morning was nice, not very many cars on the road. After I stopped for breakfast for a bit, however, traffic started to pick up and fatigue from lack of sleep started to kick in. I pushed on anyway. I knew I had to. I made it to Red Wing, a decent sized town, where I knew I could get on the internet, the first time in four days. I stopped at a grocery store first to get some fruit, and just as I got my bike under the awning, it started pouring down rain. That lasted for 20 minutes or so, as I browsed the fruit and bought some hot chicken and broccoli casserole from the deli.

After getting on the internet and writing the beginning to this saga, I headed back out. It was cloudy, but I figured the rain was done for the day. The wind, however, which most of the day had been light and at my back, had altered to fierce and in my face. It was brutal, and I was anxious at first. No matter how much you push, though, you just can’t go fast into a 20mph headwind. So really, it was good. There was no escaping the wind slapping me in the face, no matter which way the road turned, and I just had to accept it. Of course, then came the hills.

The first must have been at least two miles long. Every time I thought I could see the crest, the point at which it must surely level out or begin into decent, I would pass around a curve and see that it wound on, continuing up. What else could I do but push on, slow and steady, fighting wind and gravity with all my strength. It really put me in a good mental space, and I began to feel at peace with where I was. When I finally reached the top of the hill, however, I was dissapointed, despite the fact I knew it was coming, to find that there was no beautiful downhill, just miles and miles of rolling hills ahead.

It was a brutal section, and a few miles into the rolling hills, I changed highways, and the new one had really no shoulder at all, maybe three inches between the white line and a four inch (or more) drop off into sandy dirt. Traffic was lighter, but big trucks did come through sporadically, and I was forced off the roadway a few times to let them pass. I stopped in a tiny town to use the restroom at the only establishment I could find, a bar/restuarant. I was starving, and I didn’t see any stores in town, and I didn’t know how far the next town would be, and the hills were getting brutal, wearing me out, so I asked if they had anything cheap and filling. The bartender gave me a menu. I ordered a cup of chicken and rice soup, and a few locals came in and started talking to me. They were really nice, just some local farmers/laborers, good ol’ boys, you might call them. I had some really great conversation with three of them, and they asked me a lot of questions, told me I was crazy, convinced I was gonna get creamed riding down the road. They ended up paying for my soup and buying me a beer. I told them I was headed to Montana, and they said I should hitch a ride with some trucks that were going out that way to pick up some cattle on Friday. I was tempted, really I was. In the end, I told them I would ride.

So I left with some food and a beer in my belly, feeling really good. The wind didn’t really let up much, but the hills did taper off as I pushed on. It was getting toward dark, and I still had over 20 miles to go, so I called my cousin and arranged to have her pick me up about 12 miles from her place. After a night of very little sleep and a day of tough hills and headwinds, I didn’t feel bad at all about not riding that last bit through the dark.

Julie and her boyfriend Ron and I got some food in the city, and I had a night of plenty of sleep. Yesterday was not terribly productive, but that’s okay. I needed some rest. Today I am headed into the city to get new tires and possibly swap out my handlebars. The new ones are better than the ones I had, but I think I may just go back to some standard drop-down bars. My hands have been hurting lately. So I must be getting along to catch a train into downtown. Tomorrow I plan on heading out again, beginning what will be a long trek toward Great Falls. I still need to pick up a heavier jacket, as my uncle says there is always a chance of a freeze in September, but I did find some waterproof shoes for six bucks yesterday at a Goodwill. I’m pretty stoked about that.

While I wasn’t before, I am looking forward to this next segment. I don’t feel rushed to get there anymore, and I’m starting to come to terms that I am not going to beat the cold weather, and I might as well just take it as it comes. I’m so tired of deadlines and anxiety. I just want to enjoy myself again. I want to relax and let the cards fall as they may. I’m done with rushing around for now.

Oi, it’s been a long time since I last wrote, and much has happened. I suppose I will start from where I left off: Chicago. My stay was great. The first day was spent downtown, cruising the river and lake to get a good perspective on the architecture and walking around a bit. Most of the rest of the time was spent relaxing and eating. Thank you so much Jess and Henry for being so generous.

I left Chicago late on Friday, as I was waiting for a check to come in the mail. It didn’t come, but after three days off, I was ready to get back on the road. No doubt the looming thousand miles to Great Falls has been ever-looming in my mind. Getting out of Chicago was a bit stressful- high traffic and narrow shoulders. Leaving at four put me right in rush-hour traffic. It took a lot of concentration to balance in a one-foot shoulder and stay conscious of passing traffic. At one point, however, I was run off the road, and I nearly lost it.

I don’t know if it comes across completely, if I have really expressed it, but I have been having a really tough time on this trip lately, really since I left Rhode Island. I have found it difficult to completely realize my motivation, to find peace in what I am doing. I push on, though. But I do find it tough that most people I talk to only really hear what they want to hear.  When I tell people about my trip, they just assume that I am having a blast, seeing crazy sights and interesting people. No one wants to hear that it is really tough, that I get so lonely being on my own on the bike for ten plus hours a day. So it gets exhausting and frustrating that many people I meet cannot provide sympathetic ears. Stopping with family is nice, because I can forget about all that and enjoy the company, but once I am back on the road, the loneliness returns. Friday evening, it hit me pretty hard.

I was on a fairly busy road, like I said, working hard to keep within the foot or two shoulder that I was allowed between the traffic lanes and rough gravel. As I trucked along, an suv came up next to me, having slowed down. I looked over and noticed the man driving was looking in his side mirror, obviously checking the clearance on a trailer. From the corner of my eye, I could see that he was towing a boat. I figured he was making sure the boat wouldn’t hit me, and he slowed down to be safe. Looking at the wheels on his truck, however, I noticed that they were beginning to cross over the solid white line. Looking behind me, I could see that the big boat, a 20- or 30- footer, was coming right for me. I swerved off into the gravel and skid to a stop as I watched the truck and boat continue on, well into the shoulder. Ooooh, buddy, I lost it! I got back on the bike, back on the shoulder and continued riding, but I was cursing a blue streak. ‘Fuck that guy!’ That was the gist of things. I yelled for about a minute before I started crying. This was bad. I continued to pedal on; I only cried for a minute or two. After that I felt a little better, but it became painfully obvious what kind of state I was in. Things are not well on the Nomad front.

Continuing on numbed me a bit. I would have to find some way to deal with this issue soon. As darkness rolled in, I started thinking about a place to stay. I was just coming into a small town and figured I might look for a church. Passing through town, I quickly realized that this would not be a good place to stay. It was full of jerks and rowdy folk. Several people yelled stuff at me out the window, people were speeding and trying to show off. The beginning of a holiday weekend, and people were obviously ready to blow off some steam, let out their frustrations through distructive and disruptive behavior. I didn’t want to be anywhere near that kind of shit, so I pressed on out of town. Past that, there wasn’t much for quite a while. No churches or campgrounds or parks, just farms. It got to be fully dark, and I was riding solely by the light of my front lamp. It was a bit scary but in some ways exilirating to be out with the stars. I missed the moon, though, and the comforting light she provides.

I was traveling west down a state highway with moderate traffic. I had no map, only some vague written directions telling me which highways and roads to turn onto. Coming to a four-way intersection, I saw that the highway I had been traveling on continued on to the left, heading south. To the right was another highway, heading to some small town to the north. Straight ahead was a smaller road, not a highway, heading into the darkness toward the west. To the left I could see lights and cars coming both directions. Cars were heading to the right as well. No one was going straight. West, however, was the direction I was headed, and I knew the next road I wanted to turn onto was somewhere down that small road. There was nothing but me and the stars as I left that intersection and continued on down the dark, quiet road. It was peaceful, and I thought about how indicative the whole situation was of my trip so far. The air was cooling, but it felt good. I wasn’t sure how far I would have to go to find a place to stay, but I was content to be alone with the night sky. Some miles later I came across a church and decided it would be the place. It was a fairly new building and seemed out of place, out in seemingly the middle of nowhere. It did the trick.

The next morning I rolled out around eight-thirty, set out down the road to find a bathroom. The first place I found was a home construction site with a Johhny-on-the-spot. I figured it was best to take advantage of that instead of taking my chances with more miles of unknown. Unfortunately, the door of the porta-potty had become a nesting site to some yellow jackets. They were just hanging around inside and out. I decided that wouldn’t make for too relaxing of a dump, so I ended up just going in the trees next to the house. I had run out of toilet paper before I got to Chicago, but two Mexican workers were kind enough to spot me some napkins.

I passed into Wisconsin, took a nice long breakfast break before continuing on. I had to buy a map since it was Saturday and no chambers of commerce would be open and I didn’t know if I would pass any tourist centers in the next 10 or 15 miles before my written directions ran out. Most of the day was hot, with no clouds in the sky. It was fairly dry. I ended the day around 9:30 at a city park in some small town- Mount Vernon. Some park officials and others were there when I arrived, having a good time, drinking beer. They said I could camp there for five bucks. When I told them I didn’t have any cash (which I didn’t think I did at the time, but I found out that was not true the next morning), they said it was no problem. They went home around 10 and left the bathroom unlocked for me. They also left behind a bunch of empty beer cans and a few full ones. I found the only one left that wasn’t a light beer and decided I would help myself to it, help them clean up a bit by emptying the can and throwing it away.

Shoot, I’ll have to finish this later. I need to get back on the road, as it is getting to be mid-afternoon and I want to make it to the twin cities area before dark tonight, where I will be staying with my cousin Julie. I’ll continue with my update later, as there is plenty more to relay. Summation for now is that I am still going. It was pouring rain for a few minutes earlier but seems to have let up now. Just windy.

More words to come, and pictures, too…