I found my way home.

This must be Florida; the swelter clings
to windows, begging to find
relief inside.

Home on my patio I'm mugged by subtropic miasma; yesterdays rain rises in today's sun as my backyard jungle is a cacophony of  cicadas, overgrowth blocking all horizon, its leaves rustling softly in the moist breeze. Lizards dart, squirrels chatter, and my dogs romp after them as well as imagined critters, just as before and always. How is it Tuesday in Florida, when I left Oregon Sunday? Ah, the "red-eye" from Portland robbed me of my hard earned hours and redeemed my miles. Bicycling westward warps of my sense of time. Another fascination I have is with sundials, rooted in my interest in celestial navigation. Our daily progress toward the setting sun offered a perspective of relationships between time and distance that I was very aware of as we progressed; the days kept getting longer, for the sun set and rose later, yielding a precious bonus hour of sleep as we changed time zones twice from my starting point in Chicago. After flying all night I came home and slept all of Monday, rising for to eat steak and cake during the evening hours, and then sleeping well into this Tuesday.

So long ago and far away seem our last days of riding. I prefer to write when the impression of the trek is as fresh on my psyche as the impression of the bicycle seat is on my butt; the last days were too full to gather on this page. I must do it now before it is washed into this strange familiarity.

I found Bigfoot's bike.

Beware of bears in the berry patch.

We pedaled from Packwood to Longview WA with a net loss of 1000 feet that included enough climbing to yield 3,300 of change through the 95 miles. I rode alone near the end of the pack. I took it pretty easy during most of the trip this year, especially nearing the end. Along the way I came by Alice and Justin picking the abundant blackberries found in this region, and later found out Justin was harvesting to make pies. Later as I came across Justin picking again I stopped to join him, enjoying what I plucked that wasn't offered to the bucket.

We were guests of Father's House Church in the commercial district in downtown. Unfortunately Dan's bicycle was snatched from where it was parked just inside the door, for as in any metropolitan area this can happen. We had grown complacent in our mobile utopia, for in the world we were visiting we felt a security foreign to reality. Fortunately our support driver Tom had his bicycle along and Dan was able to finish the last ride with that. After dinner we had warm blackberry pie and ice cream, with a bit of pie left over for breakfast the next morning.

Emotion began simmering with the morning's coffee. The last day of the ride lends itself to sentimentality, especially for those who started on the beach of Atlantic City. We received instructions for the day that included a stopping point prior to finish so that we could ride en masse as we approached the Pacific. As always, on cue we cheered "Oyee" before departing, and I noticed a bit of sniffling and choking after the final cheer. Spirits were high as hearts sank.

The road rolled toward the end, again lined with blackberries I had to stop and gorge myself on. It was to be a short day, just over 50 miles. "Short" is relative, just like hills are to mountains. I found the climbs to be inconsequential, where just weeks before they would have been notable. We gathered at the assigned location, and took a casual ride to the end. I must say we are an impressive sight when grouped so.

Cresting into the Pacific

Our last turn was made down Sunset Lane and a couple of miles remained. We
 rolled on, and suddenly crested a hill where the Pacific Ocean came into view.  There were numerous cars parked there, with a small crowd on the beach cheering us onto the shore. It was no race; instead as the sand softened riders dismounted to carry or walk their bikes to the surf. The celebration began as the ride officially ended. Some ran into the surf while others were swamped by it's teasing the shore. I enjoyed a long tearful hug from my daughter Cherisse, who seemed inspired by the goings-on. We then assembled for a group photo, and then circled up for final prayer and devotion in song led by Gerry.

It ain't over 'til the Scotstrailian sings.

After all that, we had ten miles to ride to our host destination where Mehai's family had prepared our feast. Mehai is a sausage maker extraordinaire, and his extended Romanian family provided the side dishes and deserts. It was a great finish before the bittersweet farewells began.

It's hard to say goodbye. It can
cause back trouble.

Hugs, kisses, wishes, promises and gifts were distributed as we dwindled. Bikes were disassembled and boxed. Some departed while the rest of us spent one more night. Cherisse drove us into town for a few last minute gifts and shopping before retiring. Others of the group traveled by way of our support van. Having spent so much time in isolated towns over the past months the energy of this tourist town seemed a bit overwhelming and exhausting for some, while others relished the nightlife, choosing to celebrate a bit more.

Sunday came and we went. Cherisse, Susan and I traveled to the

Arron, Susan, Me, and Grampy John
at the airport.

airport 3 hours away, while others took the van. We had a bit of reunion there as some waited for our late flights. First John left, then Susan, and fortunately Arron had a flight before mine so he had to let go. I have to let go, and despite my best intentions am having trouble. It will take some time to readjust, but I've been through this before so know the best way to do that is stay active with volunteering. First, I'm going to Disney World and see how they've done without me. I have my church to return to, along with another fellowship; there are my oldsters at Emeritus Assisted living I will resume playing bingo with, and then continued efforts with the Fuller Center for Housing of Central Florida, Disney VoluntEARS, and the Westgate Foundation to keep me occupied. If nothing else I can go for a bike ride.

The last of the sages

Years ago I went to my first pow-wow, and was surprised to smell what I thought was some rather strange marijuana. I quickly found out it was sage and raw tobacco being burned as a traditional incense. I purchased a bundle of what was described as "white mountain sage" and grew more fond of the burning aroma with use. Whenever I found it in flea markets I'd buy a 6" long and 1" thick wrap of it, usually for around $6, but I've seen it sold for more.

Traveling through the West sage is found everywhere. Cattle don't eat it; it simply grows in poor arid soils as the weed it is. I picked some up near Little Big Horn and carried it for hundreds of miles as it dried tied to my pack, only to be lost somewhere along the way. That was good, for I had to harvest more. It so happened it was in the vicinity of White Mountain Wyoming, so what I thought was "white" sage grown in the mountains was actually a preferred variety from this region. It was apparent the plant itself was more frail, and more pleasant than what I had previously harvested.

I was lost so asked here for directions.
No help. I asked for teriyaki. He said
his wife wasn't here. We found Teri
somewhere else.

Yesterday I harvested some sage along the way to Yakima, Washington. That ride from Richland was interesting for the changes along the way. More farming where the arid landscape is irrigated. Southeast Washington is growing rapidly in the wine industry, but also has peaches, apples, pears, plumbs and other produce. The vineyards are massive cabling systems to hold the grape arbors. The peach harvest is pretty much over, the grapes are still green, the apples are being picked and the pears look ready. It was tempting to pull over and sample, but coming from Florida I am well aware that picking fruit along the road is just wrong.

I bear-ly made it this far...

In Yakima we went for teriyaki, sat under a sycamore, and slept in a Catholic cafeteria. I was in bed by 8, for these 4 am wake-ups are taking their toll on me.

Well rested we head out at sunrise into a brisk wind. Within the first hour we had gusts over 20 mph; not a good sign in the morning for usually the wind picks up as the day goes on. After the first break things calmed down and we climbed 4,000 feet over 50 miles to White Pass.

Bike valet service

No sage grows past here.

As we proceeded the sagebrush gave way to pines, and I had failed to pick a sample of sage. When I realized this I looked harder for some, but the environment apparently was getting too moist for it. Then, just before going through a tunnel I found some alongside the road, growing amongst the rocks. I harvested a bundle, and that was the last I saw any growing. It is a very pleasant and strong sample, quite different from the one I picked just yesterday. This peaks my curiosity as to how many varieties there are, and their qualities. More research is in order, but I'm pretty sure my sampling is done this trip. It grows in higher, dryer elevations than we will find this side of the Cascades.

Upon arriving at White Pass the distant snow capped Mt. Rainier quickly came into view. The ride down the mountain was exhilarating, with 6% grades at two points. I took my time, not going over 40 miles per hour. I don't trust my bicycle for speeds over 50 that could have been attained, and furthermore the views were just too beautiful to pass by. I stopped numerous times to just take the distant views in, as well as look over the edge of the road into the lush forest. This was my favorite ride of the trip.

Tonight we are guests of the Packwood Presbyterian Church. Tomorrow is close to 100 miles with a net loss of elevation by the time we reach Longview; downhill but still another early morning.

Wherever "here" is

I arrived, as most riders did, before noon today. Where I am I'm not really sure of, for I wasn't paying attention. Okay, so it is the West Side Church some 72 miles from where we woke up this morning, so long ago- Dayton was it? We started over arid landscape, then there were grain fields followed by potatoes, corn, some hills, headwind, grapes and apples, then poplar plantations where we changed direction a bit so the wind was behind us and we rode some more with ease. On some roads there was plenty of shoulder, others we were shoulder-to-shoulder with truckers. Then there was a bike path, miles of it along a river through industrial areas and then neighborhoods, under bridges, then over a bridge crossing the river, then more bike path, a couple of turns and we arrived here. Here we got into a van that took us to Gold's Gym for showers and we came back to make stacks of laundry. I phoned my daughter about meeting her in a few days when (rumor has it) this will all end somewhere down the road, but we're not there yet.

Yet down the road looms over us. We are condemned to reality; there will be no appeal, no pardon. As it was today I have been reminded of details of that stark truth- I have responsibilities I ran away from 6 weeks ago that must resume. I didn't do so well with this part last year, or any time I go through the culture shock of return. I adapt well to change, but can't seem to do as well returning.

The challenge is to not fight it, but return to my reality and share the lessons and inspiration I gained here rather than burden my world with melancholy from yearning for this. To look at the world around me with the perspective and amazement of a missionary, seeing what is right, so to encourage it, and doing what is right to encourage other to follow suit. While working overseas I was constantly amazed with the sensory overload found in foreign land, whereas the natives nodded off on the subway, headphones in their ears, fingers poking phones, oblivious to their amazing surroundings. Then I realized how I am in my reality- no different than them in theirs, so I resolved to return home and try to see my world  through foreign eyes.

It's easier said than done. One thing I look forward to back home is my volunteer work. I admire those of the Fuller Center for Housing of Central Florida who tirelessly engage in working with others. It is far different than touring across the country with bicyclists, being treated so generously everywhere we go, and doing a bit of actual work along with the cycling. Our Covenant Partners do the actual work, rarely noticed outside the recipient and a few neighbors. There is where lasting impact is felt. The Fuller Center Bicycle Adventure is an important part of that, raising funds and awareness toward the general cause and our foundation, but it is a temporary commitment the cyclists make. It is hoped each of us can cause a slight ripple in our communities by continuing volunteer work in some manner, drawing on our experience here (wherever it is) to push onward.

I asked around, and it so happens we are in Richland, WA. We suffer from what anyone on the road suffers when it comes to constant change- it becomes a blur. What remains a common thread is that here, wherever it is, the people are good, caring and involved in their community. I can find that at home. I can be that at home.

The long and lonely hill

We started our last week of this adventure this morning leaving Lewiston after breakfast provided by our hosts. It was a good rest day Sunday. First we attended churches of our choice, had a picnic lunch in the park along the Snake River, and later that day a number of us were invited to dinner at a private home. Our hosts for dinner were Chris and Angela; Chris is a deacon of the All Saints Catholic Church. This always makes a visit particularly memorable, for the generosity of such people is inspiring. We all had a great time.

We started our 60+ mile day and I had a noise in my rear wheel. I stopped to check, and thought perhaps my wheel cleaning the day before was too thorough, washing the grease out of my hub. I had just repacked them two weeks ago, and reviewing how I cleaned my bike yesterday thought that just couldn't be the issue. Another mile down the road I had a flat, so presumed the noise was instead caused by road debris hung in my tread. After fixing the flat I proceeded and had noise again. I opted to have Tom pick me up an take me to the 20 mile rest stop where the support van/trailer was, and there I repacked my bearings. They didn't look particularly good, but they are all I have, and are noisy. We aren't anywhere near a parts supplier, so this is what I'll ride for the next few days. I'm afraid the damage is done, though. No big deal; I have a lot of miles on this bike and it is just wearing out.

I proceeded from there across the arid east of Washington. Starting fresh down long rolling hills and flats made progress from there average over 20 mph to the next break. The later part of the day was uphill and hot. Uphill, gradual grades, for miles.

It is the hill that separates us. Yes, we all ride up together, but each is on his own. Progress is between 5 and 10 miles an hour, the difference measured in tenths that quickly decline as the ache increases. Muscles are used up, so we stand to use up the others, then fall back to the saddle exhausted, dropping to the lowest gears to spin. Speed decreases and your riding partners pull ahead or fall behind slowly. My mind is all I have at this point to make the hill with. I think; I've given my body water and food. I'm not struggling for air, my joints are not too painful so no damage is occurring- I have to ignore the pain and push forth, with new resolve that gains me sometimes a top speed of 10, maybe 11 for a burst, that fades quickly for the pain wins the argument between mind and body. I fall behind. I don't like the distance growing between the rider ahead, the distance shrinking between the rider behind. They can do this, at least at that moment, so I reason I can too. Another burst of resolve dissolves almost as soon as it is applied to the machine. It gets lonely, for each of us is in our own battle with ourselves climbing this hill.

Then I reach the top, or what I thought was the top, and beyond- another climb. Okay, well for a moment there is a relief as we are able to regroup and share misery. We encourage one another once the bile is out, and continue. Hit the hill as fast as I can, maintain standing as long as I can, and then slump to my saddle and lower gears for the long grind. Some days there is but one, others there are more. Not little hills, mind you, but seemingly endless hills as we approach our destination.

There is relief, though, for the towns are in the valleys that typically follow. We are welcomed and rewarded with a downhill that makes the climb and pain retire to memory, and the anticipation of rest and shower fills us. I napped today, so am up late finishing this post, but must rise at 4 am to do this again, and again fail to give proper treatment to tonight's hosts, Dayton United Church of Christ, who house and did a wonderful job feeding us.

Build Day in Lewiston

We were able to sleep in, for breakfast was at 7 am. We were split up into 6 teams to hit various projects. Not all the work we do is for Fuller Center for Housing; we typically partner with whatever charities in the area need labor. One of the teams was assigned to help out at a food bank, the rest were build, paint, yard work, repair, etc. The team I was on was assigned to build a wheelchair ramp for a woman whose daughter couldn't visit due to the inaccessibility of the home.

We worked with Bob V. of Interlink Volunteers. They provide various services for the Lewiston ID and Clarkston WA communities. This is the same man I had the good fortune to work with last year. He is very patient, allowing novices the opportunity to play with power tools. That makes me nervous, but nobody got hurt and things went amazingly well. Toward the end of the day crews from other jobs arrived to put a coat of paint on our work (video).

The building team was taken back to the church while the painting team continued their work. We cleaned up and had a dinner of lasagna, pizza, and salad. It's an early night, and I suppose some of the team are heading into town to find entertainment, but I think I'll just hang out here. We are staying in various buildings of the Presbyterian complex, the one I'm in a guest house of the church. Tomorrow is a rest day, with church and then whatever else we want to do. Monday we start six days of riding, to the end. Going by a church today I saw a sign that is most appropriate for this time, "Don't count the days; make the days count." Today is still good.

I started last, went fast, and lasted to second upon Lewiston

It was a great ride, once I got started. We awoke before 4 to get a jump on this long day. Now that we are in the Pacific time zone the mornings come earlier. Getting out at sunrise assures us less heat and wind potential.

I found my tire flat when retrieving my bike. Apparently I picked up a small wire yesterday, causing a slow leak. As the team was getting briefed on the day I was taking care of that business, so failed to take a cue sheet of the day's directions. No problem, for I glanced at a map the day before, and the roads to Lewiston were southbound and limited.

It was cool, but not as cold as usual, so I wore my tights and jacket. I had a full night's sleep, for I turned in before lights-out. I felt strong, so took the first hour hard, averaging 18.9 mph in the first 21 miles. My goal was to catch Steve. I spoke with him as he was leaving the break stop, but that doesn't count for I wanted to catch him on the road. It was the last I would see him.

I wasn't aware of that at the time, of course, so set off on the next 20 with great hope. I passed more riders. At 40 miles I kept my stop short, for that was the only way I'd gain time. I was feeling good, and keeping my average speed over 18. I was pulling a few other riders, one of which was Mike. As we approached a hill he passed me, and showed me how to climb as I drafted behind him at over 18 mph. I don't climb at that speed, but can now that he showed me I can. Cycling distance at speed is merely a state of mind and skill at this point for all the riders, for after these miles all are physically conditioned enough to do so; it's a mental state that keeps us from not performing to our potential. We all can learn and gain strength from one-another.

I almost missed the 60 mile break, only noticing it for Tom yelling to me, attracting my attention. I wasn't keeping track of anything but cadence and speed up to that point. At the short break I asked who was ahead; Steve, of course, and Dan, who I saw pull out of the stop. I told Tom my goal was to catch Steve, and he said "I think you can." I wolfed down a banana, picked up a couple pounds of water, and head off after them.

I didn't see either for the next 20 miles. These two are strong riders. At the 80 mile mark Dan was taking a casual break. Tom shook his head at me and said "I though Mark Major was making a comeback." I wasn't done yet. I left with Dan, who let me pull ahead, and now it was just Steve I had to catch.

Old Spiral Highway requires intestinal fortitude to take at speed

At the top of Old Spiral Highway I stopped to reset my camera to full video (still editing at this point). Having climbed up out of Lewiston last year I knew what we were headed down. It's a 2000 foot drop over 10 miles of 64 curves. I did my best to not feather the brakes, but there were just some turns that were too hot to handle at those speeds. When I reached the bottom there was Steve's chalk mark indicating the turn into town.

I was in trouble once I got into town, for I got on a bicycle path that took me off the course I had no instructions for. I waited for Dan, who guided me in. It wasn't noon yet. Dan's data said he made the 94+ miles in just over 5 hours. My average speed at day's end was 18.3 mph.

Clean laundry strewn for collection

Then...laundry duty! Figure 38 people, 34 of which sweat profusely every day, and it has been three ride days and one work day of accumulation and fermentation. I figure between 200-250 lbs of rancid spandex and cotton. I'm okay with that until I get what I call "the vapors". A good whiff and I'm reduced to a involuntarily retching mess. I hate it, but it's not a bad gig really, for it means we only have to do our real work on that day; we are excluded from meal preparation and loading and other daily tasks. It's a great bonding experience, but you tend to get to know the team a little too well. Just too much information can be shared through derriere detritus.

Dinner was provided by our hosts here at Congregational Presbyterian Church of Lewiston. A number of the group spoke for our hosts, sharing fun times, and Laurie's share was especially heartwarming as she described her week's experience with us. This entire movement is powerful, changing all who experience it. I know how I felt my first experience, and this year has shown me greater examples of what I witness every day as a result of being shown the goodness of humanity.  Just as with cycling is our ability to serve; all are physically conditioned enough to do so; it's a spiritual state that keeps us from not performing to our potential. We all can learn and gain strength from one-another.

Coeur D'Alene is French for the best trail ever!

Today's ride was trail only. The Trail of the Coeur D'Alenes is a 73 mile rail-to-trail project, the most beautiful I've seen. We traveled part of it the other day, but today's 50+ was from Kellogg to Plummer, the trails end. Rail beds never have more than a 4% grade, so whenever we travel on, or along them, the ride is relatively easy.

Kin of Hopper

The day started with breakfast provided by the American Lutheran Church, and we were on our way. The trail is rather remote, most of it inaccessible by car, so we were unsupported until our first break at 20 miles. There were moose who left their muddy tracks on the trail, and we saw one about a quarter mile down away, but it disappeared into the woods before we arrived.

The ride was casual as we made our way. All of it is good surface, with shade over most of it. At times we seemed to just hang on the edge of mountains, with extreme drops to the valley below. Then it was along lake and river, then over on converted rail bridges. We took our second break in Harrison, a small tourist community on the lake. I had a large huckleberry ice cream cone, and then finished the ride. I think I picked up more calories than I burned today there alone.

Ceremonial drink upon arrival

Here in Plummer we are the guests of Christian Life Fellowship Church. We were given a financial gift by a benefactor recently who specified that we use it to buy dinner for the group on night a local church wasn't feeding us. Well, tonight we are on our own, and this town is too small to accommodate our group in any of the restaurants. Instead, Justin stocked up at the grocery store and taking it all back to the church kitchen to make dinner for 38 people. Now, there is where the "diverse skill set" I mentioned in yesterday's blog is beyond mine. I can't imagine feeding that many people properly, but Justin has been a chef in Chicago and Nashville...this should be good!

Tomorrow will be rough. Not because is it around 90+ miles, but because we have to get up at 0330, pack and clean, breakfast at 0430, and on the road at sunrise. We entered the Pacific time zone when we entered Idaho. Rumor is we'll be reaching the end of this trip soon, but not today. Today is all that matters, and it's been good so far.