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.

Build Day in Kellogg

I think I may have awakened at 5 but couldn't bear to get out of my sleeping bag. A few of us had camped out on the baseball field. I was freezing in my tropical weight sleeping bag though I was wearing cycling tights, shorts, t-shirt, windbreaker, and had a sheet on top. My sympathetic comrades threw a jacket and another sleeping bag over me before leaving me alone out there. I eventually warmed up enough to make my way out of my cocoon. We were treated to breakfast at a local restaurant, and bused to the work site.

There we found our assignment; install siding on a triple-wide manufactured home. Essentially it was a salvaged double wide with a construction trailer between the halves, and a pole building style roof over the entirety to shield it from weather. Much work had been done already in bulldozing the land, assembling the sections of the home, installing utilities, building the overhead structure, installing storm windows- and those were just the things that were apparent to me. I'm sure there was much more. The entire square footage seemed suitable for the family of 12 making it a home.

We are a well-oiled machine when it comes to getting ourselves on the road and attending to the tasks of bicycling and speaking, but the build part...let's just say we have a diverse skill set, some of it suitable for construction. Volunteers are eager folk, but really need close supervision and direction or they'll sort of scatter about with the tools, doing things with them they weren't intended for. A few of them know what they are doing, so start at the task, arguing until opinions align and the work begins. Help is needed and appreciated, but when orders are barked at nearby groups of malingerers there is an immediate "deer in the headlights" look followed by scurried collisions and then things start happening. After a while folks find their niche and the well-oiled machine chugs right along. I've worked in the trades for so long most things are second nature and I have to remind myself I wasn't born with these skills and they didn't come quickly. Patience is the key.

After lunch things really got rolling, and we worked until we ran out of materials. (video link) Part of the crew was taken to another site to do some roofing, so all were being better utilized. Just prior to 4 pm we got back on the bus, and were headed back to the school for showers; some opted to go to the Coeur D'Alene River for a refreshing dip.

Dinner was provided by the local Fuller Center for Housing covenant partner with the help of the Seventh Day Adventist church ladies. I love church lady food, and they love us, as Agnes stated to Marge a few dinners back down the road, "we'll do anything for a pot-luck!" After tonight's rhubarb crisp and huckleberry cake it occurred to me that if I do this again I'm going to feature local recipes in my blog.

There is so much more to write about. Every day is such an inspiration, and exhausting. It can be hard just finding the time to write. It's getting late. Tomorrow we head 50+ miles to Plummer ID, all of which will be on trails, mostly downhill. It will be nice to get back on the bike. Speaking of bike, mine is needing a bit of work...not quite a well-oiled machine lately.

Montana is for Badasses

I got that the title of this post from a t-shirt I saw in a gift shop in St. Regis Montana. We were in St. Regis last night doing laundry, 15 miles away from our overnight in Superior, because the Superior laundromat is closed on Mondays. Go figure. We have 38 cyclists now, so laundry is quite an ordeal. The laundromat was part of a conglomerate corporation that included a tow-lot, junkyard, parts store, and of course the laundry. They had 8 machines we overloaded, so breakers were tripping, machines were malfunctioning, and we were putting soaking wet clothes with soap still on them into dryers just to get the job "done" so we could get back for dinner provided by Superior United Methodist Church. After dinner we took the clothes that were still wet and hung them out on a fence to dry.

Brett, drying laundry. He's an engineer.

You'd have to be a different
kind of ass to pay $24.95 for
this.

 We're in Kellogg Idaho. We got here after the last 50 miles of Montana, and 20 more after the line. It seems like we've been riding through Montana forever, and I've been a bad-ass since Iowa. "Enough about your butt!" some readers might think. Sorry. It's just a common topic of conversation when you get 30-some of your closest strangers together and ride across the country. Young, old, male, female; "how's yer butt?" is a conversation starter. After that you might get more intimate with a question like "what color is your pee?"

Today's ride was an adventure, for sure. Some last minute changes to the route included an additional climb through the woods on virtually untraveled roads. For a climb it was most pleasant, since the trees kept things cool and we were able to use the road at our leisure, riding alongside able to carry on conversations. Eventually we had to hit Interstate 90, for through the mountains the roads are very limited. That included a harrowing construction zone as well, with two lane opposing traffic with less than 2 feet of shoulder up against concrete barriers. Tom Weber blocked traffic for us as four of us traversed, but the rest were left to on their own, and fortunately there were no mishaps.

The climb to Lookout Pass was long and rather warm. Either there was no wind, or it was traveling our direction at our speed. Going up I realized I wasn't feeling any altitude fatigue, which seemed odd for we were going over a pass, but at the top found that it is only 4,710 feet and I'm used to that elevation now. I was expecting over 6k feet, not having reviewed the provided information the day before. I don't always check conditions, for I've found it more interesting to just discover my way instead of worrying about what it entails. No worries ever changed anything.

Road conditions downhill weren't the best for speed. Under good conditions 50+ mph would be easily attained, but I decided to keep my speed under 40. It was a good thing, for I hit one joint in the road that crushed my tire against my rim, pinching my tube. I didn't know it when it happened, but decided to stop after the severe jarring to inspect my wheel. It flattened as I was stopped.  Thanks, God.

Repairs made I head down the road, gingerly. The thing about a quick change roadside is that I don't always trust the inflation, especially when using CO2 cartridges. Not a big deal on flat terrain, but on this hill speed was an issue still, so I kept my speed reasonable. All went well, and I was able to take in more of the scenery. That has been my approach this ride. Last year I was big on speed, but this year I'm taking it a lot easier, and enjoying it more. The only thing speed gains one is first choice of sleeping quarters at the destination.

More soothing than Gold Bond!

The Coeur D'Alene River runs through this area, and that is where the railways, now trails, follow. The water is clear, cool, and swift; too tempting to avoid near day's end. Others opted to just soak their feet, but I dunked my Montana Badass for a thorough cooling. With the remaining miles downhill there wasn't much sitting or pedaling, so I enjoyed further cooling as I rode side-saddle.

I showered, and napped. I'm not a napper, but today I just went to sleep for a couple of hours. We are here to work with the local Fuller Center for Housing covenant partner who has arranged a work day tomorrow, as well as our lodging at the local school, and meals provided by St. Rita's Catholic Church. Ah, a workday; a day out of the saddle! We have two of those this week, and I don't mind taking our time through Idaho. This was my favorite state last  year, and we're taking a circuitous path through it this week. Time to go to bed- an adventure tonight, for the air handling system just shut down automatically for the night. Maybe I'll sleep outside.

First Communion

Billy cows clinging to a slope goats shouldn't.

Saturday's ride to Missoula was 86 miles downhill with no headwind, so easier that Friday's 50+ miles, and about the same travel time. Under those conditions the scenery is much better, for we're able to keep our heads up and take it all in. Arduous rides result in too much time looking at the white line in the draft of another rider.

We are the guests of the local Missoula Catholic Schools, being housed in the Sister Rita Mudd Activities Center. Upon arriving Tom Stergios of Advanced Technology Group had a couple cases of local beer and plenty of food waiting. ATG is a strong supporter of the Fuller Center and associate of one of our riders, Molly. Another treat of the area is huckleberry pie. (Side note: a great word, "huckleberry", with slang applications I hope to employ soon.)

Gerry, flattered by the imitation Celts.

After enjoying what Tom had provided some of us went out for dinner (hey, we eat a lot, okay?) and then visited the local Celt Festival. Our token Celt, Gerry, kept me from buying a kilt, for his authority gave me the impression these were not fitting for proper representation of my ancestral Clan Stewart. (I don't know; I may go shopping for a skirt anyway.) Upon returning to our gymnasium floor I set up my camp in an obscure corner and overslept into today.

Melissa researched a number of churches for us to attend. God knows I'm lazy, so I chose the closest. It was the First Presbyterian of Missoula where Pastor Dan Cravy said something that moved me. Nobody noticed, but I took Communion for the first time in my life. The act is something this sinner hasn't been able to reconcile until today, the reasoning now behind me and the subject for another treatment.

My church family in Missoula

After services they had a social time, where I met Hal and June. I was able to share a bit of what the Fuller Center for Housing doing, and they offered to take me to breakfast. There I met other members of their group. It just so happens one of the couples knew Millard Fuller, founder of our organization, through an expedition they accompanied him on in Glacier National Park in the early '90's. Afterward my hosts returned me to our current home.

Sorcerer of quilts.

With plenty of day left I decided to go out and find a source of kilts. It just so happened they removed the Celt Festival and replaced it with the March of Dimes, and the sorcerer of quilts. They didn't have the Stewart tartan. Oh well, the world is a better place without me in a skirt, and with the money I saved I was able to buy a pair of mittens, locally made from recycled materials. Mittens in July? Yeah, come the top of the Rockies some morning they will come in handy. Already, at 4,000 feet we've had mornings of 45 degrees when starting out, and my lower temperature limit for riding in Florida is 48 degrees.

Tomorrow we ride just over 61 miles to Superior, MT. It will have a net elevation loss of 500 feet (despite some challenging hills) as we travel along the Clark Fork River. We have picked up a number of riders and this will be the largest group of the trip. More family!

The Stone with Seven Eyes

“I’m in the Montana State Prison” I told Leslie during our three minute phone call. “What? What are you in for?” was her shocked response. “Ten dollars. It’s a museum they have here in Deer Lodge.” She then began to chastise me for my sick sense of humor, eventually laughing. Some readers may know, others not, that Leslie has received many a call from me when in tight spots. I've never been to jail, but only because some of those past behaviors were mere misdemeanors and borderline felonies the authorities simply didn't want to deal with, leaving any correction to her.

Today’s ride from Helena was just over 50 miles, but again the wind made it challenging. The first fifteen miles were a 2000 foot climb, where at MacDonald Pass (elevation 6,312') we were buffeted by 30+ mile and hour winds. Try going up a 6% grade with that in your face and 6 mph is considered good speed- we rarely reached that. Another rider and I were performing sweep duty, so had to stay behind the last cyclist. It was a calamitous day for us, and that’s all I’ll say about it for now. Some stories are better left untold until the scabs fall off.

The remainder of the ride was downhill, but with the wind picking up all day wasn't easy. Another rider recently put it well, “it’s not a downhill if you have to pedal it.” The wind was such that if I tried to coast I’d just come to a stop. Then we changed course, getting on I-90 (bicycles are allowed on interstates in Montana) where we had a good stretch of speed in the high 20’s for the tail wind and downhill, and such a relief.

We arrived at St. Mary’s school around 1 pm. This is an expansive building we can spread out in. I’m in a basement room, maybe 10’ x 10’, a single light bulb in the center of the ceiling lighting green walls that are barren, except a crucifix and “Hail Mary” hand-written tacked on the wall, paper so yellowed it probably would crumble to the touch. To get here there are a couple winding pathways and one can only be reminded of catacombs. It is summer and the place has been cleared for renovation in preparation for future students. It sparks the imagination, for it is dead silent, except for a distant banging pipes. Spooky.

The prison was spooky, too. This local territory originated from gold

"Galloping Gallows" used throughout the state until 1939

mining, which attracted all sorts, good and bad. It got to the point they couldn't lynch everyone, for not all crimes were so severe to warrant that, but they did need to warehouse those not good enough to hang. It started as a simple building with a wooden stockade, but that kept rotting and falling down and they decided to build a stone wall. There has never been adequate funding, so from that point onward the building of the prison was left to inmate labor, and the stonework is quite impressive given they made even the quicklime for the mortar between stone and bricks they fashioned. There were notable inmates through the years, one of which painted a bird’s-eye view of the facility, titling is work after the Bible passage  Zechariah 3:9, interpreting the "stone" of that passage to mean the prison and the "eyes" the towers, of which there are seven.

Though the old prison was shut down in 1979 there is a new one five miles east of there, so they still consider themselves a "prison town". Over dinner provided by the Assembly of God I spoke with Jim and his family. Jim has been in corrections for some time so was able to answer some questions we had about so many anti-meth signs seen everywhere. He informed us that Montana has one-million acres of land per citizen of the state, so meth labs can be hidden anywhere quite easily. Furthermore, Canada has not regulated the ingredients used so they are easily brought across the border into the state. There has been an extensive, somewhat successful initiative taken in the by government and social agencies to curb usage, but manufacturing remains first in the nation. 

Tomorrow is downhill to Missoula, 85 miles west. There we take a day off.

Death

Our way to Helena, three deer were bounding across the yellow meadow at full speed. I was too far back to get Arron's attention to the show. The first came to the fence, jumping over it effortlessly, when I realized they were heading across the highway in front of us. The second leaped the fence when I saw the first reach the highway, and it looked as if it was on a collision course with Arron when a car overtook him. There was an explosion of their parts as the right front of the car slammed the right rear of the deer directly in front of Arron. The car came to a stop about 100 yards down the highway; the deer about 20 yards down the ditch. I pulled over to find the deer in throes of death, its front legs still trying to run, its head flailing and jaw grinding as it struggle with life's most difficult task. It seemed forever, and I couldn't stand to watch it suffer so I retrieved my knife from my bicycle seat pack in a desperate effort to do something where nothing could be done. I returned to the beast as I watched its last labored breaths, some trembling, and then it rested.

Death is the second purpose for highways. They are where the lifeblood of this nation flows as we scurry through our day-to-day. On a bicycle it is a thought that rides in the back of our minds as we deny feeling its breath from passing trucks down our necks. We smell death too often, for the remains of hapless creatures litter the right of way. We are reminded of those who met tragedy along them where the simple markers stand with withered plastic flowers, their depleted colors representing the faded grief of those who placed them. Here in Montana the small welded flat iron crucifixes painted white stand on steel rod above the sagebrush; single, double, triple. Presumably each denotes the body count of the event, and it is hard to imagine how so many die on perfectly flat, straight roads. Speed. alcohol, snow, complacency; all are culprit and witness to the murders.

I continued from this scene to find the entrails of car and beast in my path. I passed the car, glancing over at the relatively slight damage to it, angry at the driver. He was no more to blame than I, for he was practicing due diligence in paying attention to me and the cyclists in front of me. The deer was disadvantaged by that, and the fact they tend to blend with the environment- at least until they suddenly appear in front of you. I caught up with Arron, riding maybe 7 miles per hour, head down, blankly staring down the road. "Did that happen directly in front of you?" I asked. "Yeah." he replied. "Are you okay?" "Yeah," he lied.

Arron is 18 and new to the ride, having just met up with us during our stop in Billings. He is from Long Island, and just graduated high school, headed to college this fall. I felt a kinship to him upon meeting, and asked him over dinner one night if he was familiar with the MBTI. "Yes," he said, "I'm INFP." I informed him I was too, and we were pleased. Essentially this simply indicates we have distinct similarities in how we perceive the world, and empathy is a strong trait. We have difficulty witnessing suffering, and are best suited to aid others in dealing with it. Many clergy, nurses, counselors- idealists and healers, are of this type. That's how I knew he wasn't alright with what he just saw, because I wasn't. In my teen years I lived in a rural community, brought up by a father that took it upon himself to prepare his sons for the reality of war he experienced, so marksmanship practiced through hunting, indiscriminate slaughtering, and such were our lessons. Though quite familiar with blood sport I have long ago abandoned it, for it goes against my nature. I can imagine the horror witnessed by this young urbanite.

The macabre scene I witnessed played in my head, so I thought it best if I distracted him from his. "So, have you done any drafting?" I asked, in reference to a question he asked from reading my blog. "No" was his answer, once I made myself clear, for the wind made conversation below yelling difficult. We were going slow against this headwind, so I thought he could use some help from me blocking it, and it was an ideal time for him to practice. "Get close to my wheel, but never bump or cross it, or you'll go down. I'm going to keep a steady cadence. If I shift two gears higher that indicates I am about to get out of the saddle and stand on my pedals, so be prepared for a change in rhythm. Practice not braking, and keeping cadence. In a draft line you never stop pedaling to rest- it throws riders behind you off. Pedal even if there is no real effort."

We continued, slowly increasing speed as he practiced. Drafting isn't particularly easy, for it takes concentration when learning, and when with a rider or group you aren't familiar with. It can be tense, causing pain in the hands, arms, and shoulders. Over time and with familiar riders it becomes second nature, for you  learn to "read" their movements and can anticipate subtle changes so to not react drastically. It can be very exciting, for well executed it results in greater speeds and appears quite graceful as the head riders switch off their front position, falling off to the rear to rest as the next rider takes the pull. Anyone who performs this maneuver has a story of how it resulted in some kind of wreck and road-rash, and nobody is immune, no matter their expertise. Arron will be an excellent, powerful rider soon, better for today's incident- an experience he'll be able to use helping another. He'll be okay.

Bump in the road

I got goosebumps. I can't tell you exactly where I was so inspired other than it was upon cresting a hill and beholding the expanse beyond. Montana is showing more beauty with every mile. The Crazy Mountains, Helena National Forrest made our path today. I don't have the photographic equipment, skill, or time on the road to capture all that I'd like, but plenty of pictures are being taken and being posted on the FCBA Facebook page and by others linked to that page that are participating.

I've taken to collecting sage. I first fell in love with the herb while attending a Native American pow-wow years ago, where they were burning it with tobacco mixed in. That is a ritualistic offering, but sage is used for another ritual of cleansing one's home of spirits and such. These are pagan practices, of course, and I'd link to the process here, but a quick search hasn't produced desirable information. Personally, I simply use it as incense, for I enjoy the aroma.

So I have sage from Little Big Horn, and White Mountain. I don't think there is a whole lot of difference in any of them; they are simply a weed that grows all over the place at elevations of 3000+ feet (just my observation- something else to look up), and the cattle don't eat it, or much else I suppose, so I don't think they'll miss it. I've tried to grow it at home, but the Florida environment isn't quite to its liking.

We are in Townsend, MT. One of our riders brother came to visit and took a few of us out to lunch, and then took us to the grocery store to have us fill a cart with supplies. We eat everything in sight. Today's ride was estimated over 3,000 calories, so added to regular intake that's a lot of food. As a matter of fact, the Townsend United Methodist Church is preparing dinner right now, so I have to go. I'm writing from the public library, the only internet available to us, and they close in an hour. We are pretty isolated in our own little world out here on the road, and I really like it that way. I saw a newspaper two days ago and things aren't getting much better out there. I don't follow much more news than a few Facebook posts I have time for, and then I pull my head back into my shell. I can't do anything about any of it. I can do something here, so I think I'll post this and get to it.

Routine includes flats

What time we set our alarms for is determined by breakfast. For example, today breakfast was at 0630. That means alarms go off at 0530, we start rolling up our bed, don our cycling gear, pack our bags, load our personal gear on the trailer, fill the coolers, fill the drink coolers, grab breakfast, pack the remainder of the food, load it on the trailer, load the additional support vehicle, clean the church, and then assemble outside with bicycles for instructions, devotion, and prayer. Melissa then leads the cheer, "Roundup to Harlowton" and all answer "Oyee!" ("Oyee" is an African word of approval Millard Fuller learned from his mission work).

Then we hit the road, some sprinting to the lead to race to our destination, others forming groups to take a more casual ride. I'm usually last, just before the "sweeps", because I'm fiddling around with my camera, forget to take my cleat covers off so can't mount my pedals...whatever. I'm in no hurry, and once on the road find my pace and go with it. Some days I might feel inspired and head toward the front, chasing the leaders, or just somewhere in the middle or rear. We have riders that typically remain last so I rarely end up there, unless I get a flat.

I had a flat yesterday, and again today. I was doing so well, too, but the seal is broken. Last year I had well over a dozen in 3,700 miles. If near the rear of the group all will pass (offering help of course) and the sweeps will catch up. Their duty is to remain with the rider until repairs are made and is cycling, or arrange for a pick-up. I resumed my ride, and came across a group of riders stopped for one of them to repair a flat. As they were doing that, one of them had his second flat of the day- it was just one of those days. Other than that the roads were just fine, the climb very gradual, and the weather most favorable.

We are the guests of Harlowton Wesleyan Church. It is an older, modest building in an old modest western town, on the slopes of the Crazy Mountains. Our showers were at the community pool, in which I took a dip just to soak myself. For wi-fi we have the White Mountain Coffee Company shop a couple of blocks from the church. Routine. It continues from here; relax, repair inner tubes, dinner provided by the church and then we give our presentation, clean-up, and lights out.

Coffee shop is closing...gotta go.

No tax?

What a pleasant surprise it is purchasing something for $29.95 and paying exactly that amount for it. I strongly recommend shopping in Montana. Not that there are many retail opportunities here in Roundup, but there is a Radio Shack, and they sell wool socks, too. I already have two pair packed along with me, so as tempting it was, I refrained. Wool socks are just for rainy days.

Today was a rainy day, but not rainy enough to pull over and put on wool socks. Also, it was under 50 miles so just a warm-up ride anyway. We had a great time resting in Billings; some went sight seeing, but I opted to just hang around the church after sleeping in. Sleeping in means getting up after 6. We enjoyed church services and lunch with the most of the congregation afterward. It was as rejuvenating for them as it was for us.

After going to the store to get a new air mattress I was able to do some sorely needed service on my bike; shifter adjustments, re-packing rear wheel bearings, and putting new tires on. Heaven forbid I get a flat tire at 30 miles per hour.

Today's ride was a short 48 miles, and I felt great on my tuned up bicycle. Apparently John did too, for he bet me ten dollars he'd arrive before I would. I saw a sucker, for he's 11 years older. We rode together to the 25 mile point where we took a break; I cut mine short to get the jump on him (I figured he had something up his sleeve). It was 32 miles of climbing a gradual 1000 feet, and then 16 miles 1000 downhill into Roundup. Around 33 miles, when I was going downhill I got a flat doing 30 miles per hour. A piece of baling wire right through my new rear tire. Fortunately it was a slow leak, not a sudden burst so I maintained control. I made necessary repairs and was back on the road, but not before John blew by me, and then it started raining.

Resigned to being $10 poorer I didn't rush onward. I stopped at the town line and took a couple of photos, and then found my way here to the Emmanuel Baptist Church. We're spending the night in the basement; one of many I've found comfort in. Home made pizza dinner was provided by the youth pastor. Tomorrow we head to Harlowtown, 70 miles west and 1000 feet uphill, to 4200 feet. I'm going to challenge John to double or nothing.

Race to Billings!

I rode like my ass was on fire. After taking it easy yesterday, and being that today was only 50 miles, and Steven (our fastest) was busy with sweep duties I figured I could take the front. I took the lead early with a rider in my draft for some time, not sure who it was. I should have known; Dave, a daily front-runner, was riding my tail. Good thing, too, for he came in pretty handy, especially on the climbs. I'm not a strong climber so I found his draft advantageous for as long as I kept up. I'm great going downhill and do okay on the flats, but there was some apparent headwind of 5-7 mph that was tiring. We took turns pulling draft and were able to take a long break at 25 miles, leaving the rest stop just as the next riders were coming in. We continued onward through rolling terrain of increasing elevation to 28 miles. Then it was gradual downhill to the 36 mile point where we found Pryor Creek cut deeply through the rock. This area had apparently burned not long ago, so the stark contrast of the burnt trees on yellow hills cut in miniature canyons was fascinating.

From the valley to the rim overlooking Billings was a climb to 3922 feet- approaching my current mental wall of 4,000 feet, and up a 5% grade. Dave was waiting at the top as I arrived, for he had less trouble with the climb.

I took us downhill. Like I mentioned above I'm great on the downhills. Sure, that sounds easy, but try and keep up. Heavier riders on heavier bikes roll faster; it is factored by rolling resistance, inertia, surface to mass ratio that slighter riders don't have. Okay, that's my theory anyway. It was a great, steep, twisting, thrilling ride into Billings. This valley was cut out by the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers, where they meet.

We made our way through town, and of course now that I enjoyed my only day leading, I didn't have chalk to mark the turns for following riders. One thing my fellow riders know me for is Gold Bond medicated powder. I don't recommend the stuff in the blue container- "maximum strength" foot powder to pour in your shorts, but it's all I could find. Anyway, "This stuff works!" is their slogan, and it does right well as a road marker even a blind man could follow for it's notable aroma.

We are guests of Heights Baptist Church. We were able to dine with some of the congregation who put on a great pot-roast dinner for us. I learned of something I never heard of; fishing for paddlefish. They are massive, ugly things, but great sport from the enthusiasm of our host and pictures he shared. We retire in the large church basement for us to sprawl out in. Tomorrow we rest. I have a few errands to do (like go to Target for more Gold Bond) and work on my bike, which is a rolling mess. That concludes week six, my most anticipated, but there are three to follow I'm sure will be just as good.

Wyoming to Montana

After gradual climb for the first 27 miles today's ride was a negative slope for the remaining 60, making the light northern headwind more than tolerable. I took it easy today; I had prepared myself to volunteer to sweep the ride, but Melissa and Leah had already planned to. Yesterday's ride had taken a toll on me and I just didn't want to hustle today. I remained to the rear, riding alone.

We take rest stops at around 20 mile intervals. After the first break we reached the Montana line and stopped for pictures. It was a beautiful, clear day, and the north wind, though not particularly cool, was dry. For the past few days we've been starting the ride with additional clothing for the cold, but that was not necessary today.

Riding these distances alone is far different than with a group or just one other rider. It is meditative as I grind the miles away, keeping my cadence at 80 to 90 rpm as much as possible. At lower speed I keep my head up more, taking in the scenery. Lower speed also means more time in the saddle, which can detract from the moment, for the pain can rob me of pleasure. Still, the terrain is gradually changing and I'm looking forward to the scenery to come along our way soon.

I've been meaning to stop and harvest some of the sage which grows so abundantly, so did along the Little Big Horn River. Dried sage is a sacred herb that is burned as incense in traditional Native ceremonies, for purifying living space, and I really like the aroma. Little Big Horn area is the site of Custer's infamous "Last Stand", and the place this happened used to be called Custer's Battlefield. Then the local Natives pointed out you really shouldn't name the battlefield for the loser, so it is now just Little Big Horn Battlefield National Monument.

To the winner goes the spoils, so the region is Crow Indian Reservation land. As mentioned prior, the road was a negative slope, long and straight, making for leisurely riding. At one point a rez car (I'll let you look that up) was slowing behind me, almost matching my speed, so raising my level of alert. I ride in Florida- those natives aren't friendly, so I was pleasantly surprised when this gentleman got alongside and said "you're on the reservation- you need music!" He cranked up his stock audio system with blown speakers, which played what seemed to be some modern Native music. I had a special moment. At the next break spot I made mention of this to other riders as they arrived, and apparently he had been going down the road doing this for everyone along the way (at this point we are spread miles apart, so I didn't see anyone else get this treatment). Others shouted and waved as they drove by; it was just a nice ride through the reservation.

We are guests of Hardin Public Schools. We are housed in their wrestling room, with padded floors and walls. Early tomorrow we head 50 miles to Billings for two nights; a short ride followed with a day off. I need rest, and my bike needs work- I'm ready.

Sheridan Inn

One hundred eight miles, or 104, my butt can't tell the difference. We can't really count 108.5 miles, though that was our distance traveled. Before we reached 35 miles there were signs saying "Road construction ahead- motorcycles suggested to take alternate route". It didn't say anything about bicycles, so onward we forged. Around mile 35 we were stopped. We weren't allowed to continue down the road, and quite frankly, I'm okay with that. It wasn't really a road but a dirt path snaking through the countryside. It would have been incredibly difficult, especially with all the heavy equipment moving the road around as we traveled. We loaded five bicycles on the van and inside it, with riders, and had to wait about a half hour before we could proceed. It was only by following the pilot vehicle that any traffic could go, and it was one-way. The pilot picked up one more of our cyclists, and various other traffic of construction workers carried the rest of the riders 4-5 miles. Once on pavement we continued.

Shortly after re-starting, the Bighorn Mountains came into yonder view, still capped with snow. The countryside was rolling, light traffic and good roads. At mile 62 it gradually started going uphill and the day wore on. Not a cloud in the sky could be seen, and visibility was forever from the highest point at mile 92. From there it was much downhill, though a few more climbs, but we made it to Sheridan Wyoming early. My Strava recording malfunctioned, so here is a link to another's that gives similar statistics. Though we had some light headwind and the miles long it was an enjoyable ride, especially upon arrival at Sheridan's First Presbyterian Church. Showers are in the building, it has a kitchen in which we will be cooking dinner for ourselves, and plenty of room to spread out.

Some riders are napping, others heading into town for whatever they might find, others are writing their journals or blogs. Obviously I like to write, for it is a way for me to record this trip, and share it. Recording it is important, for the days are so full it all becomes a blur; often times by day's end we have to ask another what town we started in, or where we were yesterday. Sharing it is important too; perhaps it is presumptive to think anyone finds this stuff interesting, but a few do from time to time. The important part of sharing is to get the word out for the Fuller Center for Housing, and remind readers and myself of what this is all about. I'm learning much about all of this, and have many thoughts on the road regarding society's role in helping other people.

From fundraising efforts and sharing my enthusiasm for this foundation I have learned much about generosity. I have 25 donors, big and small, who provided toward my Fuller Center fundraising efforts. It is important to approach everybody, and do so without expectation- letting God and the individual decide how to help. I am very fortunate to have these people (you) behind me. We are constantly bombarded with requests- from our employer pushing the United Way toward us, our church, friends and family making requests, and then general solicitations. I was one of those who ignored most of them for years, essentially because of the sheer amount of requests numbing me to any cause, and basically I'm selfish like the majority of people. Being on the receiving end has changed all of that. I give when I can to various causes, without expectation. Sure, I'm prudent in researching the receiving party, but after that give what I can. I'm rather partial to my cause, and animal rescue. We all have emotional reasons motivating us. What I have learned to do is look beyond my personal interests and consider the heart of the solicitor- often my friend, and think about them. Though I may not be particularly interested in their cause, I am interested in them, and therefore make a donation to indicate support. It may not be much, but it is support and I know how that feels.

That is what I've asked many of my friends to do; make small donations. It's difficult to motivate people in that manner, though, so it ends up being a small number making all the contributions, some rather large. I'm still trying to raise what I promised to the Fuller Center for Housing of Central Florida. I'm asking everybody, for like I said I can't do this with expectations, for to do so would only result in disappointment. A small token of support sent via my fundraising page would help immensely in rationalizing (if not relieving) this pain in my butt. Any support is greatly appreciated. I thank you, the Fuller Center for Housing thanks you, and my butt thanks you for your support.

Never is heard a discouraging word

We made it to Wyoming yesterday. From Rapid City to Sundance is 80+ miles and it was a refreshing ride, being that the wind just so happened to be headed that way to work, so we caught a ride. Nothing spectacular, but anything to our backs is well appreciated. There were two incidents, though; in Sturgis they were doing roadwork and one of our riders slipped on chemicals that were being sprayed, and later on the ride another had a catastrophic tire failure while speeding downhill that gave her road rash, and the rest of the day off. I personally had to narrowly escape being run over by a gravel truck that failed to stop before crossing my downhill path.


Sundance WY is where Harry Alonzo Longabaugh picked up the infamous

moniker "Sundance Kid". It is a small, but generous community of under 4,000. The parishioners of St. Paul's Catholic church couldn't imagine us sleeping on floors of their church or local school, so insisted upon taking us into their homes. Larry and Barbara were my group's hosts. They took us to their home where we enjoyed showers (after a couple days without convenient bathing facilities) and then Larry took us around town to see the sights. We all then assembled for a pot-luck dinner provided by all of our hosts, and we feasted. It is wonderful when the food provided exceeds our voracious appetites- sometimes that isn't so, for most people can't imagine we'd eat so much. I know I burned over 3,500 calories cycling, so added to the normal 2,500 to simply sustain normal activity, then multiplied by 31 people...you'd better cook for around 70, and then add some for church members attending. They did, for there were leftovers and additional food they provided us for the road.

After dinner Larry took us our touring the countryside, up to the highest point in the area where there is a fire watch tower at over 6,600. I was just exhausted, and couldn't understand why for I had enough sleep the night before and it wasn't a particularly taxing ride. Then I realized it was the elevation; I start feeling the effects at 4,000 feet (as experienced last year). This subsides with acclimation, and on bicycles will give us time to get somewhat used to it before the Rockies. So we climbed the tower, and I wasn't the only one feeling the effects of the day's ride, elevation, and stair climbing. The wind whistled through the structure and we were able to survey the country to the horizon with binoculars Larry provided.

It is unseasonably cool for this time of year. While we were on the tower and the sun was setting the temperature dropped into the high 50's. We returned to Larry and Barbara's home where we retired to real beds, something you take for granted daily at home, but truly appreciate after these conditions. I didn't want to get out of it when morning came too soon.

We returned to the church, loaded our gear and had breakfast provided and attended by our hosts. We sang Happy Birthday to Flo, who was almost to tears. We are treated well everywhere we go, but there is always one visit that stands out in particular when we reminisce of our Adventure. This will be the one, I am sure. We assembled outside for our daily devotional, posed for pictures with our hosts, and said goodbye. Now we didn't experience even 24 hours with these folks, but I know from experience our lives are forever changed and perhaps, God willing, we will meet again.

To Gillette was a "short" day. We average 75 miles per day on this ride, but from the time I started it none has been under 80 to this point. This was just 61. Yeah, just 61- I don't do 61 miles on a training day back home. It wasn't particularly easy, for though buffalo roam, deer and antelope play- this day was cloudy, and so it rained. It was moderate from the 10 to 30 mile points in our ride, and the temperature stayed below 70 degrees. In the western states riding on the Interstate is legal, so much of our mileage today was on I-90. Lots of that was construction, and the crews let us ride on the closed part of the road, but miles of it were stripped of smooth pavement, ground away in preparation for re-paving. That's a bumpy ride, but pretty safe. Later in the ride the weather cleared, we were off the interstate, and passing cars offered encouraging shouts, smiles, and thumbs-up.

Tonight we are the guests of St. Matthew's Catholic Church here in Gillette. As I write the church ladies are bringing in tonight's dinner and won't accept any help lugging it in. I'm thankful things are going well regarding hosts, for this is the week I've been arranging since last October. That is part of the preparation involved that the FCBA asks volunteers to do. It has given me another perspective on the trip, for it requires extensive research on the communities, and correspondence with members of them.

Tomorrow is Sheridan, 108 miles snaking through NW Wyoming with a net loss of elevation. I'll need the richer air, though we do have 30 miles uphill from 62 to 92 miles where we have a 5% grade to 4778 feet. The finish is downhill from there. I hope the skies are not cloudy all day.

Crazy

Sunday was the first of our two days off. Monica is our designated guide, for she has a knack for getting the most out of any visit, being a tourism professional. She arranged a vehicle and the day's itinerary of Custer State Park, Black Hills National Forrest hike to Harney Peak. This is the highest point (7,242 ft) in South Dakota. From Sylvan Lake we hiked over 2 hours over 3 miles along a difficult trail to the tower, the return trip taking half as long. I let the talkative crew I was with walk ahead so I could engage in a more deliberate tarry. Okay, maybe it was the pack I was carrying with 20 lbs of water and supplies, or maybe they were just in better condition than I. The sound of the breeze through the birch trees and pine, the small rivulets of water running alongside the trail, my footfalls in the gravel, and eventually my panting were my sound track. The climb became more difficult as the steps became large stones that even mules were diverted from to reach the bottom of the summit. Mules there were three- and a horse some cowboys rode up on that were tied to the hitch found there. Fear of being lynched discouraged ideas of equine thievery, but desperation certainly presented that as an option.

This view is about a mile up the trail from the parking lot

To finish the climb took going through a hole, into a chimney rock, up some stairs and across iron walkway, then up some more stone trail to the tower. This tower was built as a fire watch station during the WPA (1930's). Such work boggles the imagination- men shaped, mortared and stacked stones, and I saw an open conduit box, so somehow they had wire from there down the mountain for communication (if nothing else). I'm sure they accessed it by mule from an encampment nearby.

The walk down took about half the time as up, and we were off to our next destination: Crazy Horse Memorial. This is a privately funded Lakota project commissioned around 65 years ago being accomplished by a Korczak Ziolkowski, his wife Ruth, and 7 of his surviving children. There is no government funding of this at all (though offered). This is an absolute must see landmark, the largest excavation in the history of mankind. There has been incredible work done and much more to do; I won't see it finished. At the base there is a museum of Western Hemisphere Native history full of  artifacts and a fitting tribute to their legacy.

 We stayed until after sunset and headed back to our temporary home at Crossroads Wesleyan Church.

This segment through Native American territory has altered my views toward government assistance to the public. We were fortunate during our visit to work with residents of Pine Ridge Reservation, for they are reluctant to accept any kind of "help". You see, whites have been "helping" Indians ever since we helped ourselves to their land, and today they are in such a desperate condition they have found "help" to be detrimental to their welfare. I don't know what the solution is. It is a very complicated situation that must be attended to other ways than through Federal aid. It also causes me to pause and reconsider what work I am doing in this regard, for I've seen well intended effort I fear may only perpetuate situations. The Fuller Center for Housing has the right philosophy in working with people in need, screening applicants to find those with the potential to use what is offered toward bettering themselves and future generations. I am learning what is meant by "a hand up, not a hand-out", and how to carefully apply that principle. It isn't easy, but like all other aspects of this endeavor, it has its rewards.

Tomorrow we continue our trek, some 90+ miles to Sundance Wyoming. I have yet to meet my promised fundraising goal. We are but $7,681 from reaching one million dollars raised in 9 years. It would be wonderful to reach that milestone on this Adventure. Can you work with me on this? Any contribution puts us just that much closer. Thank you.

Biking Bad(lands)

Within the first 20 miles from Porcupine SD we started seeing the unique geologic formations of this region known as the Badlands. These are the result of millions of years of sedimentary deposition from sea, river and volcanic activity, and then erosion for the past half-million years. The exposed strata of time is earthen layers perfectly parallel so that the massive piles seem pin-striped in earthen tones. Today's ride was overcast, with low clouds and fog lending to the mystery of the scene which became exposed, picture-book page by page as we traversed the land. This is not the last chapter for this place, of course, and if you ever want to see it you'd better hurry, for the erosion rate is such that it is expected to be worn away by rain, river, and wind by the end of the next 500,000 years.

I  played Sheriff, challenging incoming riders. 

At the west end of our route was a ghost town. Just a defunct tourist trap with a museum, gift shop, bar, boarding house, jail and other buildings. None were open for business any longer, but the jail was available for pictures.

They threw me in jail.

Then we were out of the Cheyenne River valley on our way to Rapid City. We haven't been in any metropolitan traffic for days, and it is a bit stressful. Once turning onto the bike path along the Rapid Creek we were able to relax somewhat as we sped along. Again, used to being on the highway we probably were taking the bike paths a bit too fast but they were challenging slopes and curves through the park, over and under bridges. It is unusually wet in the Midwest this year; what would be parched earth is still quite wet, so the creek was living up to it's name, swollen and therefore rapid.

We are the guests of Crossroads Wesleyan Church tonight, and tomorrow night. With many sites to be seen and many hard miles behind us it was planned for two days off. Tonight the group is going to Mt. Rushmore- this was a sudden change of plans I wasn't prepared for so I opted out. I'm just too tired for the trip, and besides, I hear it's not finished yet; "[upon seeing Mount Rushmore] Well, it looks like somebody got bored doing it. Washington's the only one with any clothes, and they're just kind of roughed in. Lincoln doesn't even have an ear." Woody Grant, from the movie Nebraska.

I'm headed to the bunkhouse.

Reservation Dogs

We woke up in a sundial. The architecture lends itself for this, but I see that everywhere. The sun hadn't risen yet, but light started filtering in, and I set my camera up for time-lapse. Being a build day we didn't have to pack up and hit the road at sunrise. We were able to relax, have a leisurely breakfast and attend to personal needs. At 9 am Pinky, from the OST Partnership for Housing arrived to brief us on the day's work.

We went to the home of Francis, a U.S. Marine Veteran of the Vietnam era. His is a humble home I'd estimate under 700 square feet. We painted the exterior, installed a new front door, and constructed railings around his porch, and caulked around his windows. Last winter they had days of -8 degrees, and snow of 4 feet. You can imagine the drifts the prairie wind creates as it blows over his house. It is wonderfully fulfilling to be able to make such improvement in someone's home. More work will follow, and hopefully our work will inspire more to help this mission and perhaps form a covenant partner in this area to further the work. Funds are limited, but eventually Francis would like a shower in his home.

The reservation is a world of it's own. One thing is very apparent early on; reservation dogs. They are everywhere- friendly wanderers scavenging for food and attention constantly. They aren't sad animals, but seem quite content. Then, we don't see the suffering one's either. I am sure they have short lives, for all that I've encountered have exceptionally good teeth, indicating youth. They come around, and then just as happily wander off. This light colored one was exceptionally friendly and charming to all, but then returned with a rat in her mouth, flopped down and rolled all over it, and ate it. Still charming to me, but repulsive to others. Then again, I was wearing work gloves as I petted her
Wild horsed showed up as well, one of them quite tame and affectionate, taking quite well to being approached and petted.

After the workday was done we were treated to a traditional Lakota meal of Wohanpi (beef soup) Wojapi (berry soup), Wigli Unkagapi (fry bread), and watermelon. It will remain a memorable meal.

David Snell, President of the Fuller Center for Housing, spent the last two evenings with us. For most it was their first meeting with him. He always attends some point of this ride, and chose this point for he has a history with the local leaders through his affiliations with the Department of HUD and Habitat for Humanity. He spoke frankly of the social issues of this area and how we can work with the locals, as well as some history of Millard Fuller, and how this mission evolved.

Tomorrow is 87 miles to Rapid City, SD and two days off. While there we will visit historical sites of the area, such as Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse Memorial, and Little Bighorn, where Custer met his infamous end. It's been a good day.

From Pahin Sinte Owayawa

The wind was in a hurry to go do what the wind does, and I was in it's path going to do what Mark does. She was gentle enough. Though other day's I've complained, she's never listened to what I want. Eventually we agreed on Bigfoot Road, and she brought me to Wounded Knee.

Pine Ridge Oglala Lakota Reservation is our destination, but currently we are in Porcupine, SD, at Porcupine School. This is the most impoverished community in the U.S. Just over the state line in Nebraska there are four bars, and the sales of canned beer from those bars exceeds the consumption of the entire state. This I learned from a teacher I met at the mass grave where the dead of Wounded Knee rest.

There was a native at Wounded Knee who approached me saying "One of your riders went up there to the grave site", gesturing to the hill. "That seems like a good idea" I replied, and rode my bike up a heavily rutted path to see what was there. Other riders came up the hill as well. I talked to a young man who seemed particularly interested in our activity. I took some pictures, and the first native had driven up the hill and helped us take group shots. We rode back down to the massacre site and took more photos. The native was there again. I asked Lauryn if this gentleman was some sort of escort, and she replied, as a matter of fact, yes, he was there to guide us and protect us against whatever road risks there might be. We departed and he followed the last rider, blocking any traffic that came from behind, to our destination.

I have linked above some information that gives the history of injustice committed against these people. I have only begun to realize the factors contributing to and resulting in the social dysfunction. I am at risk making these comments at this time, for I am sure I haven't a clue what is involved. I am only reporting my first impressions, and will look back to realize how naive I really am.

...and a lot of other names.

There was just a slight breeze Tuesday morning as E-train sang "Get On the Train" during morning devotional. Our cue sheet was short; go yonder and make a left, ride 94 miles, and make a left. Winner Assembly of God Church on the left.

The breeze was cool from the west at 10 mph, so most started in additional clothing. Eyes watered, snot ran, the bluster picked up and remained cool, and though we intended to shed some clothes at that stop, most kept them on as they cooled during break.

As the blow gradually built speed it shifted northward and the ride started getting more difficult as we approached the Missouri River. We took a badly needed break before crossing. Lake Francis Case acted as a venturi at highway 44, accelerating air and the force of raw blast buffeted us. Steep hills followed, compounding forces, confounding our effort. Climb we did, onto the top of the prairie where we found a constant 21 mile per hour wind bending grain.

We suffered as it whistled through our helmets; that noise, in addition to the natural sound rushing over ears made it difficult to talk to a rider beside us without yelling. We remained cool, but riders noticed their regular water consumption inadequate, as if we were being force dried. I know my northward nostril became painfully parched, so I opted for a bandanna over my face to conserve moisture. Pace line, kept at a diagonal, was virtually ineffective. It was brutal; riders just started splitting up, each fighting for himself. Moral drops as quickly as our energy under such conditions.

The wind blows constantly over the prairie, and people have been reported to suffer prairie madness, not an actual medical condition but one widely written about during the 19th century pioneer days. We arrived in Winner, South Dakota with our sanity barely intact. We asked our host about this wind that had been beating us all day and threatened to inflict misery on our next day's 104 miles; "The wind blows constantly out here, some days worse than others." We asked if the day was good or bad, and he replied "moderate". We showered, had a big meal provided by Winner Assembly of God Church and hit our mats; men downstairs, women in the sanctuary.

As I write the howl continues here in Martin SD after our 104 miles in it today. In addition we had rain, but not too bad, and hail- that too was minor. Same force wind, but oddly nobody complained, for it came from the east, behind us, aiding in our trek. It was a good ride. Our home is the Martin Community Center.

They Call the Wind Maria; well, over the past two days that is the only name I haven't heard it called. What comes to mind is a poem recited to me in a bar along the Gulf of Mexico after a particularly difficult sail and conflict. I could go on about the internal struggle with what simply is, but this sums it up best:

“One ship drives east and another drives west
With the selfsame winds that blow.
Tis the set of the sails
And not the gales
Which tells us the way to go.
Like the winds of the seas are the ways of fate,
As we voyage along through the life:
Tis the set of a soul
That decides its goal,
And not the calm or the strife. ”

― Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Goodnight. A light 50 miles tomorrow, and if the wind holds, a breeze. If not? What we make of it.

Sioux's ride goes south in Dakota

It is after dinner here at Memorial Baptist Church, where we are the guests of Pastor Michael Boyle and his young family, in Parkston SD. I was met by son Michael Jr., worldly beyond his nine years. I was late arriving due to mishap on the road, so he found me a place to park my bike. I told him I didn't want to get into trouble for parking where I did, but he assured me "it will be okay; I know how to deal with adults. I can fix bikes, too. Yeah, I've seen a lot." Well, right now he's getting a world of experience, entertained by 'E-Train' and 'Gelding', two of our more notable characters (who will remain anonymous to protect their identity, unless of course you follow their link).

E-train, Gelding, Sioux Rex, and I started the day strong. All of us are over 50, but after a day's rest all felt at least 49.  Susan has been known as 'Sue Rex' on this ride for years for her propensity to wreck, but we've changed it to 'Sioux' in this territory. She is on her 6th FCBA. She is an inspiration and example for many of the women on these rides, not to mention many of the men. She holds her own.

On a climb the four of us were on 30 miles into today's ride Susan shifted into her low gear and her rear derailleur caught her wheel, breaking off and tangled into her spokes bringing her to a screeching halt. We all agreed this was a fatal failure for her equipment, so E-train and Gelding went on while I waited with her for the support vehicle. We discussed removing the derailleur and making her bike usable as a single speed, and Alaska Mike, our resident mechanic, stopped to concur. Susan agreed to give it a try so I proceeded to dismantle the mess.

With my Topeak multi tool I disassembled the chain, removed the derailleur, removed the necessary links and reassembled it so that Susan had her small chain ring and a moderate gear on her rear cassette. The chain had to be straightened to keep it from climbing to the next higher gear, and with some tweaking we had her on the road. With this gearing she was able to traverse the relatively flat terrain of South Dakota for the next 37 miles, keeping speeds between 14-17 mph as I pulled draft. Miles later she started developing a slight click, and then suddenly some serious noise so we stopped her for the day, five miles short of finishing. What had happened was that the chain climbed to the next larger gear of her rear cassette, and then again making the hard noise. It was incredibly tight, so when we stopped we released the wheel to break the tension. In retrospect it would have been prudent for her to sag out when the failure occurred, but we saw a challenge we couldn't resist. I would do this on my own bike, but being more familiar with the mechanics I would notice if it had skipped gears and attended to it immediately.

Upon arrival here in Parkston we called local shops immediately. This is not a common part, so our second support driver and FCBA veteran Geezerman took Susan and her bike back to Sioux Falls, an hour and half hour drive away. There, Spoke N Sport sprang into action, calling another shop to get the parts. The repair was made, bike cleaned and adjusted and spare parts provided, and they were back here in 4.5 hours. Spoke N Sport was our support choice during our stay in Sioux Falls so understood the urgency of such a repair. The next bike shop is 300 miles west. (Note: expenses incurred for repairs are the responsibility of the rider, and Geezerman's generosity in providing his private vehicle at his expense in support of us is invaluable.)

The adventure continues. As I've been writing the children have been worn out by these 30 new playmates their Dad invited to dinner, and the riders have retired to the chapel for a movie. We have 102 miles to ride tomorrow. God knows what delights we're in store for.

(Your support is greatly appreciated. If you'd like to contribute at this time click on any of the above names for links to their fundraising page. All donations are tax-deductible and go toward their designated recipients. Links to products or businesses are provided without compensation, but done to recognize quality I endorse.)