Transcontinentalitis, Days 26 - 30 (Boise City, OK to near Chama, NM)

Day 26: Boise City, OK to Clayton, NM (46.21 miles, 1972.4 total, 25.0 mph max)

We made it to Clayton, NM without stopping even for breakfast. But that's only because there was no place to stop.


We set our clocks back again. Because of that we arrived at a KOA in Clayton by 10 am. I went to the doctor and he said the hand is ok but it won't get any better until I stop cycling. But at least I know it's not going to do any damage permanently. 


We start some serious climbing this week and hope to be out of the worst of it by next weekend (today is Friday). Very low on funds; may need to start using plastic. I really did not want that.


Clayton is cool. We checked out the town and met some locals.


We're way ahead of schedule now and we'll be taking off more often, doing half days like today. We're both really enjoying this part of the country.


Day 27: Clayton, NM to Cimmaron, NM (112.1 miles, 2084.5 total, 42.0 mph max) 

What a day. One stop between Clayton and Springer. We're really seeing the mountains. They're very intimidating. I'm petrified about climbing tomorrow.

We are in Cimmaron, NM, at the foot of a mountain. Fifty-five miles to Taos tomorrow, then a day off for Chris's birthday. Taos looks like it'll be a fun place for a day off.

Today Chris broke 5 spokes at the same time and we were 5 miles from Springer. Quite discouraged, we sat and played out the options in Springer. Just then a Backroads van pulled into the gas station where we were. At least 40 bikes were on the roof, and they had plenty of spokes and the freewheel remover tool we needed. It was not a coincidence. This is our guardian angel for sure, and the driver gave us each a PowerBar, too. 


We were watching the mountains all day and now they're finally here, right in front of us.


Day 28: Cimmaron, NM to Taos, NM (57.0 miles, 2141.5 total, 33.0 mph max)

I woke up early - 7 am - and just sat and admired the mountains. They're really something else. This town - Cimmaron - is really great. Everybody is so mellow and laid back. They all call each other poncho and are friends with everybody else. They're wonderful to people passing through like us. 


It's scary to think that we'll be going over these mountains. It's going to be tough, but I can't wait to get to Taos. (This was the first time I began a journal entry before riding for the day)


The ride from Cimmaron to Taos was the best country I've seen in my life. I day-dreamed about moving out here after graduation all day long. We're now in Taos and our bikes are in the shop. We'll be able to go out to celebrate Chris's birthday tonight and then tomorrow we'll spend the day in Taos. 


Everything is made of adobe here. There are art galleries everywhere. I'd like to come back to ski here.


Today's scenery was the best yet. We saw snow-capped peaks, whitewater rapids, wildlife, and beautiful vegetation. Eagle Nest Lake was spectacular.


(the following notes were barely legible)

We went to the bar. I'm messed up and it's fun. Taos rocks. I'm coming here after college.

Day 29: Taos, NM to Tres Piedres, NM (45.4 miles, 2186.9 total, 28.0 mph max)  

We skipped out on a day off in Taos. We woke up late and didn't leave until 1 pm, though. We made it as far as Tres Piedres and heard about the Rainbow Gathering. It's like this hippie place. We decided to check it out.

We got a ride to the gathering with these hippies in a mid-70's Jeep Cherokee. No upholstery, no radio, no AC. Only a few door handles, and trash everywhere. The guys were really nice, though. 


We made it to camp - 20 miles up a dirt road - and now are at the gathering. A lot of drugs. There's a lady called "Mom" who cooks. She gave us dinner. A conglomeration of potato salad, tossed salad, and potato pancakes, and in one big mess. Camp food. Everybody ate it up, including myself.


I really feel like an outsider. All of these people are drifters. Nobody has a home. They just go from gathering to gathering. I'm anxious since we have to find a ride to the bottom of the mountain tomorrow. They're really different people. Dirty with long hair, beards, and dread locks. I hear there will be a drum circle tonight. I hope so.


I want to meet these people but I don't feel welcome. There are strange people everywhere, about 500 or so of them. It makes me miss home.


It's interesting to hear the stories that these people have experienced. They've been everywhere. I hope I have a home when I get to their ages. I'd say most are at least 25. I hope I have a family at their ages. I'll travel a lot, but I'll need a place where I feel safe. Right now that place is 2100 miles away.


The last couple of hours have been really strange. Chris fell asleep so I went to the frame work of a cabin they're building. There is a fire there. I was watching these people. Generally, they are older men in their mid-40s, they all smoke, and they don't seem to be very smart. I talked to two of them. One has a wife and kids in TN and he left them in December to com here. (It was late June or early July). The other told me about when his father's business was in trouble and he had to go work in a suit and tie. A man and his wife were fighting. She's crying now. He was really mean to her but I'm surrounded by all his peers. I wanted to do something when he was yelling at her. He said to her, "I'm gonna say it on more fuckin' time politely, Get out of my Goddamn face, please!" 


Then Chris woke up and we went to the other camp about 500 yards up the hill. There were about 150 people there in a circle, maybe more. Everybody was holding hands and they started humming. I hummed a little. Then they cheered and passed around a hat for a collection. It didn't look like they made much. They call each other 'brother' and 'sister.' 


I'm not scared anymore, as much as I was when I first arrived. This guy started praying and the man next to Chris shouted out loud, "Thank God!" as in, "Thank God for this food." Then about a dozen people started walking around the circle with buckets. They gave each person a scoop of whatever was in the bucket. It was some kind of slop, for as well as I could tell. 


These people have hitch-hiked thousands of miles to get here. They've come in school buses, VW buses, vans, Jeeps, on bikes, and motorcycles. Some walked. A school bus just rolled in with 25 or more people. I am amazed. It's some kind of cult I think.


When some one pulls up to the first camp, everybody yells, "Welcome home!" This place is weird. We're getting a ride back to Tres Piedres at 6 am in the same Jeep that drove us up. I can't wait.


We were walking back from that other camp and two guys were walking the other way. They asked us if we had anything to trade. I asked what he was looking for. "Hallucinogens or buds," he said.


We're back by the fire. This old Indian man who wears handcuffs just sits and bitches like crazy. He's really mean and then he laughs. He seems really tough. He wears a cowboy hat. A black one, and black jeans and suede cowboy boots with a flannel jacket. A few of these men seem like they're real (American) Indians. Good looking people, but these ones are bitter and tough.

The Indian man talks like some old chief. He's a slow talker and he has an accent. He was telling us how people fear what they don't understand. Actually, he had a pretty good point.

Day 30: Tres Pieres, NM to near Chama, NM (63.1 miles, 2249.0 total, 40.9 mph max) 

Not too bad a day. We got to the highest point on our trip (10,500 ft) and just cruised down. We had to wake up at 5:30 am to get out of that crazy place, though. Chris and I were arguing and I got pretty bummed; missing home. 


New Mexico is the only state I haven't been dying to get through. It's beautiful here. Chris made a snowman at the summit. 

The experiences we had in New Mexico were, I think, profound. After Chris's bike was essentially unrideable, a bike shop on wheels showed up with parts, tools, and expertise. I was able to see the mountains like I'd never seen before. And, I got to hang out with a thousand drifters in a remote spot in Kit Carson National Forest. It was honestly like I'd stepped onto a different planet, but as a kid in my 20s I needed to be exposed to places and people like I was in New Mexico. I think I made some long-term decisions on that mountain.

Camping with the Kids

We interrupt this series of boring bike-across-the-country journal transcriptions for a tale of potential child negligence, short-sightedness, and generally poor judgement . . .

Molly and I are from Pittsburgh. We're not Inuit, Scandinavian, or Siberian. We're not even Yoopers. While many Pittsburghers like to complain in their own sort of proud way that winters here are tough, they are mild in comparison. Winter here generally kicks in sometime around mid-December, then snow arrives in January, and by late March we're starting to thaw out. The temperatures rarely dip into in the single digits (Fahrenheit) and storms rarely drop more than a few inches of snow at a time.

So, taking the kids (ages 2.8 and 1.4) camping in late October isn't all that crazy an idea.

Molly and I have little exposure to media. We don't get network or cable television. We don't listen to local radio. So, we never received any kind of notification that the forecast had changed as we were packing up the car for an evening in Morgantown followed by a night in the tent at nearby Coopers Rock State Forest, WV. We did expect cold temperatures so I packed a large amount of blankets and even tossed a crib mattress in the car, but none of this would make us feel prepared when we turned off the highway to see a forest blanketed in snow. Even the tree limbs were sparkling.

But that wasn't until a bit later. I don't want to get ahead of myself.

Earlier in the afternoon, as we drove south from Pittsburgh, the weather looked to be generally clear. The skies were blue with few clouds. We planned to drive to Coopers Rock to set up the campsite before heading into Morgantown. It was cold, but not too cold, even for a family of Pittsburghers; maybe somewhere in the low 50s. Even when it began to rain, I wasn't phased. Our tent has stood up to the elements many times. We decided to go straight to Morgantown so that we could give the rain a chance to stop before setting up camp.

Several hours later, Molly and I were in the car looking at each other and reconsidering our plan. We were about to leave Morgantown to drive up to Coopers Rock. I was soaking wet from walking no more than 15 feet to the car and then strapping Otis into his carseat. Molly was similarly wet from the same routine with Indie. For some reason the kids were happy. It wasn't even 9 pm; we could be home before 10:30.

"Indie has been looking forward to this all week," Molly told me. "I left the wipes in the Black Bear," I replied to her, as if the conversation made any sense. We'd eaten dinner at the Black Bear Restaurant and at some point I took Otis into the Men's room to change his diaper. Since there was no changing table in the Men's room I had to change Otis on a bar stool (not sure why that was in the Men's room). Somehow I managed to do it, but in the ridiculous process of changing a baby on a bar stool I left the baby wipes on top of the paper towel dispenser. For a parent about to take his kid camping in the forest for the night, leaving the wipes on top of the paper towel dispenser had enormously burdensome consequences.

"We'll go to Rite Aid. There's one right down the road here." At that point I was exceptionally glad I remembered leaving the wipes on that paper towel dispenser.

We hit the road. "I didn't see the diaper bag. Did you?"

"I didn't have it. Did you?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Watch your mouth!"

As important as the wipes may have been, the contents of the diaper bag were even more so. Beyond the obvious content (diapers), there were binkies, sippy cups, medicines for ailments ranging from coughs to diaper rash, both of our cell phones and wallets, and more. A man's wallet or woman's purse contain the effects of an individual; the diaper bag contains the effects of an entire family. Losing the diaper bag might have been worse than losing a kid.

"Okay, I'll pull over and take a look."

Five minutes later I was even more soaking wet than I'd been at the beginning of our 40-minute, 3 mile car ride, and had not located the diaper bag. We found it shortly afterward at the coffeeshop/artspace we had just left, and it was Molly's fault (zing!).

After finding or replacing each of our forgotten items and all of the driving back and forth through Morgantown, we really felt like we had our shit together. Then we started to climb Chestnut Ridge, the mountain on top of which Coopers Rock lives. Upon turning off the highway, the road went literally from wet pavement to slick ice. The trees went from colorful autumn to stark white.

"Is that snow?"

"Holy shit. You have got to be kidding me."

"Watch your mouth!"

"We can be home by 11 if we go right now. Our tent is not a four season tent."

After a short discussion, proper judgment was discarded and we established a plan that would make every father proud. Molly and the kids sat in the warm car while I quickly set up the tent and shuttled gear to it. I was sliding down a snow bank in my sneakers every time I returned from the car. I slipped a few times and tossed everything I was carrying like confetti. When it was ready, I returned to the car and heroically announced that the lair was ready. All were safe.

In the tent (a 3-person tent), the blankets that surrounded us made a fluffy floor eight inches thick. We lost Otis a few times in the fluff because he was camouflaged. He was wearing layers of three one-piece fleece jumpsuits. There was no room for a hat under the three hoods, but I'm certain he was plenty warm. Indie was in the sleeping bag I'd made for her just for this trip, and was comfortably wearing a hat and mittens as well as at least three layers.


Both kids fit together just right on the crib mattress and Molly and I climbed into our sleeping bags. There were blankets cushioning us underneath and warming us above. The snow piled on the tent outside at a rate that would be quick in February, and it was cozy for the time being.

Believe it or not, we had neighbors, and those neighbors had kids with them. We saw them as we drove in, at a site about 50 yards across a snowy field, and they came prepared. They drove RVs. As we heard them chatting around a roaring campfire, we knew they had the comfort of a warm bed awaiting them. They didn't have to worry about their kids freezing to death in October on a mountain in West Virginia. As they laughed and told stories, we tried to fall asleep and I wondered if they even saw us arrive.

Indie fell asleep first, though I will never forget the ten minutes before she did. With little locks of red hair creeping out of her winter cap, she was beaming with excitement about being in a tent in her new sleeping bag. She was clearly the family member with the most confidence in our survival. Toddlers can be so naive, can't they?

Then, Otis fell asleep, but only after Molly put him down to sleep on her chest. He wouldn't sleep on the mattress. Perhaps he was scared or uncomfortable, but he wouldn't calm down unless he was on top of his Mommy. Then, I passed out, and I was even hot as a I slept in the fluffy blankets.

Molly, of course, never fell asleep. How could she sleep with a kid on her chest?

At about 11 pm, Otis woke up and was complaining. He isn't old enough to talk yet, and so we spent the next 90 minutes trying to get him comfortable. The problem, I think, is that he was not able to move with all the layers. He would try to roll over, but couldn't do it. He was miserable, but we weren't willing to take off any of his layers. It wasn't warm in the tent, and a kid his age can't be put into a sleeping bag.

So, at 12:30 am we threw in the towel. I inverted and reversed the process I'd done only 3 hours before by putting the kids in the warm car and breaking camp. There were 3 inches of snow piled up on top of the tent.

On Sunday night, after unpacking and drying out gear and recovering from the botched attempt, I found that an old friend had posted some photos from his weekend on Facebook. The photos looked oddly familiar. As I investigated, I realized that they were taken at Coopers Rock State Forest. Our neighbors at the campsite were neighbors from back home, and they had plenty of extra beds in their RVs.

Git r dun.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 23 - 25 (Enid, OK to Boise City, OK)

Day 23: Enid, OK to Fort Supply, OK(103.3 miles, 1737.7 total, 32.9 mph max)

Ugh. Rough Day. Left Enid at 9:00. Clear skies and the weather channel said 90 - 100F.  A town called Orienta was 18 miles out and then Mooreland was at mile 76. There was essentially nothing in Orienta, not even a gas station, and then 60 miles of absolutely NOTHING.

It's beginning to look like the West. Plateaus, no trees, heat, clear skies. Those 76 miles were killer. We had lunch on the road at a picnic table and then ran out of water one mile from Mooreland. 


We made it to Fort Supply. There's a lake with a campground on it. It's very pretty here. A lot of hicks though. 


I broke two spokes today, but after replacing them the wheel is still perfect. I love a smooth ride.


Day 24: Fort Supply, OK to somewhere in OK (99.5 miles, 1837.2 total, 36.6 mph max)

We are in the middle of absolutely nowhere! How desolate. I feel like I'm on Mars or something. It's very frightening. 

Today, like yesterday, was very tough. We're certainly in the West now. No shade. Hot sun. No people. A gas station convenience store every 25 - 50 miles or so. And, I keep breaking spokes.

We're really moving along. The climbing starts on Friday (Day 26). We're going to do a half day so I can get my hand checked out (I was losing feeling in my left hand at the beginning of each day's riding). I think they'll amputate it. They might as well, because I can't feel it.

Dinner tonight was at "The Hitchin' Post." It might as well have been called "Eat Here or Starve." The only restaurant we saw all day. Kind of scary. The waitress was a bitch. (I don't recall this restaurant, or why I called the waitress a bitch).

Day 25: Somewhere in OK to Boise City, OK (89.0 miles, 1926.2 total, 27.9 mph max)

Another rough day. Steady incline. I think I pushed a little too hard. We made it here (Boise City) by 3 pm. I did not feel well after we stopped. Off to Clayton, NM tomorrow and then a half day off. I need to go to the hospital for my hand.


Boise City looks like a Wild West town. We saw our first tumbleweed today and our first cactus last night. I miss home a lot and thought about it a lot today. There was really nothing to look at. Just the same old Oklahoma. 


I'm the furthest from home I've ever been. I can't wait to relax in Clayton tomorrow. 


I just spent a half hour wrestling with the shower knob. It fell off when I tried to turn it hotter and water started shooting from the place where it goes. I finally got the cap back, but the shower is stuck on. And, this morning, when we woke up and were packing, Chris opened his handlebar bag and three mice jumped out. It scared the hell out of him, and was hilarious!

When we entered the Northwestern panhandle of Oklahoma, we passed a road sign that said, "Welcome to No Man's Land." It was not at all far from the truth, as the roads continued as far as the eyes could see with nothing on either side. Very few vehicles passed us as we pushed into a prevailing headwind all day long, each day. It was lonely and humbling.

Unfortunately, I don't remember very vividly this stretch of the trip. Perhaps it's because there weren't many people or towns to make memories, or perhaps it's because my gaze was pointed down as I tucked into an aerodynamic position to cut into the wind. Whatever it was, the Rocky Mountain passes that lie ahead were on my mind. I was anxious and excited about the next phase of the trip.