june 27-29North Dakota: One day of cruising, four days of wind. (Part One):

Day 14: Wolf Point, MT to Williston, ND 102.2 miles, 6:15 in the saddle.
Day 15: Williston to Bertold, ND. 109.2 miles, 8:08 in the saddle.
Day 16: Berthold to Towner, ND. 72.0 miles, 6:31 in the saddle.

Corresponding Quotations:

"I want wind to blow..."
"it was supposed to be so eaaaasy"
"Don't need a weatherman to tell which way the wind blows"

We planned on using ND as a chance to bring our average up as we'd read up on other riders' experiences of long, flat days with the occasional tailwind. What we received was different, and we've fallen back another half day on the 100 miles a day goal, despite pushing through the most difficult rides of our journey.

As I type this into my phone, it's a little unnerving that my left ring and pinky fingers have a constant curl and a disregard for functioning. It's due to the last five days of wrangling handlebars to steady the bike, and typing on a pda might exacerbate this. I keep pouring corn nuts and gummy bears into my hand and I just watch them fall through to the dirt. It's heartbreaking.

Six days back (Sunday) was the easiest of the trip: the day began with more downhill than up, and a steady, light tailwind through some Badlands-esque reservation land near the Missouri River. After shakes and burgers, we crossed into North Dakota and noted the changes in scenery; we now had more rolling hills (only on this edge of the state), nearly every farm had a small oil operation, and we could no longer find slot machines at gas stations. By four we were at a grocery store chugging caffeine, pleased to have 100 miles done so early in the day. Winds were hitting down from the north at this point, and our next 15 would get the brunt of it, so we were on the fence about our evening until an ex-Brit rolled up and convinced us to stay at the city park.

Dave and I have been talking about 'stealth camping' for some time (where you find a patch of trees and make it home for a night) but our excuses have ranged from 'probably bear country' and 'there's no trees' to 'it doesn't feel ethical to squat on a reservation.' But we'd find (for the next five nights) that most towns in ND approve and encourage camping by cyclists in their sole patch of community grass. Some even have showers.

We had a good evening with Sam, the brit-turned-frenchman, especially because we could swap road hints and stories since he was traveling from Quebec to Seattle, and our next move was fresh in his memory. There's a possibility we'll catch up when he gets to Seattle after looping the Olympic peninsula (oh hey roommates: I've offered our place up to some folks...)

Ill also add a bit about Marvin, a soft-spoken fellow from the neighborhood who rolled up on a full-sized tricycle outfitted with a car's headlight and battery. In one of those 'small world' ways he knew the Saint family from Ecuador just as my father and grandfather did. (The background story is a long one...) Anyway, Marvin rode back to the park early the next morning to check on us or see if we needed anything. It wasn't until we were on the road again when I found out from my dad that the tricycle was his approach to maximizing his mobility while his Parkinson's was progressing.

And then Monday was the beginning of the hardest week of my life, physically. "At least Sam is having a good day," was my dad's thought early on. We didn't check the weather reports, but the wind was in our faces during half of our pedal time and the sun blazing enough to burn my back off in 30 minutes.

The wind hit us hard enough over the last 30 miles that I was eyeing every burm beside the road to see if we'd be noticed. My dad's desire for a shower kept us pushing (only roadside swamps and ponds were seen). Berthold had free camping, but no showers. My dad wandered the small town looking for outdoor public spigots, and ended up by the high school gym, where he was directed to one. Looking cold and homeless under a garden hose as dusk set in, a kid invited us over for showers at his house. During the nice chat with the family and their awesome springer spaniel, we caught the forecast: 10-20 mph from the SE (unusual for ND, the direction not the presence of wind).

Tuesday's ride to Towner was when we began laughing at the weather. 22 miles took up our first two hours, so we stopped for second breakfast much earlier than usual.

Somewhere during this day we started vocalizing the difficulty of the ride. We usually keep quiet about feeling weak and we agreed we'd rather take another day in the Cascades than another like this. At least with mountain passes you get the satisfaction of a downhill that you've earned. Cranking into wind has no reward: we cover less ground in longer days due to a pace slower than we'd run a 10k.

As the day wore on, our projected ending point for the night was perpetually moving west. We killed a full 90 minutes to catch a match, thinking the winds might die down (and met the owners of America's only albino buffalo, who met his demise by lightening, sadly). Towner's only grocery was closed, so we settled on hot pockets, dots, and chocolate milk from a gas station. They sounded so perfect that our choice would likely have been the same if the grocery was open.