tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-99087442024-03-06T12:58:14.312-07:00Climbing Trip ReportsBill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.comBlogger386125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-69687243369304223292023-08-14T21:10:00.002-06:002023-08-24T15:56:07.525-06:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">Lotus Flower Tower</h2><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/CC7mhiHqTJHEykTeA" target="_blank">All Photos</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrHSpkxMVEznRv4tP5Yb4_vREIAg6RP28S6eiaFkRRC9e19_cFVUJlZ7aO6MNVqTYOZvweVGgyVYP9dOb0T54GT4nLErwZd-3BGidyDfL7pWi-SrEAuuUbAYB4wlnCxaNCdwNmciEbs1GX_Zs9OG_q3iZXgRmKAslEVtqB-mIHqf_RdC4nCr5/s3264/PXL_20230806_201753378.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrHSpkxMVEznRv4tP5Yb4_vREIAg6RP28S6eiaFkRRC9e19_cFVUJlZ7aO6MNVqTYOZvweVGgyVYP9dOb0T54GT4nLErwZd-3BGidyDfL7pWi-SrEAuuUbAYB4wlnCxaNCdwNmciEbs1GX_Zs9OG_q3iZXgRmKAslEVtqB-mIHqf_RdC4nCr5/w480-h640/PXL_20230806_201753378.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">Nahanni National Park, Northwest Territories, Canada (8334 feet)</p><p><br /></p><p>At the bivy ledge. The upper headwall appears to overhang the entire way, but it doesn't.</p><p>I discovered the book Fifty Classic Climbs of North America in the Boulder Mountaineer, which was located at Broadway and University, back in 1982 or 1983. I had been climbing for just a couple of years. A line in the introduction particularly motivated me: No one, as yet, had even climbed half of these routes. From then on this book directed my development as a climber. I wanted to do at least half of them. I passed 25 a long time ago and reset my sights on forty. I knew I'd never get them all and that didn't bother me, though it seems strange that it didn't. As with all lists like this, there is a vigorous debate on the climbs included, but some of them were clearly too objectively dangerous for me. </p><p>I liked this list a lot because to climb most of these routes, I'd need a wide variety of skills and, in my quest to do these routes, become a well-rounded climber/alpinist/mountaineer. That's what I wanted to become.</p><p>The Lotus Flower Tower had been near the top of my list almost since opening up the book, as it is so spectacular. Acquiring the necessary skills, finding the right time, and finding the right partner for such a climb took a lot longer than I thought. </p><p>I started climbing with George Bell when I moved back to Colorado in 1994. We climbed seven 50CCs together. He was as interested as I was in the quest but also ahead of me in numbers and in the skills necessary to climb them. He did an early ascent of the LFT and wrote the online guide for the Cirque of the Unclimbables (as the area is known). My other buddy, Opie, drew the topo that everyone uses. It was cool to have this connection. George retired from climbing at this level more than a decade ago and I've had to soldier on with other partners. My list of potential partners for such a climb is short. Very short. </p><p>The number one quality in picking a partner is how much you enjoy spending time together; how compatible you are under the intense stress of a long, potentially dangerous climb. Yet, for such a difficult climb, ability must be a strong factor. That ruled out at least three great partners for me. Two others had already done the climb. Stefan couldn’t spare that much time away. Chris was booked on a climb in Europe. It had to be Hans, but could he be talked into it?</p><p>Hans Florine hardly needs an introduction. Eight-time holder of the Nose speed record, he's climbed the Nose over 100 times and, more impressively, with over 100 different partners. He's done forty different routes on El Cap. When it comes to getting average people up a massive granite wall, he is the best in the world. Period. </p><p>Hans is a master of getting subsidized for such things, and he worked his contacts. Eventually he got connected with Scott Clark, an anesthesiologist from Tucson with a long climbing resume, though heavy on the mountaineering and thin on big rock climbs. They came to an arrangement and we were a team of three.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Getting There</h2><p>My timeframe for this climb was tight. I was teaching a class at CU through July 28th and need a few more days to get grades filed. I wanted to go as soon after that as possible, knowing that the far north turns towards winter before the end of August.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikVLFtwJD4KCZwMVJY6-iQ3_gr8B9a03Q17KxWCigeHeo8ilu0X8AICHbUztFP_eYjJi-HHNCnWu6zJ5bcr_zIW8FAuI2JJgmr4szVhZNhEv41QM4YVHY9YxhHQSY_mXW-tnDsCPxqh-TpD1LmaPtKwDIqaNiaG6laN3QyVJIYHMzsrV4pwnY/s477/map_canada.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="477" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikVLFtwJD4KCZwMVJY6-iQ3_gr8B9a03Q17KxWCigeHeo8ilu0X8AICHbUztFP_eYjJi-HHNCnWu6zJ5bcr_zIW8FAuI2JJgmr4szVhZNhEv41QM4YVHY9YxhHQSY_mXW-tnDsCPxqh-TpD1LmaPtKwDIqaNiaG6laN3QyVJIYHMzsrV4pwnY/w640-h446/map_canada.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8s32F5kDcHYKFAqmGnTec98ZuWqYcVcyLKQaAQyl9FM3yxKvMnSSSnIOF3R5T4DdkIEBQ9C081qmAPs6EMwQ_rvGlvQljjDBlNpJW7JpHNIvIoM04xU8bVHdKZ3pTm96dLsRc0GMb_XIkkBvdzHrhclk9mK8Tp2JTU_0wWG0YyWZlZ4md8h87/s530/map_wes_can.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="530" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8s32F5kDcHYKFAqmGnTec98ZuWqYcVcyLKQaAQyl9FM3yxKvMnSSSnIOF3R5T4DdkIEBQ9C081qmAPs6EMwQ_rvGlvQljjDBlNpJW7JpHNIvIoM04xU8bVHdKZ3pTm96dLsRc0GMb_XIkkBvdzHrhclk9mK8Tp2JTU_0wWG0YyWZlZ4md8h87/w640-h636/map_wes_can.gif" width="640" /></a></div><p>The Lotus Flower Tower is located in Nahanni National Park in the Northwest Territories of Canada, and this is a very difficult place to get to. Thankfully, we had the logistics handled by Dr. Chuck Charlie, who'd been to the area twice before (and climbed the tower with another good friend Tom Karpeichik). Charlie would be joining us on the trip into the area but not for the climb. His plan was a solo backpack/float trip. We followed his advice and we all flew from different cities (Vancouver, San Francisco, Phoenix, and Denver) to converge in Whitehorse, British Columbia. There we rented a van and drove six hours to Finlayson Lake. Yes, that's right. We rented a car for 9 days and used it for only two of those days.</p><p>We arrived at Finlayson Lake around midnight after an extremely long day of travel. We were able to crash in a spartan bunkhouse right there. Our next leg was via a bush plane, taking off of Finlayson Lake and landing on Glacier Lake. All communication with our pilots was via an InReach messenger as no cell phones work here. This communication was very intermittent, and we waited hours the next morning for a response. </p><p>We flew with Sean of KluaneAir in a 1957 Beaver that can take off and land at about 50 mph. This plane is bombproof and was on its 12th engine (these are replaced every 1500 hours). Sean picked us up around noon for our one-hour flight. The trip was incredible. We flew over so much wilderness and then across a huge glacier, before spiraling down into Glacier Lake at around 2800 feet elevation.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGP0rlMcWDAhvM5yRVn2yFtQoF502RXYhq96xIPZ-9QD2qnCcZqMOIf2tRWV5vgt69gsofljbVvLFLQO0dzEYfeVMBkBUYdy8MOVO12I-I3sLy4U67icA0COOxFx2HM1eaE847274X0sh-0LdxvLhOYkieOeFVxTzwchCRWBBi--IGn6N-btsl/s4032/IMG_4576.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGP0rlMcWDAhvM5yRVn2yFtQoF502RXYhq96xIPZ-9QD2qnCcZqMOIf2tRWV5vgt69gsofljbVvLFLQO0dzEYfeVMBkBUYdy8MOVO12I-I3sLy4U67icA0COOxFx2HM1eaE847274X0sh-0LdxvLhOYkieOeFVxTzwchCRWBBi--IGn6N-btsl/w640-h480/IMG_4576.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flying over a huge glacier en route to Glacier Lake</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Waiting on shore was a group of four climbers ready to fly out. They offered us some of their leftover food, gave us lots of good beta, told us that they replaced slings at most anchors (two of them were climbing guides), and recounted their 30-hour round trip ascent. They had shared the wall with another party and it added time and some conflict. We wouldn't have that problem. For our first three days, we'd be the only people in the cirque, and we were the only ones on the wall when we climbed. </p><p>At the lake was a cabin with absolutely nothing inside except for a canoe. Just bare plywood floor. There were a number of bear boxes next to the cabin where we stored our extra luggage and food. We took just four days of food with us on our first trek up there. Still, the weight we carried was tremendous.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVrxQzw9qFdC5Verswbaxao7vVr6xweyq4fkxTySCCpvkujQFL3eQFqmOy1P_bzOex14PH2S-sGWX3dJIdvobxUeAwIcPbfA9MvE_m0KqdE0LdfqOPuf3IXDDTtyr8iLRr9gld-cV2CsKQQoZA5iFWIvAbudabMy9zXS18CRXmRKTE-XmCaQh3/s4032/PXL_20230804_194144072.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVrxQzw9qFdC5Verswbaxao7vVr6xweyq4fkxTySCCpvkujQFL3eQFqmOy1P_bzOex14PH2S-sGWX3dJIdvobxUeAwIcPbfA9MvE_m0KqdE0LdfqOPuf3IXDDTtyr8iLRr9gld-cV2CsKQQoZA5iFWIvAbudabMy9zXS18CRXmRKTE-XmCaQh3/w640-h480/PXL_20230804_194144072.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the beach at Glacier Lake</td></tr></tbody></table><h2 style="text-align: left;">The Approach to Fairy Meadows</h2><p>The hike up there is grueling for a number of reasons, but it isn't because of the length, which is only four miles. First and foremost is the weight we carried. I didn't weigh my pack but judging from the 45 pounds I carried on the John Muir Trail, I'm guessing at 65 pounds. I carried a tent, sleeping bag, clothes, food, water filter, stove, fuel, 75-meter rope (yup, 75 meters!), our entire rack, jugging gear, harness, shoes, helmet, etc. Next, was the many downed trees we had to negotiate, which we did by climbing over them and sometimes crawling under them. Then the amazing steepness: the crux section gains 2400 feet in 1.9 miles. </p><p>We stayed together for most of the way up, taking many breaks. When conversation dwindled with the effort, I went to my stand-by, hiking, time-killer: Teaching the presidents. I was mildly successful throughout the trip. Hans, ever the feminist, insisted that we name the First Ladies at one point. Backwards. We did better than expected, only getting stumped when we got to Hoover's wife.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qMmfGO1WONk92b51dFpJQeDaRnjXgMIfqIaqkMUbWTR7D5TvkTxtcxor_5eRlQDtbIbD3odF1ghMp3PevQNS6S2l69wG4kAKwz6wsfpgvX57XjqWQb_jbAwdJ54hxbNS6aTFA6RKPvu8SFpfwAPNvh1L7o7_l_Gxc1pbJzCt1KxRdlDYXJKe/s4032/IMG_4904.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qMmfGO1WONk92b51dFpJQeDaRnjXgMIfqIaqkMUbWTR7D5TvkTxtcxor_5eRlQDtbIbD3odF1ghMp3PevQNS6S2l69wG4kAKwz6wsfpgvX57XjqWQb_jbAwdJ54hxbNS6aTFA6RKPvu8SFpfwAPNvh1L7o7_l_Gxc1pbJzCt1KxRdlDYXJKe/w640-h480/IMG_4904.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steep going, but a beautiful, lush forest</td></tr></tbody></table><p>When Hans needed an extended break, I went on ahead to find our camp and be prepared to help with loads. Ever since Hans' fall on El Cap where he broke both of his legs, he hasn't been able to hike very well. In fact, he has to wear a carbon-fiber contraption that transfers all the weight from his foot directly to his upper calf -- just below his knee. This takes all the weight off his lower leg. My buddy Mark has needed the same contraption after getting his ankle fused. I knew going into this adventure that my biggest contribution to the climb would be my ability to carry weight up and down from the lake to camp and to the climb. I was eager to pay my dues early, as I knew I'd be relying on Hans once on the wall.</p><p>I continued up to Fairy Meadows and was completely blown away. What a collection of ridiculously hard peaks! Walls everywhere, mostly without ledges, mostly with some vegetation in the vertical cracks. Pocket glaciers in every cirque and longer ones lurking beneath the ever-moving talus.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBz77bDB7RCwzyrxj6IrowO0KEHltMylZr5HinrRMOxuFdMjGzHSCFsoGQqkwndS0ExjQf5B6cJ3dUKlRRQ5t0D7edQ0yd1qfb92JgVKIWyOvV-l3x4CJhMoV-EYCCi8lpieSLTXnhlhoEfIBGykljRmZcGZUab1CmtQ9vt9Gz006TgRqu06e5/s4032/IMG_4915.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBz77bDB7RCwzyrxj6IrowO0KEHltMylZr5HinrRMOxuFdMjGzHSCFsoGQqkwndS0ExjQf5B6cJ3dUKlRRQ5t0D7edQ0yd1qfb92JgVKIWyOvV-l3x4CJhMoV-EYCCi8lpieSLTXnhlhoEfIBGykljRmZcGZUab1CmtQ9vt9Gz006TgRqu06e5/w640-h480/IMG_4915.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hans crawling under a log on the approach</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>I selected the camp on the left, below a huge boulder. It was further away from the main path, sheltered and quite cozy. I put up my tent, filtered some water for the crew, and was unpacking when the Hanster (Sheri's nickname for Hans and when he heard that, he started referring to Sheri as the Sheri-ster) and the Godfather (my eventual nickname for the childless, 3-time godfather Scott) arrived, carrying light loads. They had dumped more than half of their weight an hour down the trail. I quickly set off to retrieve the rest of Hans' gear, which included his 15-pound semi-portable bomb shelter, which he called a tent. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrtZ7JAjHCCMgOLz7OqvlP1kVkzHMjNAQPz4PIULA-D-x66ya05syGPgtiJkhX2v4zZk5KmK66KKqSGNLrIPKBoSZvweu1aIetftfTzxAMMLGlr8iQGB3Izc-Vay02Ks5FoFpSoGD6GGvPyqn7P1JbwuAcQG4cUozq_PJLC_TeFrpXjxuidym_/s4032/IMG_4968.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrtZ7JAjHCCMgOLz7OqvlP1kVkzHMjNAQPz4PIULA-D-x66ya05syGPgtiJkhX2v4zZk5KmK66KKqSGNLrIPKBoSZvweu1aIetftfTzxAMMLGlr8iQGB3Izc-Vay02Ks5FoFpSoGD6GGvPyqn7P1JbwuAcQG4cUozq_PJLC_TeFrpXjxuidym_/w640-h480/IMG_4968.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p>I found the gear a mile down the steep trail and loaded it into the empty pack I brought down. I took some of the heavy gear that the Godfather left as well and started back up. Only a tenth of a mile up, I met the Godfather coming down to retrieve his cached gear. All in, it took six hours before all our gear was at camp. We still had tons of daylight and we made plans for a semi-casual start the next day. </p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Fixing Day</h2><p>We left camp at 7:37 a.m. and were surprised by how grueling the approach was and how loose and dangerous the talus was. The Tower isn't visible from camp, but it came into view early and I blanched. It was more intimidating in person. The wall is huge and has just a couple of ledges on the lower half and absolutely zero ledges of any size on the upper 800 feet. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PoJHJeEPG4PAse39-Jj5IB9oEtFHeR7B1QSK63RRwMD-hJRdhk78kaEyl6m0026-ufx0Bg91Lws62VQb_IMhDXW5_Aim4Ms38_gPnYHui0RzKWSvJni7yeX0lag6nf7emKQc-w_zLt-V1jB9PaJBSW2VDyDzLz0fameSBhtlaPDtQqEn2UqB/s4032/IMG_4640.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PoJHJeEPG4PAse39-Jj5IB9oEtFHeR7B1QSK63RRwMD-hJRdhk78kaEyl6m0026-ufx0Bg91Lws62VQb_IMhDXW5_Aim4Ms38_gPnYHui0RzKWSvJni7yeX0lag6nf7emKQc-w_zLt-V1jB9PaJBSW2VDyDzLz0fameSBhtlaPDtQqEn2UqB/w640-h480/IMG_4640.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>I was a bit in front and went too high on the final talus bit and had to traverse horribly loose ground. Hans and Scott followed cairns (what a good idea!) more up a gully of talus and we arrived at the base around the same time. The wall is quite steep at the start and the upper headwall seems to lean over the lower part. I knew it actually didn't do this, but we all agreed that via some optical illusion, the upper half appeared overhanging and thus added to my intimidation. Hans, of course, was nonplussed. The Godfather? Oh, he was plussed alright. Over plussed, I imagine.</p><p>Hans started leading, dragging our two 70-meter ropes behind him. He scooted up the first pitch quickly and linked it into the second pitch, where he set up a hanging belay in the corner. The Godfather and I would climb at the same time, with me about twenty feet above him (at least initially) so that if I came off I wouldn't hit him. We each climbed on separate ropes.</p><p>I found the first pitch quite challenging. It was only rated 5.8 but seemed more like 5.9 to me. There was some wetness and some loose rock at the start that unnerved me. I didn't want to pull off something and bean the Godfather. He'd probably have me whacked for that. Steep jamming led to a pull to the right and then committing liebacking solved the next problem. Below me, the Godfather was having some trouble. The first time he came off, his rope caught my pack and pulled me sideways. I didn't come off, but it wasn't ideal for him to be falling while simul-seconding.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVT_Xw5HvyXpXSS3m5jRlVrG23KW3FLBnrdWKzux-qsOPKoLi9lO54y2dSvP2jltObIDxW7a_-iLMf92mFjwr9CqSBsupX5-oNwoAtYvjWgnbO__qVuetuP2ivXXhA5pujBQtV14pxCByPnly0YnliJRFOGnU7UQKTnHXRQqF9WHdyVvsWxK1/s3264/PXL_20230805_165450446.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVT_Xw5HvyXpXSS3m5jRlVrG23KW3FLBnrdWKzux-qsOPKoLi9lO54y2dSvP2jltObIDxW7a_-iLMf92mFjwr9CqSBsupX5-oNwoAtYvjWgnbO__qVuetuP2ivXXhA5pujBQtV14pxCByPnly0YnliJRFOGnU7UQKTnHXRQqF9WHdyVvsWxK1/w480-h640/PXL_20230805_165450446.jpg" width="480" /></a></p><p>I rolled right into the second pitch, rated 5.9, and felt it was 5.10. I was off to a rough start. But the Godfather was having a rougher time. A little ways up the second pitch I looked down to see that he had switched to jugging the rope. I didn't even know he was carrying jugs. Hans and I carried jugs up to the base because we thought we might be fixing lines today, though we didn't carry them up the climb. We stashed them at the base of the route. But the Godfather was jugging already. Hmmm. I started to have serious doubts whether the Godfather was prepared for this climb. Those doubts were reinforced when I noticed his jugging technique, which was non-existent. Anyone that's jugged a line before without really knowing how to do it can attest that it is incredibly tiring. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQRRaafbDL-YxxvjvlgdSW5334LKAZi03SiW-0a299RV3-zWcjrkuklazWf52YnZey6s26KJxXxP7H2F7np23XZkOFtT8JbeRquu1fCa-DeyOPn7NcyBmG4KNygwHGcz67xnmF6l2g26HZxqgzejP6BOCg4f6GBmsRKyN7ZBn5LyyG_-MHeI1/s4032/IMG_4664.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQRRaafbDL-YxxvjvlgdSW5334LKAZi03SiW-0a299RV3-zWcjrkuklazWf52YnZey6s26KJxXxP7H2F7np23XZkOFtT8JbeRquu1fCa-DeyOPn7NcyBmG4KNygwHGcz67xnmF6l2g26HZxqgzejP6BOCg4f6GBmsRKyN7ZBn5LyyG_-MHeI1/w640-h480/IMG_4664.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hans starting up the first pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I got up to the belay, clipped in and readied myself to belay Hans. When the Godfather arrived he was huffing and puffing so badly that I knew he couldn't sustain that effort for 16 more pitches. Hans cruised up the next pitch, which started with some burly wide 5.9 climbing and then finished with a more casual 10a traverse around the huge roof above us. He belayed at the top of the third pitch.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0j_vuO4PewdRG8LAnBlRrn-sbCfafIuXeqBIuTPIuI4IoOKypvEBZ37Rpu2X6yucrq8dI20wMA8F5SGprxMNmaPanB_oz4kQQBpaffF5ckv2UiV5VEqkRdxl7XMQcEmjvS_1DTrqh9zUUn8xLI-PzURjLPp7an3YyU-HqWKsnTt_KBkKkGVE7/s1604/LFT-Pitch1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1604" data-original-width="1204" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0j_vuO4PewdRG8LAnBlRrn-sbCfafIuXeqBIuTPIuI4IoOKypvEBZ37Rpu2X6yucrq8dI20wMA8F5SGprxMNmaPanB_oz4kQQBpaffF5ckv2UiV5VEqkRdxl7XMQcEmjvS_1DTrqh9zUUn8xLI-PzURjLPp7an3YyU-HqWKsnTt_KBkKkGVE7/w480-h640/LFT-Pitch1.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After some discussion, we decided that Scott should continue jugging. I immediately got my foot stuck in the wide crack and pulled on the rope above me so that I could thrash wildly about to free my foot. The rest of the pitch was reasonable for me. When I got to the belay, I put Hans on belay and he led up the fourth pitch while Scott continued to jug below. I watched Hans and tried to give some advice to Scott about turning the roof. </p><p>The fourth pitch was rated 5.7, but it seemed a bit stiff, too, but not too bad. There is a foot-side ledge at the top of this pitch and once we were all there, we had a powwow. I knew Hans wanted to continue because he didn't want to do the approach a second time. We hemmed and hawed for ten minutes. I wanted to go down and I think Scott did too. We had got it into our minds that today was just a scoping/fixing day. I said, "No offense intended, Scott, but I have my doubts whether you're ready for this climb." He took my comment well and wondered also. He said, "I'm just not used to this aid climbing." He'd use that phrase a few more times throughout this trip and it bothered me a bit. This wasn't supposed to be an aid climb. Hans and I weren't aid climbing. But if you can't free climb, then aid is necessary. He must have suspected he couldn't free (or even French free) the route since he had brought jugs. I didn't know then and I don't know now what conversations he had with Hans on how he'd get up this route.</p><p>Scott has a long and impressive climbing resume, but the one thing he lacked was any big wall experience and the LFT is most definitely a big wall. We would later discuss this quite a bit. What's the definition of a big wall? A route that takes a normal party more than a day? Yes, but that isn't enough. It can't be a ridge climb. It needs to be a wall. It needs to be more continuous. It needs to have few ledges. It needs to be at least a thousand feet tall. It has to be pretty hard, as 1000 feet of 5.9 can be done in a single day by an average party. The definition is amorphous, but that's what we came up with.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr60-S3L8N0VGqxr8NvNiBi5j30wGPPMKPfwGULll4g6aNfQTZoUOrCx02wLrwUKdooNFqmrtCnDrRnR2z8PavL6rZH3DQBFBICfEmm5C6g69wVCK436ZF-p1PQrnYZwx-Gcg37ux6xdy9AGwgUj3_QPGMavuMiBmCWhjPtZJuP4RvshZoG70B/s4032/PXL_20230805_190237259.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr60-S3L8N0VGqxr8NvNiBi5j30wGPPMKPfwGULll4g6aNfQTZoUOrCx02wLrwUKdooNFqmrtCnDrRnR2z8PavL6rZH3DQBFBICfEmm5C6g69wVCK436ZF-p1PQrnYZwx-Gcg37ux6xdy9AGwgUj3_QPGMavuMiBmCWhjPtZJuP4RvshZoG70B/w480-h640/PXL_20230805_190237259.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down as Scott (jugging) and I climb the second pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Scott lacked crack climbing experience and the lower wall was all crack climbing. Most of the route on the upper section is crack climbing as well. We were a team of three, but I knew our chances were better as a team of two. We'd all come so far and spent so much and we all wanted the summit, but I wanted it more. Scott hadn't even heard of this climb until a couple of months ago. It was a complicated dynamic since Scott was sort of a client of Hans. We didn't resolve it there, hanging on the wall. Eventually, Hans says, "I vote we go down." He did that for team unity. I knew his real vote was to go up, but he didn't want to pressure his junior partners. He's a consummate teammate. Then he added, "But if we do, we're giving Scott a jugging lesson!" Scott and I quickly agreed and we started down.</p><p>Hans coiled one of our ropes while I fixed the other. I went down first, carrying the second rope. I stopped at the top of the third pitch and fixed the middle of the first rope, taking care to make sure there was enough slack so that my partners wouldn't have any trouble rappelling the line and switching over here. The reason for fixing the rope in multiple locations was to reduce the stretch. A full 70-meter rope will stretch at least twenty feet with one person at the end of it.</p><p>I continued down below the big roof to the hanging belay at the top of the second pitch. I fixed the end of the first rope here and also the start of the second rope. I continued down to the top of the first pitch and fixed again before continuing to the ground. Scott followed and Hans came last, fixing the rope in a couple of additional places. The key fixing point was just below the roof on the third pitch. This way, the rope wouldn't be free-hanging. This would make the jugging the next day much easier.</p><p>Back at the base, Hans held class: Jugging 101. Well versed in jugging, I still listened intently. He stressed safety and always (almost always) being clipped in twice. Scott paid close attention and asked many questions. Hans also swapped out Scott's aiders with more secure jugging straps. This way Scott's foot could remain in the strap much more securely, saving lots of time. </p><p>After practice, we stowed all our gear in a trash bag under a huge boulder and hiked out. We didn't get back to camp until 4 p.m. or so. We still had all of Fairy Meadows to ourselves. We relaxed, ate, drank, and talked strategy. I was shocked and relieved when Scott announced that his summit would be the halfway ledge the next day. He was sacrificing his chance at the summit to increase our chances. It was an incredibly noble thing to do. I selfishly jumped at this offer perhaps a bit too quickly. Hans was more reticent and said that we'd see how things were going the next day. </p><h2 style="text-align: left;">The Ascent</h2><p>We did start a lot earlier this day, but it still wasn't any alpine start. We weren't hiking until 5:30 a.m., more than an hour after it got light. I can't blame my companions for this. I could have pushed for an earlier start, but I didn't. The approach was complicated enough where daylight was an advantage. In the end it hardly mattered, as we'd use up most of a 24-hour day.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyByqG6j37x5PNOD3y7pCMf9VBTEWfZUEmbBccj17c2-wdm20QI56e6zuqpIGWECLJNHp6cBTw4ewq79poJ2Ip9xa-g8xLMD40O59vbyEK7iUUNQujjMVEjxsfn-1t8Q3HpVhMBcWJpn5rA_VGCCOIQrWXRheL6sBEkfJk5myRjC3slEj7u6XD/s882/lotus_topo.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="645" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyByqG6j37x5PNOD3y7pCMf9VBTEWfZUEmbBccj17c2-wdm20QI56e6zuqpIGWECLJNHp6cBTw4ewq79poJ2Ip9xa-g8xLMD40O59vbyEK7iUUNQujjMVEjxsfn-1t8Q3HpVhMBcWJpn5rA_VGCCOIQrWXRheL6sBEkfJk5myRjC3slEj7u6XD/w468-h640/lotus_topo.gif" width="468" /></a></p><p>The approach was a lot easier carrying lighter loads. Plus, we knew the best route. Still, it took us nearly two hours. We drank, ate, and stowed some gear at the base. I started up the lines first, at 8 a.m. Scott went next, starting up as soon as I transferred to the next fixed location. We had the first rope fixed just twenty feet up and then at the top of the first pitch before it ended at the top of the second pitch. Hence, Scott could start jugging as soon as I passed the first anchor at twenty feet.</p><p>Hans had the upper rope overlapping the lower rope and his plan was to start last but pass Scott when he'd switch to the upper rope early. This worked well. I got to the top of the lines in about 25 minutes and re-packed the gear we left there into that pack and the pack I carried. When Hans came into view over the roof on the third pitch he called up to me, "Get ready to lead." Until then I was assuming he'd lead the entire route, just for speed reasons. I was intimidated by the difficulty of the climbing up to here and the size of the wall, but the climbing above was only 5.7/8 and should be well within my comfort range. I started to gear up and most importantly, get my head in the lead game.</p><p>I started up shortly after Hans arrived to belay me. Scott still wasn't in sight and, in fact, I wouldn't see him until the big bivy ledge six pitches higher and ten pitches off the ground. The climbing looked runout and I started out cautiously, testing every hold and searching for solid gear. I soon found my flow and angled up and left across the face towards the start of the chimney system that would run clear to the big ledge. I ran out 35 meters of rope before getting to the next anchor. I debated whether to string the next pitch, looking at the remnants of my rack and trying to calculate the difficulties above. Eventually, I went for it and continued up.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddkCe12XvrjZnwz-NlbmJMsn3fUvdxYtHFMESfXaAmS0hrVYdsMnsPB0zdhRNc6oMkKXmnyavTjYYcxMMOPvGRx3c2VBHrf-uaf0uPWd0oHlpDYbAgZXU6XgMXOiaPMZH_xJ-s4U9uAeCPGJDTN_oTFxGu7d5pvKDlErMECAeLl-S4a8AK529/s4032/IMG_4697.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddkCe12XvrjZnwz-NlbmJMsn3fUvdxYtHFMESfXaAmS0hrVYdsMnsPB0zdhRNc6oMkKXmnyavTjYYcxMMOPvGRx3c2VBHrf-uaf0uPWd0oHlpDYbAgZXU6XgMXOiaPMZH_xJ-s4U9uAeCPGJDTN_oTFxGu7d5pvKDlErMECAeLl-S4a8AK529/w480-h640/IMG_4697.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up at the start of the third chimney pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The chimney is wide -- from four to maybe ten feet -- and shallow. For the most part it isn't chimney climbing at all. It is more crack climbing done in an inset. Mostly. I got to the next anchor just as I was running out of rope, making for a massive 70+ meter pitch. Hans followed, carrying the pack and dragging the second rope. When he arrived, he immediately clicked in the trailing rope to a Microtraxion and called down to Scott that he was on belay. While I re-racked, he put me on belay and had me take a drink of water and eat a mouthful of food. I'm an efficient climber. I change-over at belays very fast. Yet, compared to Hans, I'm a bumbling newbie. He's an absolute master and it was a joy and a thrill to climb with him.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsN0eWnLPu3YUe7O--Ot6i8BC2vJ0kZxQsDlBynvAQqnO1wSXw5NNFWzEaNsqkAtH0QlePdhig-txr0YF96AZkjHBBIxQFJ-KHSEXo1o4D6QaPSE_9ASc-s757fy29j5l7EDhRAHc2KdOhLmHwBXpv7nh2ogLbVqkvAaBpdPXdxwrP9s8oz-Qc/s4032/IMG_6271.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsN0eWnLPu3YUe7O--Ot6i8BC2vJ0kZxQsDlBynvAQqnO1wSXw5NNFWzEaNsqkAtH0QlePdhig-txr0YF96AZkjHBBIxQFJ-KHSEXo1o4D6QaPSE_9ASc-s757fy29j5l7EDhRAHc2KdOhLmHwBXpv7nh2ogLbVqkvAaBpdPXdxwrP9s8oz-Qc/w480-h640/IMG_6271.heic" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down the 4th or 5th chimney pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I continued to lead all the way to the big ledge with Hans belaying me and Scott at the same time, via a Grigri and a Micro. This is the method that I advocated for, having used it very successfully to climb Squawstruck with Mark and Derek. While Hans is very comfortable climbing while dragging two 70-meter ropes and managing the simul-belaying and the stacking of both ropes from a hanging belay, I am not. I can do it, but it is a heavy chore, both in climbing and in management. With this method, I could lead on a single line. I'd generally take as long to lead the next pitch as Scott would to follow the previous one, so this worked quite well. </p><p>On the seventh pitch, I was using feet-back chimney technique when my back dislodged a loose flake that I didn't notice since it was behind me. It was probably four inches thick and two feet by one foot -- large enough to kill if it hit you. I yelled "Rock, rock, rock!" as loud and as long as I could. The rock careened down the chimney towards Hans and Scott, but both were able to duck behind shelter. Yikes. I yelled down my apologies and promised to be much more careful as I continued up. They were both nice about it, knowing that sometimes rockfall is part of alpine climbing and that's true, but it's also true that if I'd been more aware, I'd have avoided this horrible mistake. </p><p>The ninth pitch ended the chimney on a wide ledge that cut way to the left, where the belay was an old rope slung around a piano-sized block. Above was a confusing set of cracks and slots. Some old tat hung from the clean corner on the far right -- basically continuing straight up from where the chimney ended, but that looked hard to me and I falsely interpreted the tat as a bail sling. Instead I started up above the piano block. This was a huge mistake.</p><p>I climbed up fairly easily for a bit and then reached up for a hold and pulled off a big chunk of rock. Luckily, I hadn't committed to it yet and pushed it back into the wall, but it barely held fast. The rock was big enough to cause considerable damage to Hans, directly below, and tethered to the only anchor. I called out the situation and moved gingerly up and right to a stance where I could get in a piece. I didn't want to leave that rock perched above Hans like the Sword of Damocles. I reached back over to it and grasped it in my left hand, but it was too heavy for me to be sure I could toss it beyond Hans. I pushed it back. A smaller rock was also loose and I tossed that out away from the wall and my partners below. I tried again with the big rock and moved it in front of me where I could get both hands on it. Now I had the power to wing it out away from Hans and did so. </p><p>It was obvious to me then that I'd gone the wrong way. I downclimbed to the right and eventually traversed back into the steep corner with the tat. This was the route and the only way that would lead to the big ledge. If I had continued up on the left, I'd have missed the big ledge altogether. It was a terrible route-finding decision, but I corrected. The rest of the pitch was challenging, but on solid rock, though with some spaced out gear. It felt maybe 5.9 to me. I was elated to pull onto the huge bivy ledge that marked the halfway point of the route, ten pitches up the wall.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcB-wUqHQPaU8W5S0ErZMHJhCiYwfOQj47XM-8a2FS5NlznTovq2vEvQKnehwYAGfP0ymTZH8efWCea2oyvhKw2XDBTqM75GZXq27Kmm7MaEvd6aw9eqXjGJxRMV43IwXkRHUuxh2kd6mE0JNmz-bclVylJ7pzwtl0CzMcIXds8R529kyjS4Bz/s4032/IMG_6276.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcB-wUqHQPaU8W5S0ErZMHJhCiYwfOQj47XM-8a2FS5NlznTovq2vEvQKnehwYAGfP0ymTZH8efWCea2oyvhKw2XDBTqM75GZXq27Kmm7MaEvd6aw9eqXjGJxRMV43IwXkRHUuxh2kd6mE0JNmz-bclVylJ7pzwtl0CzMcIXds8R529kyjS4Bz/w640-h480/IMG_6276.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott nearing the top of the 10th pitch, where the bivy ledge is located.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Hans followed quickly and while he chilled and prepared to take over the lead, I belayed Scott up. Scott had trouble on this last pitch, hanging on the rope two or three times and seeming to confirm my 5.9 rating. Since the climbing above was considerably harder than this pitch, it seemed a fitting place for Scott to stop. It was so strange to leave Scott on this ledge, over 1000 feet off the ground with no rope, but it was the right thing to do. At least if we wanted to make the summit. I think. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOojyT-s4rR2wN6j4qpeQtzEMwKOtFDlKah2ICf07Xhc1Bukr5bIvpZ06s7wTOAKgVYaH-qOXvM8PLhCdk1TmyvDt-xeAcZY5vsJSdAOhwD9d5onSkoyJh6Sn2c_38pwe1IXoJSy0qSPahzvN-NJQpwo5Z5b35KKl1LMqKtaNT9am4G8QJyfug/s3264/PXL_20230806_201753378.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOojyT-s4rR2wN6j4qpeQtzEMwKOtFDlKah2ICf07Xhc1Bukr5bIvpZ06s7wTOAKgVYaH-qOXvM8PLhCdk1TmyvDt-xeAcZY5vsJSdAOhwD9d5onSkoyJh6Sn2c_38pwe1IXoJSy0qSPahzvN-NJQpwo5Z5b35KKl1LMqKtaNT9am4G8QJyfug/w480-h640/PXL_20230806_201753378.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All of us at the bivy ledge with the headwall looming above</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The first pitch off the ledge is a gorgeous corner with an incipient crack and technical, slippery feet. Hans moved steadily up it, but even called out, "Watch me" at one point. When I tried to upgrade the rating from 5.9+ to 5.10 Hans would only say, "Well, it won't be downgraded." And, "I don't usually say 'Watch me' on 5.9." I fell once following this pitch when my foot popped off a tiny nubbin. The climbing was super fun, though, and sustained. The pitch has two alternate endings. You can stop on a lower ledge and then venture out left on the next pitch, supposedly to easier climbing on the wall, but since we didn't go that way, I cannot comment further. We continued up to the small, flat stance at the very right edge of the wall. The view down to the right was vertiginous and dropped more than a thousand feet. This was also the last ledge of any size before reaching the summit.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZvAxFRZclr_Td9rt6X0XaxXMJA_JsdlCyxtenx5dNRDMXV8PfsbwbIO1gqJ6PjF3PnT6h15kxD4DdKWda9wBnKA8-JUiiZkxbJ_TlkBslcpG1Hxm_iaLVRrHoPy9ijuJzjtkvv-8EzD_nkK9NV_uNFZy-7BGxKC76-rP4EjA8QZdMMez9kmc/s4032/IMG_6278.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZvAxFRZclr_Td9rt6X0XaxXMJA_JsdlCyxtenx5dNRDMXV8PfsbwbIO1gqJ6PjF3PnT6h15kxD4DdKWda9wBnKA8-JUiiZkxbJ_TlkBslcpG1Hxm_iaLVRrHoPy9ijuJzjtkvv-8EzD_nkK9NV_uNFZy-7BGxKC76-rP4EjA8QZdMMez9kmc/w480-h640/IMG_6278.heic" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hans leading the 11th pitch -- right off the bivy ledge</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The next pitch was considered the crux by the party we met at the lake. It's rated 10c and is quite sustained. Hans followed the crack on the right for a bit, then moved left to the next crack before moving back to the right crack. Most of the footholds were these gray intrusions that stuck out by either a millimeter or a couple of inches. The bigger ones served as “thank god" handholds as well. A lot of the handholds were side pulls on the cracks with the occasional fingerjam. Hans made good use of the offset cams that we brought but didn't place a single stopper on the entire climb. The descent would be another matter–see below.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqi1ZKP3Xyvz9CKCJ2oAaLX6NiVVbXMmaBbivd0RgQFAGJp_B2DwJB2JlkoE6NCh5L0gGWkTtqJ2awDYdce1nQeT7NERbmUAcUm-Fnu9Ea34uEtodwj4ukkGtimr3srDc-qgiHYpoV3o2plxmzAaVfd7hmpdWaMeGr5vhvrTmmEgdLlAhmlwdM/s3264/PXL_20230806_205842947.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqi1ZKP3Xyvz9CKCJ2oAaLX6NiVVbXMmaBbivd0RgQFAGJp_B2DwJB2JlkoE6NCh5L0gGWkTtqJ2awDYdce1nQeT7NERbmUAcUm-Fnu9Ea34uEtodwj4ukkGtimr3srDc-qgiHYpoV3o2plxmzAaVfd7hmpdWaMeGr5vhvrTmmEgdLlAhmlwdM/w640-h480/PXL_20230806_205842947.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down as I finish up the 11th pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I fell off once following this pitch as well. My pull on the rope on pitch three and these two falls were my only taints, but I also didn't lead any of the hard pitches. The pitch ended in the first of six consecutive hanging belays. Hans continued in the lead, as he would to the summit. I threaded our second 70-meter rope through a Micro so that Hans only had the weight of the ropes between him and the belay. </p><p>The next pitch was easier but still stout. In fact, the whole climb is stout. There is no easy rambling on this route save for maybe the top hundred feet. The Nose on El Cap has more easy rambling than this route. Each foot gained involved real work. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiXkfV15TMVB5PfFHR1JUoNn2CMG52PUn2m2fesg-iEECDg-6w387f3iGz9svhh1GQzJsgh2OiYRyXiMOVzUnu_qBjrkYqRFlpTgOkNebSF2FBfW6Vapwxt0YQvY7LrF-y-_3lfgKAMBxwfxL2lClfVQj3TufH5Poxm7f3_AWZ-6qV50brELMA/s4032/IMG_6281.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiXkfV15TMVB5PfFHR1JUoNn2CMG52PUn2m2fesg-iEECDg-6w387f3iGz9svhh1GQzJsgh2OiYRyXiMOVzUnu_qBjrkYqRFlpTgOkNebSF2FBfW6Vapwxt0YQvY7LrF-y-_3lfgKAMBxwfxL2lClfVQj3TufH5Poxm7f3_AWZ-6qV50brELMA/w480-h640/IMG_6281.heic" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hans leading the crux 12th pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Before getting to the crux roof, we had to negotiate another roof. I was surprised by this, as no one seems to talk about this first roof. It's not as square as the upper roof, but it does overhang. Like the upper roof, there appears to be three cracks splitting it. Also like the upper roof, the right-most option was the least steep and appeared the easiest way to go. Hans opted for this choice, but to get to this crack he had to climb right up to the overhang via the middle option. He then did a challenging traverse to the right. As he started this he grabbed a flake that flexed and nearly broke off. He uttered an exclamation of fright before easing off it. He cruised the overhanging section and downplayed the difficulties. I thought the traverse had a 5.10 move on it and the obtuse dihedral through the overhang seemed pretty burly. I surmounted this via mostly liebacking with a bit of stemming to the right and hip scumming on the left.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqbxsRU3huaYAiMqr9U41RETTxvdNF8_iz54n4k2JN-jNJrwMnTEfJFMGJJWVBRH9Eg2gjyAoJ9fiBQhCtRNrJmMhXAKjkH0HOi8pvhi-TUBeYqGoSfpnkkrNN97ZPH0hbF9lR0AbErVSSyaSmNv9V9MmwpbzPSpmSDpS1ccbtcrbufGng5-l/s3264/PXL_20230806_210024801.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqbxsRU3huaYAiMqr9U41RETTxvdNF8_iz54n4k2JN-jNJrwMnTEfJFMGJJWVBRH9Eg2gjyAoJ9fiBQhCtRNrJmMhXAKjkH0HOi8pvhi-TUBeYqGoSfpnkkrNN97ZPH0hbF9lR0AbErVSSyaSmNv9V9MmwpbzPSpmSDpS1ccbtcrbufGng5-l/w640-h480/PXL_20230806_210024801.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up the route from the top of the 11th pitch...I think</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Above this first roof, we did another longish pitch up to a belay about fifty feet below the crux roof. We were still hugging the right side of the face and nearly straight below the "dirty 10c" rightmost option. Hans drooled over the leftmost option, which appeared to be a perfect handcrack through a very square (two 90-degree bends), three-foot (at least) roof. Turning this looked hard as it didn't seem possible to avoid dangling while turning the lip. Also, just below the roof, the crack was wide. It seemed to be at least offwidth and maybe even a squeeze chimney. He opted for the right variation and I was relieved.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35xFlPSrF0-YIN1ZWsOqnix-qM0BQ3p2kcXpN1CZ9kus20RuoR250x3lkhJfNQdmnd0w3a7VM-RKp6ahIE_Q_IvSYYaS0nlKHZL7JEG3idibBj0fmlkncCbJBb5YTUEsuytR5kv3LoHgp7t345oUvhfI-L6erKIN5UmNyfGShXKN9t7kMgNpk/s4032/PXL_20230806_214353604.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35xFlPSrF0-YIN1ZWsOqnix-qM0BQ3p2kcXpN1CZ9kus20RuoR250x3lkhJfNQdmnd0w3a7VM-RKp6ahIE_Q_IvSYYaS0nlKHZL7JEG3idibBj0fmlkncCbJBb5YTUEsuytR5kv3LoHgp7t345oUvhfI-L6erKIN5UmNyfGShXKN9t7kMgNpk/w640-h480/PXL_20230806_214353604.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Following the 12th pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Hans moved up on the edge of the face, savoring the massive exposure to our right. He found some "crunchy" rock and moved carefully. There were some unique fins of rock and he climbed by pinching them and nestling cams between them when they were deemed solid. Then he moved back left just a bit to get into the bottom of a bombay chimney. It looked scary from below because I wasn't sure of the rock quality, but Hans was raving about the climbing and enjoying himself. Following this chimney would be the crux for me, as my pack made squeezing up the chimney challenging and I had to turn to face into the chimney because of this. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5p8W8jaBXKX4plLsJXtLGW7rRt2fS5hPQOdpwAMn0_Qwfqv8pFVuVrW4BcC4HrCwL-Vp3ewenSq5VNFg6BTw_82bvxSVkZCy7YN2qSsPyIDw5q-APhaYgTU-ZhPFnQIYkatlf9Ol7PBPVPasbQ1Jqgd89Q65jO2gJwQ29pKk4sjqwiUSVlloa/s4032/PXL_20230806_214706495.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5p8W8jaBXKX4plLsJXtLGW7rRt2fS5hPQOdpwAMn0_Qwfqv8pFVuVrW4BcC4HrCwL-Vp3ewenSq5VNFg6BTw_82bvxSVkZCy7YN2qSsPyIDw5q-APhaYgTU-ZhPFnQIYkatlf9Ol7PBPVPasbQ1Jqgd89Q65jO2gJwQ29pKk4sjqwiUSVlloa/w480-h640/PXL_20230806_214706495.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Following a stellar crack</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Above the chimney Hans was tempted to continue straight up. He said the climbing looked reasonable and fun. I called up that the climbers we chatted with said to go straight left for about thirty feet to the belay. After a bit, he relented and traversed to the belay. This belay must have been directly above the perfect-handcrack variation. Again, there was no ledge, so we hung from the anchor.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgseEYoURc8usIJ5KLKFlyN7Lnua3IDKc9h7eVfDKS6iC2UpftobZ6-1Y91rkRld7SOZubl9x9-3wLLOhoJDn3AqTLXmVtR62Fo_Evs-cRCxZE5TB9bUuvQCDrkJ7wv0vRKK1sIJ6rct4anNDLqpj086Mp7yjf5Ly_DIuHtKbsSJPUojR_BrLvF/s4032/PXL_20230807_005042850.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgseEYoURc8usIJ5KLKFlyN7Lnua3IDKc9h7eVfDKS6iC2UpftobZ6-1Y91rkRld7SOZubl9x9-3wLLOhoJDn3AqTLXmVtR62Fo_Evs-cRCxZE5TB9bUuvQCDrkJ7wv0vRKK1sIJ6rct4anNDLqpj086Mp7yjf5Ly_DIuHtKbsSJPUojR_BrLvF/w480-h640/PXL_20230807_005042850.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've just emerged from the overhanging bombay chimney at the big roof</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The climbing eased on the next pitch and it was rated 5.9. Hans initially wanted to string this next pitch all the way to the summit. That wouldn't have worked and we didn't do it. We could see the next anchors and it didn't look that far, but it turned out to be around 40 meters. Hans belayed there, at the last of our hanging belays. Following this pitch, I found the climbing pretty reasonable until the last ten feet where the crack I'd been jamming pinched down to green (0.75) camelot-size, and some difficult jamming ended the pitch.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRIsH8T0iUOSuNYlQHbzWJ6ZycirJfqIYOTpMuwhfKSsKhvuPDeih3rGR0TIlHSXE2FtyaoOrEq5uFj_FggptoufTtkZMIh3_Gvi-xHIRFPxzPSPT2z0i1OgSxlGuwjZN_gCLLEvZ_dKiOcMimDVDAwrzR9scp397vZ1iy8NEhhRwCE_TxZtf/s4032/PXL_20230807_005203123.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRIsH8T0iUOSuNYlQHbzWJ6ZycirJfqIYOTpMuwhfKSsKhvuPDeih3rGR0TIlHSXE2FtyaoOrEq5uFj_FggptoufTtkZMIh3_Gvi-xHIRFPxzPSPT2z0i1OgSxlGuwjZN_gCLLEvZ_dKiOcMimDVDAwrzR9scp397vZ1iy8NEhhRwCE_TxZtf/w640-h480/PXL_20230807_005203123.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting the traverse to the belay atop the roof pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our last pitch was huge, as we combined the last two topo pitches into a 230-foot, rope-stretching monster. It started with some legit 5.8 offwidth, but that only lasted about five feet. At least of offwidth moves. The wide crack continued for about 35 meters to a rappel anchor. Hans clipped this and moved directly right for twenty feet across a face where he found the 5.6 hand crack the other climbers told us about. The rope zipped through my device and I yelled up, "Almost out of rope!" He didn't hear me. I cleaned most of the belay and was just about ready to unclip and climb when he yelled down "Off belay!"</p><p>I followed quickly up the pitch, excited to summit this incredible route, this incredible mountain. At the top we could unrope and scramble about to tag all the highest points. The summit area was more than fifty feet wide, though the highest points were along a narrow ridge. The views were extraordinary. I stood in awe of the surrounding peaks and how incredibly difficult each one appeared to be. Standing atop these summits, by any route, looked like a long, dangerous journey.</p><p>We spent about thirty minutes on top, eating and taking photos. We high-fived and embraced. We knew we had a long way to descend and that Scott was waiting for us, but we had worked so hard to get here that we didn't want to rush things too much. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55m3n7JUXjQlsYOCWB_JdYWI8D-RKPm7jd6Eot_8dCrtYl8fyZCiZObIRpX0Ynl7YyRoQYDWaX240sbIyiZKpCzKVEEYiTsnQH4In-7Cwriwbmvqa_KHpJTpRW3FCqNmbGkwdocdE3mWVwSWh4d1p38ZGN8e5eCK11MckrXwEUH-cNqaSlTpW/s3088/IMG_6293.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55m3n7JUXjQlsYOCWB_JdYWI8D-RKPm7jd6Eot_8dCrtYl8fyZCiZObIRpX0Ynl7YyRoQYDWaX240sbIyiZKpCzKVEEYiTsnQH4In-7Cwriwbmvqa_KHpJTpRW3FCqNmbGkwdocdE3mWVwSWh4d1p38ZGN8e5eCK11MckrXwEUH-cNqaSlTpW/w640-h480/IMG_6293.heic" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the summit with Hans pointing out Mt. Proboscis</td></tr></tbody></table><h2 style="text-align: left;">The Descent</h2><p>At first we couldn't locate the summit rappel anchor and thought we might have to downclimb back to the lower anchor. But we looked where we would have put an anchor and, sure enough, it was there. Hans and I simul-rappelled the whole route. Our first two rappels went fine, but after clearing the crux roof on the descent, our rope got stuck when we tried pulling it down. When a rope gets stuck above you, there is immediate stress. At least for me. There are various ways to deal with this problem, but by far the most effective that I've found is to climb with Hans Florine. On a wall like this, there is nothing he hasn't seen. No problem he can't solve. Having done the Nose of El Cap over 100 times and forty other routes on El Cap, when it comes to climbing big granite walls he is if not the world's expert, he's comfortably in the top five. </p><p>I've had to be "the man" in these situations in the past, but when teamed with Hans, it wasn't even discussed who would be climbing back up. That would be like a mother and a toddler deciding who was going to push the stroller. Hans' attitude also set me at ease. He calmly asked for his climbing shoes out of the pack that I carried and rubbed his hands together in delight, saying, "This will be fun without dragging a second rope and without a pack." Indeed, he flew up the pitch, calling it 5.8. This pitch might actually have been part of the route, or at least a variation of the climb. Hans was then going to downclimb the pitch, but I insisted he put in an anchor and make it as bomber as need be. Damn the cost of the cams; I'd be more than happy to cover that.</p><p>We proceeded downwards without further mishap to the bivy ledge where we found a severely bundled-up Godfather. Per the usual, he was in great spirits and excited to see us and talk about our ascent. When he saw our ropes get stuck, he wondered what he'd do if we never made it back down. The rangers had told us that if we did call for help (via the InReach), it would be a minimum of 72 hours before anyone arrived, as the Nahanni Park had no vertical rescue capability. </p><p>We took a short break to repack, eat, and drink while the Godfather threaded the rappel ropes. Before we left this ledge the Godfather informed us that his headlamp was dead. He said it must have turned on in his pack. I asked if he had the headlamp locked off and he responded, "I don't use the lock function." In my fatigued state, I just looked at him with my mouth agape and finally said, "You might want to reconsider that position in the future." </p><p>Hans and I continued to simul-rappel together, but before each rappel, we got Scott onto his rappel device. That way he didn't have to mess with it in the dark. It had the added benefit of basically fixing both lines so that Hans and I didn't need to coordinate the weighting and unweighting of the ropes. We still diligently tied knots in the ends of each rope.</p><p>On our first rappel from the ledge we went too low. At least we found this out days later. The rappel anchor is only 30-40 meters below the ledge and we weren't looking closely until at least 50 meters down. We were baffled at how we could miss the anchor, but miss it we did. We dug out the stoppers and Hans and I set up a 3-stopper anchor that included an RP. The placements looked solid, but they weren't deep because the cracks were shallow. It looked scary and I said so. Hans, still on rappel, clipped into the anchor (equalized with a cordelette), gave himself some slack on his rappel line, and jumped onto the anchor. It shocked me how quickly and assertively he did this, but it made complete sense. Before all three of us were to hang from this anchor, at which point if it blew we'd all be dead, you want to stress test it. He did. We clipped in and called “off rappel.”</p><p>Scott was none too happy with the anchor and I don't blame him, but he didn't harp on it. He clipped in, we pulled the ropes and moved on. We found the next anchor below, but when we pulled the ropes, it got hopelessly snagged above us...again! It was now fully dark. All three of us hung from a two-bolt anchor without even a foothold to stand on. The ground above looked too difficult to climb. I would have sunk into a deep despair if I wasn't teamed with Hans. I knew he'd solve it one way or the other. He wasn't as cheery this time. He didn't yell or curse but hung his head silently for just a moment before telling me the plan.</p><p>I lowered him from our anchor just enough to where he could pendulum to our left, back into the chimney system we had ascended. He switched into his climbing shoes there and moved upwards, not placing any gear at first to reduce rope drag. Unfortunately the rope got caught behind a flake straight left of where I belayed and we couldn't flip it. Hans continued up to the stuck rope, freed it, and looped a long sling around a big flake. He wasn't certain the flake was completely solid. He banged on it as best he could, but then had to commit to it. He called down, "Bill, lower me as smooth as you can. No jerks. No stops. Just completely smooth, slow, continuous descent." We all held our breaths as I stared intently at my Grigri constantly trying to make the rope flow at a consistent speed. I didn't get it perfect, but it was good enough. It was with great relief that he rejoined us and the rope above pulled successfully.</p><p>We continued down without further mishap to the top of the fourth pitch, where Hans and I had left our jugging gear and a bit of food and water. We had been out of both. The last two rappels went smoothly, though the final hanging belay was super cramped.</p><p>We finally hit the ground at 1 a.m. I stripped off my harness, so happy to finally be free of its straps. I kept my helmet on until the ropes were down, though. I pulled the last of our ropes and we all cheered when it fell to the ground. We took our time packing up all our gear. We'd have considerable loads once again, but success makes you strong.</p><p>I trailed behind at the start of the descent, as my knees require me to move extra carefully with such weight, but when Hans' headlamp started to die, I had the only really functional light and slowly led the entire way back to camp. I'd occasionally have to crank my headlamp up to max power to scan the darkness for the next cairn. Each time I did I wished that Derek was with me. He's an expert at this and always fills this role when we are teammates. I'm not known for my night vision. We didn't move at Derek speed, but I did find the cairns and led us back to camp.</p><p>As we approached camp, we could see bright lights burning at the other main campsite. We finally had company. As the headlamps bobbed closer I called out, "I assume you are bringing us freshly brewed hot chocolate to celebrate our success?" Alas, they were not. It was Brooks and Miles on their way into the route, getting a 3:15 a.m. alpine start. They were part of a four-person group along with Dan and Calley (newlyweds), who were going to try the route over two days. </p><p>We continued to camp, arriving at 3:30 a.m. I figured we'd all just pile into our sleeping bags, but Hans and Scott wanted to eat...dinner? Breakfast? In the spirit of solidarity, I joined in and we all sat around eating and talking about the climb. All the work was done. All the stress was over. All the gear was back in camp. Relief and joy washed over us. My 5 a.m. alarm went off before I went to bed, which reminded me of the great Four Yorkshiremen skit by Monty Python: "We used to have to get up at 10 p.m. -- a half-hour before going to bed -- to go work 27 hours per day..." By the time I hit my sleeping bag, I'd been up for about 25 hours.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Crescent Peak...or Unicorn Peak</h2><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9642648507">Strava</a></p><p>Around 9:30 a.m. a marmot started whistling (another name for a marmot is a Whistle Pig). It was incredibly piercing and this marmot did it every 20-30 seconds. It was impossible to sleep through. I laid in my tent contemplating ways to kill whatever was making that sound when I heard Hans chime in, "That's annoying." Indeed, it forced us out of the tent after only four hours of rest.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3MT28bTmPs7naWNYa3xTynq4QCG__A20LW0nx11JLpmA69Fychhcc3zQ9lKc46NLWFoC6bq8J5xxHYri5knwwxJAiqrcp8SD5z1M1ElnuEkFB4P2OSCdTFNI4zBmDqmyre01DgxxZit2YYpfHi7YIkz7C0TZEGC4a97DjmfduALkrMuVafIzX/s4032/IMG_6233.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3MT28bTmPs7naWNYa3xTynq4QCG__A20LW0nx11JLpmA69Fychhcc3zQ9lKc46NLWFoC6bq8J5xxHYri5knwwxJAiqrcp8SD5z1M1ElnuEkFB4P2OSCdTFNI4zBmDqmyre01DgxxZit2YYpfHi7YIkz7C0TZEGC4a97DjmfduALkrMuVafIzX/w640-h480/IMG_6233.heic" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In camp</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The glow of success still emanated from us and all three of us wandered around our site in just our underwear, so nice were the temperatures. We couldn't stop saying how lucky we were. We had perfect weather. Perfect route conditions (dry). And were the only ones on the face. Sheri would later tell me how lucky I get with weather but it isn't alway this way. It took me three tries to climb Half Dome. Three tries to climb Rainier. Two visits to get Slesse. I got super lucky here, but I've paid some dues with bad weather and conditions as well. Not to say that I don't mind being lucky. I've sure been lucky with my climbing partners.</p><p>We lazed about for the rest of the morning, and Miles and Brooks return from the face. It turns out they were not rested enough from the grueling approach hike the day before. Also, it seemed that Miles was a bit wigged out by the size of the wall and wasn't sure he wanted to climb it any longer. These two were experienced alpine rock climbers, with 5.11 routes under their belts, but they hadn't climbed anything this big before. Dan and Calley were bivying up in the boulder field beneath the route. I shuddered at that thought, because of all the rockfall and movement of those rocks, which are all sitting atop a glacier. I'd be afraid of getting crushed.</p><p>We toyed with the idea of going down to the cabin to get more food, though we all still had one dinner left, doing some cragging on the base of the East Huey Spire, or just hanging out. I decided that I was going to try to get to the top of Crescent Peak -- the peak that we stared at from our campsite. The George Bell guide said it was "an easy scramble with careful route finding from Fairy Meadows." That sounded perfect.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMuxGzvV3KmxJoJOX2o1Z0UcEtAz59mxXVGCy4eHy0S6l7Yjfp0-FaPDb9wh7x7YXQokUTMcu5T9idaLqgJLsfjxsVtyCRnSjAoo_n0EwkF9RcPDA_8UoRENV07b6vHGrXTJELXryQE58Y8pZ28anEU1zWuFPoH_bWv4Cicj6PH-W3qsGBd6Zn/s1518/CirqueOpieMap.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1118" data-original-width="1518" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMuxGzvV3KmxJoJOX2o1Z0UcEtAz59mxXVGCy4eHy0S6l7Yjfp0-FaPDb9wh7x7YXQokUTMcu5T9idaLqgJLsfjxsVtyCRnSjAoo_n0EwkF9RcPDA_8UoRENV07b6vHGrXTJELXryQE58Y8pZ28anEU1zWuFPoH_bWv4Cicj6PH-W3qsGBd6Zn/w640-h472/CirqueOpieMap.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>The above diagram isn't exactly right, as we stayed to the right of the creek on the steep climb up to Fairy Meadows, following the well-marked trail. Also, it isn't clear that there are two summits where Crescent Peak and Unicorn Peak are shown. The topo looks like this (the higher summit is the one to the north):</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUFIwYr-xCTN1OmSo1jl0ghqLW4TfrN97w_Be9TBMSyjpoFogQ5yGOT6C78ngpoRk2Y2Rh7QVC3hIMdacfILu6N6bruEog8POljTyhFEByPN98AFrUe3EdndsgJkCyPnx0EsHFlOMH1u4SmCOwONJMy93XZBHpEFnvX-4qP4KiWSiJKkzBloK/s1528/CrescentPeakTopo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="938" data-original-width="1528" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUFIwYr-xCTN1OmSo1jl0ghqLW4TfrN97w_Be9TBMSyjpoFogQ5yGOT6C78ngpoRk2Y2Rh7QVC3hIMdacfILu6N6bruEog8POljTyhFEByPN98AFrUe3EdndsgJkCyPnx0EsHFlOMH1u4SmCOwONJMy93XZBHpEFnvX-4qP4KiWSiJKkzBloK/w640-h392/CrescentPeakTopo.png" width="640" /></a></div><p>Neither Hans nor Scott was interested in joining me, so I went solo. They still weren't sure whether they'd be there when I got back down. They promised to leave a note if they left and if they did, I'd come down the next morning to join them. </p><p>My topo doesn't have a name for this peak, so I'll assume it was Crescent Peak. My initial line of ascent wasn't great, but I nailed the lower section on the way down. The key to the lower section is getting into a horribly loose gully. It sucks, but it doesn't last long. I was super careful and hugged the ascender's left side, trying to stay on or at least be grabbing semi-solid rock. I crossed right at the top of the gully and immediately got onto more solid ground and spotted my first cairn. Sweet.</p><p>I followed steep ramps with a mixture of grass and talus, as I zigged back and forth a bit, eventually gaining lower-angled ground where I could hike more easily. This led me up towards a steep face above with a prominent, rounded buttress on the left. At the base of this buttress I could look further left to a horrible, grass-coated, steep slab. I wanted nothing to do with that death terrain. Instead I forged a low 5th-class route up the buttress via two 50-foot bulges. I found rappel anchors at the top of each of them, but I hadn’t brought a rope with me. I thought a lot about my friend Bailee, who died on similar terrain in RMNP last month. As I soloed up and down these sections, I took everything super slow and tested and re-tested every hold. Probably around 5.3 for two 50-foot bulges. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYELcLFWEEE-bsp-04E9t5JOoPO3mu_OFmTkMRpEO9UU-Mfh0z1Dga8By7V18re9F3h5Zwafe8f05o9k_UcJsOOvg488seL0o35g2KsYe5EdnM8AMYiWBhCC-ufp6zFupQovPOhs_59SalQK8WvmyjFGSZy9fJlxwh4iE9OiL88OBuirKCeEYL/s1986/CrescentPeak.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1490" data-original-width="1986" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYELcLFWEEE-bsp-04E9t5JOoPO3mu_OFmTkMRpEO9UU-Mfh0z1Dga8By7V18re9F3h5Zwafe8f05o9k_UcJsOOvg488seL0o35g2KsYe5EdnM8AMYiWBhCC-ufp6zFupQovPOhs_59SalQK8WvmyjFGSZy9fJlxwh4iE9OiL88OBuirKCeEYL/w640-h480/CrescentPeak.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our camp is out of site down and right from the bottom of this photo</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A thousand+ feet of talus greeted me from the top of the technical difficulties. It wasn't obvious from below which point was the highest, so I tagged them all (knowing Homie would eventually observe my track). I got the highest one last. This was mostly bad eyeballing on my part, but it did ensure that I tagged all points. If I had got the highest one first, I might have been done. On top of the highest point I discovered a piton driven into the rock. This was strange, as all the terrain around the summit was Class 2-3.</p><p>I ate and drank on top and took photos of Glacier Lake over 5000 feet below me. The jumble of peaks in this area stand in stark contrast to the other mountains. These summits look Patagonian in their "unclimbability."</p><p>I reversed back to the technical difficulties, which had been weighing on my mind ever since I topped them. I knew it was my only way down and that I committed to soloing down them. Thankfully, I found the exact places where I had ascended and I painstakingly reversed my upward movements. The rest of the descent was routine, though the super loose gully still required my undivided attention. Below that, I found a much better way down, descending on grassy slopes all the way down to the LFT-approach trail, which I reversed back to camp.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvn__T6ULXFRDYqitp-GgkVw5vgNfS0dIo2DzxnmgGXoecw9C3iFDMlwRHv91PYuxhYYYx2VhneHoN3sGjoP8628Rne4Oap_AcDK6W3zfnMhQlkMf8je5Ru2e9BIrvLXm3MXQEc52XzOH5G8pj69ONKwX7pcUml4dzk1cDyXmZlBHllSadgjl-/s4032/IMG_4776.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvn__T6ULXFRDYqitp-GgkVw5vgNfS0dIo2DzxnmgGXoecw9C3iFDMlwRHv91PYuxhYYYx2VhneHoN3sGjoP8628Rne4Oap_AcDK6W3zfnMhQlkMf8je5Ru2e9BIrvLXm3MXQEc52XzOH5G8pj69ONKwX7pcUml4dzk1cDyXmZlBHllSadgjl-/w640-h480/IMG_4776.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hans goofing around while being lowered down from the 5.10 crag<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I was so happy to see Hans and Scott still in camp when I returned. I'm not much of a loner, and I was glad to have the company and conversation. They'd found a cool 5.10 crack at the base of the East Huey Spire and climbed it. They said more pitches, with anchors, awaited us tomorrow. I thought maybe Hans would want to go up Riders on the Storm (5.12) at least a few pitches. He'd mentioned it, but he didn't push it. I'd have been happy to try following him up it, since the descent was to rap the route.</p><p>We ate our last dinner and went to sleep.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Back to the Glacier Lake Cabin</h2><p>The next morning, after a lazy start to let things warm up, we went back to the 5.10 route that Hans and Scott had done the day before to give me a shot at it. It was a 20-minute hike up to the base where we uncovered the stashed gear. It was cold, but the crack looked well protected. I racked and started up.</p><p>The climbing was more technical than it looked and I quickly got a bit pumped. I fell after placing my fourth piece but didn't really go anywhere. I got back on and nearly finished the crux before peeling off again for maybe a 12-foot fall. My hands were frozen. I cleaned it up from there, as the climbing went from fingers to hands and then wider before the anchors.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVaPYR54_HqayeUa7rdL-F65tSyokHWvcMbPDq0VWKBEokhe7u_dXIlVI3alKqtuNUq3L5CGE4wh_QawlXCglk3XPRdhX7l66urxMLI8AwlfOJ-hZqDO75Gx7pdbNouAf5kUYvoeBeRHA-CIPoofqA2jkdszuhuvpa6awjKPF6twdh-3DNtFp/s4032/IMG_4831.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVaPYR54_HqayeUa7rdL-F65tSyokHWvcMbPDq0VWKBEokhe7u_dXIlVI3alKqtuNUq3L5CGE4wh_QawlXCglk3XPRdhX7l66urxMLI8AwlfOJ-hZqDO75Gx7pdbNouAf5kUYvoeBeRHA-CIPoofqA2jkdszuhuvpa6awjKPF6twdh-3DNtFp/w480-h640/IMG_4831.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me leading the 5.10 pitch on a cold, damp morning</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I belayed Scott on TR and he had a much rougher time than the day before. Hans would make us both feel better by saying the climb was 5.11 in the cold. I knew it wasn't that hard, but it did seem tough with numb hands. Of course, Hans cruised it easily and showed us some great granite footwork. It was cold enough now that we packed up, but still stashed the gear for a subsequent try.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9pB3KVNcrV7SeRC8XEefRfY4M4C7tOfOc4h3vf4JZ0MOMsE3eWYIDzqpv98exXBgMOCaMydQ_3PVMW_BhqHydCu5q-Ph4dGN9yl_0A9NkilDB53SjQ2_Su0jE7r6HcDZziDHJAfw7Yy_rBkN2a9CiCqriHC_s0vVS7VBdB1ZmM02kwGCpx6J/s4032/IMG_5084.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9pB3KVNcrV7SeRC8XEefRfY4M4C7tOfOc4h3vf4JZ0MOMsE3eWYIDzqpv98exXBgMOCaMydQ_3PVMW_BhqHydCu5q-Ph4dGN9yl_0A9NkilDB53SjQ2_Su0jE7r6HcDZziDHJAfw7Yy_rBkN2a9CiCqriHC_s0vVS7VBdB1ZmM02kwGCpx6J/w640-h480/IMG_5084.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p>Back at camp, we started to pack up for our hike back to Granite Lake. We were out of food and had to go back down to restock. As long as we were descending, we figured we’d take some gear down that we no longer needed, specifically, our jugs. At least Hans’ and my jugs. </p><p>My first indication that Hans probably wouldn't be coming back up (besides the obvious leg issues), was when Hans told me to take my tent down as well, since we could both easily sleep in his giant tent. If I'd known for sure he wasn't coming back, I'd have taken down his tent, as it weighed about 15 pounds. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-grzrplNmAcKNnpumkC7YxEDwfkTpdAKLj_lS79eXqsOJLscsd0bBHzRtKUtIQ649WEF0tj9plv8ToWakapFYZSVCmHOXQ2SBCOo76zPnxbjl8IXoyObGw0n7q5mQ9NmAcdT7xZEBbNZIelQULMOBvD3RO1ZtwN_f2GlAbyvMElX2Q7sii3H/s4032/IMG_4928.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-grzrplNmAcKNnpumkC7YxEDwfkTpdAKLj_lS79eXqsOJLscsd0bBHzRtKUtIQ649WEF0tj9plv8ToWakapFYZSVCmHOXQ2SBCOo76zPnxbjl8IXoyObGw0n7q5mQ9NmAcdT7xZEBbNZIelQULMOBvD3RO1ZtwN_f2GlAbyvMElX2Q7sii3H/w640-h480/IMG_4928.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p>We descended with pretty light packs, though we all had to carry our sleeping bags and pads. We took it slow and easy on the descent with lots of breaks and it took us three hours to get back to the cabin. On the way down, we ran into a couple that were on a 20-day hiking/canoeing adventure. They had paddled the entire length of Glacier Lake (six miles) earlier that day and were now hiking up to spend a night or two in Fairy Meadows. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4H2eaK9fKiESasL-ANc-CbRfKWv6-faiqHmXZFHfcQHvyZGwWr8zW_WtCkx4Q7uSTB2J8M59D_Ypjvz2l_gZy-MwUQFrnHUJOqqnNoSViTNfXCzmDRAy2CkTxoIsGD_4PEOVRARFQvz0RZSRolF3CX4XNRWB7FL7jJDOm4Ba3FCvS-wzy4g0J/s4032/IMG_5089.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4H2eaK9fKiESasL-ANc-CbRfKWv6-faiqHmXZFHfcQHvyZGwWr8zW_WtCkx4Q7uSTB2J8M59D_Ypjvz2l_gZy-MwUQFrnHUJOqqnNoSViTNfXCzmDRAy2CkTxoIsGD_4PEOVRARFQvz0RZSRolF3CX4XNRWB7FL7jJDOm4Ba3FCvS-wzy4g0J/w480-h640/IMG_5089.jpg" width="480" /></a></p><p>We relaxed at the cabin and on the gravel beach in the nice wooden chairs. We spotted a creature moving across the lake. All of us possessing old eyes, we couldn't make it out very clearly. Despite this, Hans was sure it was a beaver and stuck to this judgment even after the "beaver" took off and flew away. </p><p>After dinner, we retired to sleep in the cabin.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Back to Fairy Meadows and Mt. Sir James MacBrian</h2><p>Scott and I knew we were going back up this day, but since Hans wasn't coming, we only took one night of food. I didn't want to leave Hans alone for more than one night, as I came on this adventure to be with him. Still, Scott and I would head back and try to do a bit more climbing before packing up the rest of our camp.</p><p>Scott and I did the grueling hike back up to Fairy Meadows in about three hours. We hiked with Miles to our first break, which was a ways up the steep portion. He left us after this break, but we were only ten minutes behind. We weren't carrying much weight, though. </p><p>Once in camp, we dropped our loads and decided to head up valley a bit to see if we could see the climbers on the face. We knew Dan, Brooks, and Calley were up there as a team of three and Dan and Tyler (an American living in New Zealand) were up there as a team of two. We talked with the canoers that we met the day before on our descent and they told us that they'd scrambled up the sub-summit of Sir James MacBrian, so we did that as well.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhg-NKV6jBnaeNYrPZ4MmHhf1P4LHr9VIxBQFatBFsfgss182sqwItDqcaO7YhoRX3RQ-qNPIvzi3SA9n2DbjcbuDoqYoa350OgKKWAktkuaNpOhzA3L8XTq3Hk5DLdASGf0m-CzP1UpcEg3W9UQoJYY-pTAgXQKVa8QKtQMmmcRUZVZJLxbo/s4032/IMG_6394.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhg-NKV6jBnaeNYrPZ4MmHhf1P4LHr9VIxBQFatBFsfgss182sqwItDqcaO7YhoRX3RQ-qNPIvzi3SA9n2DbjcbuDoqYoa350OgKKWAktkuaNpOhzA3L8XTq3Hk5DLdASGf0m-CzP1UpcEg3W9UQoJYY-pTAgXQKVa8QKtQMmmcRUZVZJLxbo/w640-h480/IMG_6394.heic" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott scrambling up the sub-summit of Mt. Sir James MacBrian</td></tr></tbody></table><p>This was a 2000-foot ascent, mostly on car-sized talus and with a bit of 3rd/4th class scrambling at the very top. I led the way and Scott followed. He proved a strong, capable scrambler and in 80 minutes we were on the summit, looking at the LFT. We couldn't make out climbers very well, though. The face is huge and people appear as dots from our distance.</p><p>After coming down from our scramble, we went by the Penguin. I wanted to climb it the next day. We'd previously scoped out the 5.12d sport route that ascended it. That was obviously beyond me, but the previous team we met at the lake told me that I could mantle onto the shelf below the final four bolts from the backside. From there the route was "only" 5.11d. I was hoping that some pulling on slings could get me through it.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMDk5YOxTaDuYx1G_AdzZGJ6E9tIxHTtCbYH-hHSFuwUzGUA4Rz1DzNPepV4sU_dxVFKRiBcYkfnUqpMsRl0UK0X8FVtLn_mjAewIn-EE52MNveyMyKrntkOVCNRtqKsPSOX_6xhDSJLBRnCGE_dq3iXhbHlmXlQTh8RN-dhTtKyUVIOUaFl8a/s4032/IMG_4987.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMDk5YOxTaDuYx1G_AdzZGJ6E9tIxHTtCbYH-hHSFuwUzGUA4Rz1DzNPepV4sU_dxVFKRiBcYkfnUqpMsRl0UK0X8FVtLn_mjAewIn-EE52MNveyMyKrntkOVCNRtqKsPSOX_6xhDSJLBRnCGE_dq3iXhbHlmXlQTh8RN-dhTtKyUVIOUaFl8a/w640-h480/IMG_4987.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott and I on the sub-summit of Mt. Sir James McBrian</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The mantle to the shelf was easy to find. A stack of rocks three feet high marked the start. I dropped my pack to check it out, but the rocks were so unstable that I didn't want to climb on them. I found an alternate way and could just barely reach a hold at the lip. I pulled up, rolled into a mantle and was soon walking over to the last few bolts. It looked good. I thought I'd be able to manage it. After scoping things I returned to the mantle. Hmmm, I thought. I wasn't sure about reversing that move. Instead, I jumped down! I tried to jump out as far as possible to hit the hillside with the least amount of drop. I landed fine, in grass, but the drop was further than I expected and was a foolish risk to take.</p><p>Dinner and bed ensued.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">The Penguin and Final Regress</h2><p>The next morning we ate breakfast and visited with our friends at the other camp. Brooks, Dan, and Calley had turned around after the 15th pitch -- too tired and too cold to continue. Tyler and Dan had passed those three at the bivy ledge and made the summit. </p><p>Around 9 a.m. we headed for the Penguin. I repeated my mantle move but this time with a rope, harness, shoes, and ten draws. I clipped the first bolt, threaded my rope, tied in, and lowered the other end down to Scott, who had moved around to the bottom of the 5.12 route. He put me on belay and I started up.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf349id9hf7RHRwPIu86FGZuTwrPIRWlf2xb09756m3Rzl8EQ7bEntu8cU_sAmsNCbOhqCManpcvsy_lNWJQfljh7b_MaZG6bZr-WQC_NdyPEYhzL-AQkYZ90H07uNebQl6kah_lxTn8hL7YUrNmGiEphV7qarME7bzcFCzHla3x_Xjr97XRpW/s4032/IMG_5014.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf349id9hf7RHRwPIu86FGZuTwrPIRWlf2xb09756m3Rzl8EQ7bEntu8cU_sAmsNCbOhqCManpcvsy_lNWJQfljh7b_MaZG6bZr-WQC_NdyPEYhzL-AQkYZ90H07uNebQl6kah_lxTn8hL7YUrNmGiEphV7qarME7bzcFCzHla3x_Xjr97XRpW/w480-h640/IMG_5014.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I started my climb up the Penguin from here. I got to this point via the backside.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The climbing was really burly and I hung on each bolt and used each one for aid. I did have to make a free move or two between each bolt. The crux for me was clipping the third bolt. I had to reach way left from bad handholds. I initially put my finger through the bolt hold to hang on, but I couldn't clip with my finger in the way. I reshuffled my feet and switched my grip to pinch the hanger. Then I carefully reached over with my right hand and just barely got it clipped and grabbed the sling just before I came off. </p><p>The anchor hung a couple of feet below the summit, so I reached up, grabbed the top and rolled into a mantle before standing on the summit. Brooks had come out to take photographs and Miles showed up as well to catch a TR on the 12d. After photos of me on top, Scott lowered me down to the ground and I clipped the rest of the bolts on the 5.12 on the way down. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAeNfcT0yYxADwSDDWxP8SHfyBNuZ3xpjMmO8M91_EdZxuutYPInmKJkv287QMRj8MU9YHCKZExvMOmtAfg9Vc8TMJvExgCdRQ3oXscn2r6Etfu5ofSaghJP9dQYJx4NiGpoCPu38DlBQafNopYyJE7h_Y5N5C8GNO_SZxdAsyYpTYLTraHMXr/s4032/IMG_5037.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAeNfcT0yYxADwSDDWxP8SHfyBNuZ3xpjMmO8M91_EdZxuutYPInmKJkv287QMRj8MU9YHCKZExvMOmtAfg9Vc8TMJvExgCdRQ3oXscn2r6Etfu5ofSaghJP9dQYJx4NiGpoCPu38DlBQafNopYyJE7h_Y5N5C8GNO_SZxdAsyYpTYLTraHMXr/w640-h480/IMG_5037.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is me on the summit of the Penguin</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Miles then went up on TR. He did not send. He pulled on every bolt, but he did make it up. He even had to pull on all the 11+ bolts, which confirmed the difficulty up there. Finally, the Godfather wanted to jug to the top, so Miles fixed the rope and rappelled down. The Godfather jugged up, getting his first taste of jugging a completely free-hanging line. He made the summit and struck the obligatory pose.</p><p>Scott rapped off and we packed up our gear. Back at camp we ate lunch and packed up our entire camp. The loads were huge on the way down. I took it slow on my knees and we took a few breaks on the way down. Scott was rightfully calling for a break well down from camp, but I was insistent that we at least go a mile! It was a steep mile.</p><p>Further down we ran into two Italians suffering under mighty loads. People come from all over the world for this climb. We found Hans at the cabin. He'd met Warren, Sean's dad and the owner of Kluane Air, when he dropped off the Italians. We caught each other up over dinner and went to bed, expecting to fly out the next day.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Waiting on a Friend</h2><p style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm not waiting on a lady, </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm just waiting on a friend</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>-- Mick Jagger</span></p><p>We waited and waited and waited. The weather was great for us at Glacier Lake, but apparently very bad over by Sean's house. He tried once and had to turn back and then gave up on reaching us on Friday. We played card games and word games and read our books. Oh, and we ate ALL our food. We were eyeing the cached food of the other teams in the bear boxes, but we didn't consume any.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2HsxFdKoQ-gtrORn5KgCs-5aHbco8Kb1iCanVoIRBSZYo96yJSTJfyubab9YhXtjNVOsL-XU1fVlOy5pDZOhgX8QsDmyx6ADfO-9RoQJtvQieV_dCAzsSML38G5ZBXZFe2pnW94b2YaeAtMbVCSB28DJwKVXrW1q0M85--ucWSKzowpNrA0k/s4032/IMG_5095.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2HsxFdKoQ-gtrORn5KgCs-5aHbco8Kb1iCanVoIRBSZYo96yJSTJfyubab9YhXtjNVOsL-XU1fVlOy5pDZOhgX8QsDmyx6ADfO-9RoQJtvQieV_dCAzsSML38G5ZBXZFe2pnW94b2YaeAtMbVCSB28DJwKVXrW1q0M85--ucWSKzowpNrA0k/w640-h480/IMG_5095.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p>Friday, we all took a spin in the canoe. Hans had been paddling each day he was at the cabin. It was fun but just killing time. We were ready to head for civilization.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOl2FXCyWVvKqv1RQNVRQ08uGTQ8jUdVN9hMjd-vkakE1XWA4PezEgyA8mmS4CRKOQgPcluZ_p9-yijq6tJ18It1Fa9ueuzlbK29MOysVSRrCz9zggOpQvjYjIuDXFALV5H3cS1uR3Y6jsSZQov-_EBOk33b8VQ7FWPxXEPHUY4VRsct_1xsGL/s4032/IMG_5127.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOl2FXCyWVvKqv1RQNVRQ08uGTQ8jUdVN9hMjd-vkakE1XWA4PezEgyA8mmS4CRKOQgPcluZ_p9-yijq6tJ18It1Fa9ueuzlbK29MOysVSRrCz9zggOpQvjYjIuDXFALV5H3cS1uR3Y6jsSZQov-_EBOk33b8VQ7FWPxXEPHUY4VRsct_1xsGL/w640-h480/IMG_5127.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p>Finally, on Saturday, we heard the whine of the engine. Sean landed on the lake and out of the plane popped Erik Weihenmayer (famous dude who fakes being blind because no way a blind guy could do what he has done), Felipe "Chile Pepper", and Nick from Yosemite. Hugs and handshakes ensued. Then they broke into their food to feed us. What great guys... They awaited the arrival of a helicopter to get Erik and his team up to Fairy Meadow. Both Hans and I have climbed with Erik before and we knew the chore ahead for all three, but they are tough as nails and I wouldn't bet against them.</p><p>Then Sean took off without us! No worries, though. He was just headed down to Bunny Bar to pick up Dr. Chuck Charlie, as the take-off there is tougher with a full plane. Soon the plane returned, we said our goodbyes and loaded into the cramped plane. The takeoff was smooth as silk, as was the landing at Finlayson, but the flight had some stress with some serious bumps where I bounced off the ceiling once and very limited visibility due to the rain.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhZs5rG6JeeGa3R_Msvj3EuXSHQ1OyVCFR4UFqIJjJe25GkxlQgwMzFHeTDaTLAz1C9DT1tsTxUftFFjB0WhstTu4IcxVCf9hOnyLrhFXhWUkliswiJWbpBqGtQPGc1H0WpCn_LLPafzlOt8aPk0InPb9mUWWePxJnbcX2a7-dKWF3H7STpyb/s4032/IMG_5139.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhZs5rG6JeeGa3R_Msvj3EuXSHQ1OyVCFR4UFqIJjJe25GkxlQgwMzFHeTDaTLAz1C9DT1tsTxUftFFjB0WhstTu4IcxVCf9hOnyLrhFXhWUkliswiJWbpBqGtQPGc1H0WpCn_LLPafzlOt8aPk0InPb9mUWWePxJnbcX2a7-dKWF3H7STpyb/w640-h480/IMG_5139.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Killing time at the cabin</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Back at Finlayson, we quickly shuttled the gear from plane to van and turned the key at 5 p.m. Six hours later we arrived at our hotel in Whitehorse. After a shower, I went to bed at midnight with my alarm set for 3:15 a.m. I had to get up and drive Hans and Scott to the airport. That went smoothly, and I returned to sleep a few more hours. </p><p>Charlie and I went out to a big breakfast and afterward did some shopping. Soon it was time for me to drop him at the airport. I didn't fly out until after 4 p.m. I returned our rental van, which was heavily coated in mud. I wondered if we'd done any damage to the vehicle with our 12 hours of high-speed driving with more than half of it on a gravel road, but the bill was exactly as advertised. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE7bZjkgodN4bTj3LXV1JHIqYulzXEj5N9wxJTv05dAp4DCN51AZcGTqXwbyF27UKfQ2MUSBTxEl1a2j_cXNSzuHUxSEfrClF_32I_NZPMP0mYvvd8j7nBKVqM6dE8hmaHaKV65YA33kIax8sGHUVY8605hrL1-a5-2jbYj4pxAfTPbhHvh3Bm/s4032/IMG_5141.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE7bZjkgodN4bTj3LXV1JHIqYulzXEj5N9wxJTv05dAp4DCN51AZcGTqXwbyF27UKfQ2MUSBTxEl1a2j_cXNSzuHUxSEfrClF_32I_NZPMP0mYvvd8j7nBKVqM6dE8hmaHaKV65YA33kIax8sGHUVY8605hrL1-a5-2jbYj4pxAfTPbhHvh3Bm/w640-h480/IMG_5141.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p>My flights home were smooth and both Charlie and I arrived in Denver a bit after midnight. Sheri was nice enough to pick us up at 12:45 a.m. We dropped Charlie at his house in Boulder and got home by 2 a.m. </p><p>What an incredible adventure with some great friends, old and new. I thought a lot about this climb and what I really accomplished. I did pretty well with the climbing, but I didn't lead any of the hard pitches. Could I have done this climb with an equal partner? Instead of with the massive cheat that is Hans Florine? Of course, I want to think that I could. It would have been a lot slower, that's for sure. Tom and Charlie did it, but they are both stronger climbers than me as well. Could Derek and I have done it? I think we could have.</p><p>Yes, climbing with Hans is cheating, but what's the alternative? I've already said that I climb mostly with people that I get along with very well. Basically, partners that I love. For a lot of my climbing career, I was the strongest of my partners, but nowadays I'm frequently the weakest. Do I avoid climbing with great partners that I love, like Hans, Stefan, Tom, Charlie, and Derek? No way. Of course, the logical option is to do my share of the leading. I could have insisted on that on this climb, but I didn't. If others want to consider this a taint on my ascent, I have no argument with that. Because I agree. I'm embracing these "aids" more and more. Hey, I deserve them. I cultivated these friendships. Heck, I taught Tom how to climb. I raised Derek to be my guide. It's payoff time and I'll be using this approach as often as I can.</p><p>Now...what's next?</p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p><br /></p><p>I’ve now done 39 50CCs. What a wonderful journey this has been. They are, in no particular order:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Ellingwood Arete on Crestone Needle (3x, Jim Merritt, Steve Chupak; Homie; Derek)</li><li>Durrance Route on Devil’s Tower (Chris Wright, Jim Merritt, Eric Schneider)</li><li>Kor-Ingalls on Castleton Tower (Jim Merritt, Eric Schneider)</li><li>East Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock (3x; ?, Dan Fitzsimmons, Derek)</li><li>Royal Arches in Yosemite National Park (5x, John Black(2x), Derek, Tom Karpeichik, ?) </li><li>East Face of Mt. Whitney (Giles Bouchard)</li><li>South Face of Charlotte Dome </li><li>The Southeast Face of the Clyde Minaret (Loobster)</li><li>The Northwest Face of Half Dome (2x, Loobster, Hardly Karpeichik)</li><li>The Nose on El Capitan (3x, Loobster, Tom Karpeichik, Hans)</li><li>The Salathe Wall on El Capitan (2x, Tom Karpeichik, Jim Herson)</li><li>The Regular Route on Fairview Dome (3x - Loobster, Hans, ?)</li><li>The Lost Arrow Spire in Yosemite National Park (2x, Dan Fitzsimmons, Loobster, Tom and Judy Karpeichik)</li><li>Northcutt-Carter on the North Face of Hallet’s Peak (Giles Bouchard)</li><li>The Petit Grepon in Rocky Mountain National Park (6+x, Giles Bouchard; Stefan: Mark Oveson: Derek: Tom Karpeichik)</li><li>D1 on the Diamond of Longs Peak (Stefan Griebel)</li><li>Direct Exum Ridge on the Grand Teton (Jim Merritt)</li><li>The North Ridge of the Grand Teton (2x, Loobster, Tom Karpeichik)</li><li>The North Face of the Grand Teton (George Bell)</li><li>Northeast Face of Pingora (Jim Merritt, Loobster)</li><li>East Ridge of Wolf’s Head (Jim Merritt, Loobster)</li><li>The Direct South Buttress of Mt. Moran (George Bell)</li><li>The Finger of Fate on the Titan (George Bell)</li><li>The Japanese Route on Mt. Alberta (George Bell, Loobster, Homie)</li><li>The East Ridge of Mt. Temple (George Bell, Loobster)</li><li>The North Face of Mt. Edith Cavell (George Bell)</li><li>The West Ridge of Forbidden Peak (Jim Merritt)</li><li>Liberty Crack on Liberty Bell Mountain (Jim Merritt)</li><li>The East Ridge of Bugaboo Spire (2x, Loobster, Tom Karpeichik)</li><li>The Northwest Arete of Mt. Sir Donald (Loobster)</li><li>Shiprock in New Mexico (Warren Tessier, George Bell, Homie)</li><li>Steck-Salathe on Sentinel Rock (2x, Fred Yenny, Tom Karpeichik)</li><li>The North Ridge of Mt. Stuart (Tom Karpeichik, Steve Shostek)</li><li>Becky-Chouinard on South Howser Tower (Tom Karpeichik)</li><li>Northeast Buttress of Mt. Slesse (Derek)</li><li>Traveler Buttress on Lover’s Leap (Fred Yenny)</li><li>Liberty Ridge on Mt. Rainier (Jim Merritt, Tom Karpeichik, Loobster)</li><li>Price Glacier on Mt. Shuksan (Derek)</li><li>Lotus Flower Tower in Nahanni National Park, Northwest Territories, Canada (Hans, Scott Clark)</li></ul><p></p><p>I only need one more route to hit forty. I don't know if I'll stop there. I might. The ones that I view as still possible for me are:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>West Ridge of Mt. Hunter, Alaska</li><li>West Ridge of the Moose's Tooth, Alaska</li><li>South Face of Mt. Waddington</li><li>East Ridge of Devil's Thumb</li></ul><p></p><p>Stretch routes are:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Cassin Ridge on Denali (10,000 vertical feet with full Alaskan sleeping kit -- probably too tough for me at this age)</li><li>Wishbone Arete on Mt. Robson (deteriorating and considered very dangerous, but I need to climb this amazing mountain)</li></ul><p></p><p><br /></p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-83848482793941077672023-06-26T10:23:00.001-06:002023-09-23T10:33:01.218-06:00Full Value on Shuksan<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeYVldDawnCnM21J5Lh6S7cQHC6abL9IdM50A2gIpwps4qjifo-cASUaNKjqIeGtDmIWVwie7DKSbWc5hA9nyHBKLKb7aDFoNRF2ae7gvkmjNGQBwGLBvANStC8bdi4bC84OffIN1zS-QWDuUcrxX_ZeT21iIgz38pqRGeQ47f-X8a02J3oP7/s4032/IMG_5946.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeYVldDawnCnM21J5Lh6S7cQHC6abL9IdM50A2gIpwps4qjifo-cASUaNKjqIeGtDmIWVwie7DKSbWc5hA9nyHBKLKb7aDFoNRF2ae7gvkmjNGQBwGLBvANStC8bdi4bC84OffIN1zS-QWDuUcrxX_ZeT21iIgz38pqRGeQ47f-X8a02J3oP7/w640-h480/IMG_5946.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/xid626qvXUXTP8MV7" target="_blank">All photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9335735168" target="_blank">Strava approach</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9335734899" target="_blank">Strava climb</a></div><p></p><p>After posting this adventure on Strava, one friend asked how I picked this objective. It's because it is one of the "Fifty Classic Climbs of North America." This book drove my development as a climber for the first two decades of my climbing career and I pursued them regularly. The past couple of decades, I've turned to other things, but I'm back interested now. My time for climbing such objectives is growing short and if I want them, I need to get after them.</p><p>The last one I did was the Northeast Buttress on Slesse with Derek. That was #36 for me. Shuksan would be #37 and the last one in the lower 48 states. All the remaining ones for me are in Alaska and Canada. </p><p>The look of this face intimidated me. It was such a chaotic jumble of crevasses, seracs, and ice cliffs that I wondered if I had the skills. I'm not much of an ice climber. I knew the route sometimes doesn't even require any ice climbing, but sometimes it does and it can be very challenging then. To prepare for this route, years ago, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/1121155708" target="_blank">I climbed and descended the Fisher Chimneys route with the Loobster</a>. This at least allowed me to not only learn the summit rock pyramid, which is shared by all routes, but to learn the descent. One of the logistical challenges of climbing this route is that you descend a different way to a different trailhead. But we had that covered.</p><p>Derek's girlfriend Renee agreed to shuttle our car from the Nooksack Cirque Trailhead, where we'd start, to the Lake Anne Trailhead where we'd finish. She organized a peak-bagging outing with some girlfriends in the same area. I'd never see her on this trip, but her help made this ascent possible.</p><p>While this climb was on the list for this year, what really made it happen was when my friend Denise did the climb three weeks before. We owe a big thanks to her for providing the GPS track of the approach and some information about the climb. She mentioned that the descent was epic and they had to bivy a second time on the descent, but I didn't know Denise's climbing ability that well and just assumed we'd do better. I thought I was past that kind of hubris. I always tell myself to assume that everyone is fitter, faster, and stronger than me until I have concrete proof otherwise. In most cases, that proof is never forthcoming. But I had Derek with me and counted on him to be my ace in the hole. Suffice to say that now I have a much higher and more accurate opinion of Denise's ability and toughness.</p><p>I flew in late on Friday night and Derek picked me up. We slept in his apartment that night and headed north to North Cascades National Park the next morning at 6 a.m. We picked up breakfast along the way and got to the trailhead a bit after 9 a.m. We changed clothes, packed up, and were hiking a bit before 10 a.m.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQTOJ9xvSA9VViYl1CFJMBo_g_-seC-HSPGDbejC-09sUxxsS6rpSXvh2OhhJUDZGWKQEu8CcKH6baq9yjGGT4eGbCSEQmPLJNEKE5GjTdSVE5od0QXKhpq9c6JGBbh7BQFfaI2yPxwUMyqhNngS6QOzm2NAt8j8hXVmuEPOR1a0WcwJt8i3fw/s2502/approach1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="2502" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQTOJ9xvSA9VViYl1CFJMBo_g_-seC-HSPGDbejC-09sUxxsS6rpSXvh2OhhJUDZGWKQEu8CcKH6baq9yjGGT4eGbCSEQmPLJNEKE5GjTdSVE5od0QXKhpq9c6JGBbh7BQFfaI2yPxwUMyqhNngS6QOzm2NAt8j8hXVmuEPOR1a0WcwJt8i3fw/w640-h480/approach1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></p><p>We expected a lot of stream crossings on the approach and we both brought trekking poles to help out. I also brought Tevas because I didn't want to get my shoes wet and I didn't trust myself in bare feet since my feet are especially wimpy. So, I left the trailhead with three pairs of footwear. The Tevas, the Cyklon approach shoes I wore, and my La Sportiva G5 climbing boots. Derek didn't have a wading shoe, but he had the same boots and similar approach shoes (Uragano's). </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYn-VK30i7SFUjff6ZCE-oEZWXLNMcjit5KHOdQXdrCssIE1tOtym-7UDYmv09dAY9z_3BlBI3J_ck3gqkl-oQadqWOjHw0DaqVP9yvaIEIRcoqh2oh7RMXq3wyHvGn5f-7D23Tpwq4CmJptUT2wrRAvEVXiqbkvPifrDXO9qdOgn-qOn19lTj/s2502/approach2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="2502" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYn-VK30i7SFUjff6ZCE-oEZWXLNMcjit5KHOdQXdrCssIE1tOtym-7UDYmv09dAY9z_3BlBI3J_ck3gqkl-oQadqWOjHw0DaqVP9yvaIEIRcoqh2oh7RMXq3wyHvGn5f-7D23Tpwq4CmJptUT2wrRAvEVXiqbkvPifrDXO9qdOgn-qOn19lTj/w640-h480/approach2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p>We crossed the first river via a log bridge and followed a well-defined trail for the first three miles. We went to rotate leaders at one point and I checked my Gaia map of the approach (thanks, Denise!) to find that we'd gone by our turn. We backtracked and found a very faint path descending to the creek crossing. Here, I took off my pants (I was wearing long pants) as I didn't want to get them wet and changed into my Tevas. I waded across and then threw my Tevas back over so that Derek could use them. We expected a lot of stream crossings, but this was our only one. At least on the approach.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu2L0ZA0x7TZep5sDi6BW1z_nWLhBYgfJU1KfH3z4TJvsRUsKMH0zSobvUQbXOThN2q4ES-79x7D4P3Zj1CfbEI0BB_Ep28Nr8fLoqDYRtLSR_n3ZUM0_nim5UMzfznRIjr2V-_qeRPHm6A-TCNaRmoKVilZJVQn1XF00WW3YM4Hp7I69VJ1z/s2502/approach3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="2502" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu2L0ZA0x7TZep5sDi6BW1z_nWLhBYgfJU1KfH3z4TJvsRUsKMH0zSobvUQbXOThN2q4ES-79x7D4P3Zj1CfbEI0BB_Ep28Nr8fLoqDYRtLSR_n3ZUM0_nim5UMzfznRIjr2V-_qeRPHm6A-TCNaRmoKVilZJVQn1XF00WW3YM4Hp7I69VJ1z/w640-h480/approach3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Derek took over the route finding and did an expert job through the bushwhack. There was initially not even a hint of a trail. The only thing guiding us was an occasional orange or pink flag (hard to see as they were really faint) and sometimes bringing up Gaia. We eventually found a worn path and followed that up very steeply, but at least there was no more bushwhacking.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-pOvvSJ9HVXwct1CepFV78P6KS5aZQ3lS6nPjgQPcAmlR3YLX3wCK6Cv4WLOzVkzV4dolbaNEPBgqczSO4E91opKYn2BgK2_4A6y5JFnkX3YOy-pIilvpI6pQeHZY3hG-rtdTzFJq6Tqo9SujG8anZuPbkdoEsb0CQRYPKY81bGQSdJN8h_4/s2502/approach4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="2502" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-pOvvSJ9HVXwct1CepFV78P6KS5aZQ3lS6nPjgQPcAmlR3YLX3wCK6Cv4WLOzVkzV4dolbaNEPBgqczSO4E91opKYn2BgK2_4A6y5JFnkX3YOy-pIilvpI6pQeHZY3hG-rtdTzFJq6Tqo9SujG8anZuPbkdoEsb0CQRYPKY81bGQSdJN8h_4/w640-h480/approach4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></p><p>We continued to climb steeply and then emerged from the woods and had great views up towards the peak, though we couldn't see much of our route yet. We traversed slopes to a rocky rib above the lake far below to our right. We followed the rib until it merged with a very steep grassy slope. Then the path we'd been following petered out. We were a bit confused but knew we had to get on top of the steep grass. We went straight up the slope via a slight weakness. We had to grab branches and even hunks of grass to make progress. This was really the end of any defined trail.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nRoiMsNIaIxhb8o81yU1HPY8x-UUvpcPxdY3GGMZ9u3EUcJAVIwnGXdlwb31LnF0Xb4HEhUwzIFsiYxxTFm3wErEo-wgROnlfM9GLtgQm8CyPIpui5kXDm4CyQ__XL-xeygVD5M8rjiYGjcXvyHz1PTLHpoIBNf8JODkKPR_hX-KYxeXJ6ij/s2502/approach5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="2502" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nRoiMsNIaIxhb8o81yU1HPY8x-UUvpcPxdY3GGMZ9u3EUcJAVIwnGXdlwb31LnF0Xb4HEhUwzIFsiYxxTFm3wErEo-wgROnlfM9GLtgQm8CyPIpui5kXDm4CyQ__XL-xeygVD5M8rjiYGjcXvyHz1PTLHpoIBNf8JODkKPR_hX-KYxeXJ6ij/w640-h480/approach5.jpeg" width="640" /></a></p><p>Getting atop the slope was heinous but short-lived. We then followed the wooded ridge as it got less wooded and more alpine. We got to a steep wall that blocked access and took a break. I forged ahead without my pack to see if I could find a route around the wall. I traversed a steep slope to the left before going up a steep gully that was at least fourth class. Above I had gained the ridge again, so I reversed to get Derek.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-kzo7UE4sRyYBCA5VHBGjLaooL36HrmKxZKpYmI90lFmy9Eca0t7rLcZXdD1ZO23O7ekhyQBRSzSbUHvZEbX1DQoOn326Ohz8uy60Fp_LLlGg5TkmR5iIwv3JxFKV08nrSRsF0XDGTz96UGMgSmIj1XzTGsVJOvgAZ5ebjvM2V6Lm_7aC4Rk/s2502/approach6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="2502" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-kzo7UE4sRyYBCA5VHBGjLaooL36HrmKxZKpYmI90lFmy9Eca0t7rLcZXdD1ZO23O7ekhyQBRSzSbUHvZEbX1DQoOn326Ohz8uy60Fp_LLlGg5TkmR5iIwv3JxFKV08nrSRsF0XDGTz96UGMgSmIj1XzTGsVJOvgAZ5ebjvM2V6Lm_7aC4Rk/w640-h480/approach6.jpeg" width="640" /></a></p><p>We continued up and up, now looking for a bivy site, but without much luck. We were again confused by the lack of any signs of a route. We took another break at a possible, though not very good, bivy site. We weren't sure where we should traverse right to get onto the glacier. Once again, I continued upwards solo in search of easier access and a better bivy site. I went by a few marginal sites, but at least they were better than below. Then I found it. The perfect site: a large, flat ledge at the edge of a 300-foot cliff overlooking the glacier with an incredible view of our route. Plus, we'd walk right onto the glacier just three minutes further. I descended back to tell Derek about it.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnNjhRxgNG9XH0Xsrj7D3SGSqp3L0ESBfHaKLU9NHF7O9zCwqWdau_wwbkvqIAv_TY1ES5DA5lIq5z1rapNihlfvPEuz2_iySgyaaQvnEX-O0O3dsPBfR4xWrTxLfJdVXHQbta7ASrutsZ5WKU-DD_o7SyqpUymml9CX_RwF5uIejlxnNCqJ8/s1876/approach7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="1408" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnNjhRxgNG9XH0Xsrj7D3SGSqp3L0ESBfHaKLU9NHF7O9zCwqWdau_wwbkvqIAv_TY1ES5DA5lIq5z1rapNihlfvPEuz2_iySgyaaQvnEX-O0O3dsPBfR4xWrTxLfJdVXHQbta7ASrutsZ5WKU-DD_o7SyqpUymml9CX_RwF5uIejlxnNCqJ8/w480-h640/approach7.jpeg" width="480" /></a></p><p>Once I could see Derek below me, I called out, "We're moving up!". I then reversed the tricky, brushy terrain and when I next saw Derek below he was carrying a pack that looked white. My pack is white, I thought and I knew immediately what he was doing. He had gone back to where we dumped our packs and was bringing my pack forward first. He dumped it at the saddle and then went back for his. This type of behavior is what I love about great climbing partners. We were a team in the deepest sense of the word. Derek wasn't considering what actions it would take to get him up the mountain, but what actions needed to be taken to get us up the mountain. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSFnXkRC6F5fX9DiuMaaG-HpUi1dAvy1iTT6QVV5_mkmSaWqi0gv7Lsta_XiZm2JyxMxD22dEUMHEeSXGtETJrhn1Rl4teX8vE_HYNGIUGcqnxvrOFAhCP8sWqcpn0tli7vvEyXojJpdYXQpnyB7bxdmXt3dsqOyg7ju2MFTHQa1aXXmnNGyS/s4032/IMG_6143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSFnXkRC6F5fX9DiuMaaG-HpUi1dAvy1iTT6QVV5_mkmSaWqi0gv7Lsta_XiZm2JyxMxD22dEUMHEeSXGtETJrhn1Rl4teX8vE_HYNGIUGcqnxvrOFAhCP8sWqcpn0tli7vvEyXojJpdYXQpnyB7bxdmXt3dsqOyg7ju2MFTHQa1aXXmnNGyS/w640-h480/IMG_6143.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">High on the approach<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>That goes for all the food we carried. Once we leave the trailhead there is no "my food" and "Derek's food." That might have been the case on the drive, but once we start the adventure, it is our food. On this trip, Derek forgot to pack food. He knew I was bringing the freeze-dried dinner and with all the other items, it slipped his mind. No worries. I brought extra food and everything was shared. In fact, we finished still carrying some food. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4TbQgr1X1zViWkaB2aq-h2XveUOu9BUZLfJR8U_wuU8fK9ZyThnaAwLMIejHf2RxAinC4vNwx0O0307oe1OCqgjNWbebGphTBKYpptPGbr59Avz8_phVgLeympSVsDbuiiRGjgjb8d-Q_JacksfCa7f6ufy7yanUiV-oQ8PFEwSNkKsc35Aj/s4032/IMG_6173.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4TbQgr1X1zViWkaB2aq-h2XveUOu9BUZLfJR8U_wuU8fK9ZyThnaAwLMIejHf2RxAinC4vNwx0O0307oe1OCqgjNWbebGphTBKYpptPGbr59Avz8_phVgLeympSVsDbuiiRGjgjb8d-Q_JacksfCa7f6ufy7yanUiV-oQ8PFEwSNkKsc35Aj/w640-h480/IMG_6173.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our bivy site</td></tr></tbody></table><p>When Derek saw the site I had picked out, he beamed. Later, he'd call it amongst the top three bivy sites he'd ever used. I know that the 17,000-foot camp on Denali is in that group. Maybe Thanksgiving Ledge on El Cap too? Here we discovered that Derek wasn't the only one to forget something. We carried a Black Diamond FirstLight tent (on sale now). It's a bomber, light alpine climbing tent and it's packaged into two separate stuff sacks, unlike most tents, probably to split the load more easily among partners. Anyway, I grabbed two bags of the tent and didn't realize until we tried setting it up that I had the tent and the fly (with its one pole) and not the poles for the tent. Bummer. We used the tent as a 2-person bivy bag and put our boots inside just in case we got rain. The weather report for the night had been good. It proved accurate and we stayed dry.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGC2k4yQYFdURAxwc5HugdqudwzBVWE8cdr-h_PuSRQrPmXNEDkNjScamAH-2bAUJIVaHtrlp-csf--U6AdqkoRa_njbDLVKEPuFU0qQnIvsNCXolyjrGKtcyFc1WR06EIhZfMRCuaihQQ6MaN_ee_Nt3pQIxRp2I09yi-quYQ0FQzGLR2fKFd/s4032/IMG_5960.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGC2k4yQYFdURAxwc5HugdqudwzBVWE8cdr-h_PuSRQrPmXNEDkNjScamAH-2bAUJIVaHtrlp-csf--U6AdqkoRa_njbDLVKEPuFU0qQnIvsNCXolyjrGKtcyFc1WR06EIhZfMRCuaihQQ6MaN_ee_Nt3pQIxRp2I09yi-quYQ0FQzGLR2fKFd/w640-h480/IMG_5960.heic" width="640" /></a></p><p>I also forgot my two-ax leash. I know all the hotshot ice climbers don't use leashes but for a thrasher like me to go up on a big alpine face without some protection against droppage was foolish. It wasn't just the expense of dropping a $300 tool, but the fact that I'd need both tools to make it up the climb. </p><p>Our rack consisted of three ice screws and one picket. We'd end up using all of them many times. We also carried a small rock rack, but it went completely unused. I'd done the 500-foot summit rock tower before and soloed up and down it without any trouble. I guess it didn't hurt to have a little extra gear in case we had to climb rock to escape the Price Glacier. We both carried down jackets which we didn't need. I wore mine at the bivy, but it wasn't very cold.</p><p>The alarm went off at 3:15 a.m. We moved a bit slower than anticipated and it wasn't until 4:20 that we had downed our breakfast, finished our coffee, and strapped on our crampons. Under headlamps, roped together with our 30-meter cord, I led us across a long traverse to the right. This route does a tremendous amount of traversing because the route starts on the far left of the face and finishes on the far right. This is some zigzagging, but it is predominantly a rightwards traverse. And the traversing doesn't stop there. Most of the descent is also a rightwards traverse.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9is0oaRE7kuJ5ae7pqjvo_0PXX-YEcIFgUMgon0qbAmQHfVoTY6cyptV1SFyabC0L36fGWJddLK84mDjOxxxoGq7f3GkB4TiHGGueqcbONExVPrwI24UstElriLFQv2vyM0zvBB_XN2tFKpIVNV6eGYN9LGfakupItriKWfascFlz5EpktIGu/s4032/IMG_6211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9is0oaRE7kuJ5ae7pqjvo_0PXX-YEcIFgUMgon0qbAmQHfVoTY6cyptV1SFyabC0L36fGWJddLK84mDjOxxxoGq7f3GkB4TiHGGueqcbONExVPrwI24UstElriLFQv2vyM0zvBB_XN2tFKpIVNV6eGYN9LGfakupItriKWfascFlz5EpktIGu/w640-h480/IMG_6211.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the notch below Nooksack Tower</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I led across steeper and steeper ground, heading for the notch below Nooksack Tower. Once there, we regrouped and reviewed our general line of ascent. We had to continue traversing, but we also had to descend too. Our route called for dropping down below a huge crevasse, but once I had descended a ways, I called an audible to take a more direct route up to a section we called the "zig-zag", a maneuver through the big icefall in the middle of the face.</p><p>From a distance, I could see the gray that indicated ice as opposed to the pure white snow. Derek called this out immediately and I knew he was right, but from afar it didn't look too steep. But I was wrong. Not for the first or last time on this climb. The gray section proved to be rock-hard ice with a vertical section that I had to traverse and turn to avoid overhanging ice. Leading across this section, I thought, "What am I doing?" </p><p>I can't normally ice climb my way out of a walk-in freezer and there I was taking a more difficult path. Yes, I didn't think it was going to be such hard ice. Or this steep. My intent was to just shortcut the route and save myself from losing the elevation. So, laziness got me there and laziness (and a stubborn streak to avoid admitting I was wrong) kept me there. I didn't want to retreat. Laziness is a strange quality to have while simultaneously considering yourself a climber. And it isn't just me. It is rampant among us and not just in the mountains. Fixed draws at sport crags exist for one reason: laziness.</p><p>I put in two screws with some effort. Placing gear while hanging off a tool is not something at which I'm adept. The saving grace was that it wasn't too cold, so that my left hand didn't go numb. With the second screw placed, I raced to turn the lip before my arms gave out. I belayed Derek off my one remaining screw. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlCs0EadBe5pjimkgH3YwJfXtHPs3_0zwq_9t816e8kG5rEwThl_DbkPoe5iHj_gzytsLSR52fM1wmQrTOrj0GamGpwIsShH6ravGRwVstA2mknz913NT-ryde4vufsxZf5rfvUHWdTyG4nfmP-IutP3pdQq842YcdwBfnATsmEk7QvqSuPrCG/s4032/IMG_5968.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlCs0EadBe5pjimkgH3YwJfXtHPs3_0zwq_9t816e8kG5rEwThl_DbkPoe5iHj_gzytsLSR52fM1wmQrTOrj0GamGpwIsShH6ravGRwVstA2mknz913NT-ryde4vufsxZf5rfvUHWdTyG4nfmP-IutP3pdQq842YcdwBfnATsmEk7QvqSuPrCG/w640-h480/IMG_5968.heic" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derek at the top of the lower crux ice section</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Derek did great cleaning the pitch and took over leading up towards our zig-zag, leading a long steep stretch of snow. We brought two Micros and used them to simul-climb. Derek led up and right and then zigged left, but when he zagged back to the right, he did so early and was atop a serac and not connected to the main glacier. It was a freaky place to be, and he retreated down to me, where I was belaying him. I took over the lead and went hard left, across a runnel and onto a buttress with some solid ice. I placed a screw and then a picket higher up and continued as the slope started to roll off. I belayed at the lip of a crevasse. This was a common belay scenario for us, as the crevasses marked short bands of flat ground. Sometimes we belayed slightly in the crevasse on a ledge just a couple of feet below the lip. It felt secure and safe.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhygHghWzA0mnA-vWr2t5W6yCQD9HLUmDzgbxnxycRyPT1UZvIfa2JTeYvyP-L7fdwuOFQxSmEsoVKt3IWvRGITtfeGN-VEUKzFuVutObpsmut2XhyVnNhMkZZ7qUSTyh3NHH_C8Jzor3O7BmafdUwwGCp6H6CfFL4uc_wijStGfSlBAGGIl47d/s4032/IMG_6221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhygHghWzA0mnA-vWr2t5W6yCQD9HLUmDzgbxnxycRyPT1UZvIfa2JTeYvyP-L7fdwuOFQxSmEsoVKt3IWvRGITtfeGN-VEUKzFuVutObpsmut2XhyVnNhMkZZ7qUSTyh3NHH_C8Jzor3O7BmafdUwwGCp6H6CfFL4uc_wijStGfSlBAGGIl47d/w640-h480/IMG_6221.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p>After re-grouping, I continued right and then up, trying another shortcut versus dropping way down. We needed to cross the main gully splitting the face, and it was daunting to look at it. It appeared deep, wide, and dark, meaning it was sprinkled with rocks falling from above. We didn't want to linger in that gully for fear of getting beaned with a boulder. Thankfully, we crossed the gully easily and I then traversed further until I tiptoed along a tiny fin/snowbridge to cross the big crevasse. There was a bit of near-vertical climbing here, but the snow/ice was solid and it wasn't long. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitg7vy93DVO5Qz2wY_5Bp_YPHwXWDf9R1w3CLWrKxxZ5C19we7pb2RQnJxDF2bBfD-zLKrZb2IIgV2-JbPDnB83ok3E6MKshPjL9EJp9EiFCtSfCmm9G4bdNiNVRtWfvnZ2wlnvzoLCCIdAQJ-izsWH8jLraRSVTh36_H8J0nzj4ORLrKS0q_x/s4032/IMG_6227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitg7vy93DVO5Qz2wY_5Bp_YPHwXWDf9R1w3CLWrKxxZ5C19we7pb2RQnJxDF2bBfD-zLKrZb2IIgV2-JbPDnB83ok3E6MKshPjL9EJp9EiFCtSfCmm9G4bdNiNVRtWfvnZ2wlnvzoLCCIdAQJ-izsWH8jLraRSVTh36_H8J0nzj4ORLrKS0q_x/w640-h480/IMG_6227.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p>Things continued smoothly, though with some stress due to the constant crevasses and committing nature of the climb, all the way up to the bergschrund at the base of the last 400-foot snow face. The bergschrund was nearly a continuous, giant crevasse here, but there was one tiny section that allowed crossing to the vertical section on the other side. </p><p>We belayed just before I tackled this section. I took all the gear, so Derek just belayed with his axes and body weight. I inched across nervously and then made a big step to span a gap and got a good stick with my axe. I moved up just a few feet and placed a solid screw. I then traversed about twenty feet to the right where the vertical section was the shortest, only about ten feet high. I placed another solid screw here and climbed straight above it. The wall was slightly overhanging and the ice was rock hard. I had trouble getting my frontpoints to grab securely. But the ice was bomber...until it abruptly turned to soft snow. My feet were barely into solid ice and now I had to drive my shafts into the snow just above the lip. Then, my feet popped. I fell onto my axes and they slowed me for a moment before they ripped through the snow and I was falling. My feet hit the tiny ledge below and I fell over backwards, upside down onto my pack. Derek caught me just a few feet above the yawning crevasse below me. If I had gone into it, it would have been much harder to climb out.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcAt5m1SfpKnjvh6yqO4TkUYshape_B-5LzVIuiyOxE-qdQCqKl9ysSUcWqM9sxpsH5fCA_KgnzuAgJqS7dIcZCKV_BS60LC1RyULsxa8A1yLdO1jgIzAfYG3KL9xp3Q4DNXm4hD9M4cbwNLzX6gDBhiLOweJ4FjdZlrYetAI1VnAcSd4tj0I/s4032/IMG_6233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcAt5m1SfpKnjvh6yqO4TkUYshape_B-5LzVIuiyOxE-qdQCqKl9ysSUcWqM9sxpsH5fCA_KgnzuAgJqS7dIcZCKV_BS60LC1RyULsxa8A1yLdO1jgIzAfYG3KL9xp3Q4DNXm4hD9M4cbwNLzX6gDBhiLOweJ4FjdZlrYetAI1VnAcSd4tj0I/w640-h480/IMG_6233.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing the crux bergschrund</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I fell about 15 feet, and the impact on my back was large but cushioned by my pack. Nothing fell out of or off of my pack. Most importantly, I never let go of my leashless tools. I still grasped them tightly in my hands. Worried that the fall and the necessity of getting up this wall would get into my head, I swarmed right back up to the hard section and tried again. This time I put my last screw in, about four feet above the other one. I tried again and moved up a bit higher. I desperately pushed in the picket with my hand, knowing it couldn't have held me, but throwing everything at the problem. Two feet higher and I was comfortable on my feet again. Derek said I should belay there, but with no gear, I moved up another twenty feet so that I could get into another crevasse. I placed both tools and clipped into them.</p><p>Derek was really solid following. I was braced and keeping all slack out of the line for fear that he'd come off like I did. No falls for him. I continued in the lead and traversed up and right, crossing the last of the bergschrund crevasses on a dicey but short rib. Now on the upper steep face, I kicked steps upwards. The snow here was wet and it continually shed small plates of slushy snow. A hundred feet up, I was able to dig down to some ice and place a solid screw, but that was the last of the ice. I placed a picket a hundred feet higher and then we moved into no-fall zone, being roped together with no protection between us. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLIzSriUJpyjeWkhORKn5O4swlXOtBR5nYxu51oWSOKAewWMJ2Q9I7WprdkkYQxIZykotmM0ZqcNNQVGMqas0SlLnPK2Y30RzDHcQev3o48GW-5-_lyI7J9eI8i6_s8I-rXesP1YxYd1puHZ68662Eb-OAvQWRqEQ_o2BD56GiewIf9_kVPCX/s2100/IMG_6124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1576" data-original-width="2100" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLIzSriUJpyjeWkhORKn5O4swlXOtBR5nYxu51oWSOKAewWMJ2Q9I7WprdkkYQxIZykotmM0ZqcNNQVGMqas0SlLnPK2Y30RzDHcQev3o48GW-5-_lyI7J9eI8i6_s8I-rXesP1YxYd1puHZ68662Eb-OAvQWRqEQ_o2BD56GiewIf9_kVPCX/w640-h480/IMG_6124.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roughly the route we followed</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We didn't endure this stress too long before the slope started to roll back and once it did, it continued to get less and less steep. I went clear until the top flattened out and we took a break in the shade. Lower down, the sun on the face had me sweating streams into my eyes, yet ten minutes in the shade drinking had me moving on to warm up.</p><p>What followed was more traversing of slopes on glaciers, avoiding crevasses, as we worked our way to the west to get around to the southern side of the summit pyramid. I was getting tired and we were both getting dehydrated. We spotted climbers up on the pyramid and Derek took over kicking steps up to the base of the rock.</p><p>We both carried just one liter of water each which wasn't enough. We were both nearly out at the base of the pyramid and already dehydrated. We had our stove, though, and could brew up water whenever we wanted, though it would take a bit of time. We stowed all our gear on the first semi-flat ledge we found up the rock pyramid. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNe5J7dzqqXJ3FX_7HnLqmyOyx2F5HAM2FQmb-7x4lmqO-HrB17VhEKBpAD8-i61MfNcKZ4cqZVM4hHF5nl52sNG6zjdyYJAOpb08H2f3Mx-KcoBt9XfNmre8-L2LaQezEQD9wn6EVhz0gb1LG9-oXugghn4a7r_FubiGVqr0f6hy_mWnVLzVp/s4032/IMG_6258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNe5J7dzqqXJ3FX_7HnLqmyOyx2F5HAM2FQmb-7x4lmqO-HrB17VhEKBpAD8-i61MfNcKZ4cqZVM4hHF5nl52sNG6zjdyYJAOpb08H2f3Mx-KcoBt9XfNmre8-L2LaQezEQD9wn6EVhz0gb1LG9-oXugghn4a7r_FubiGVqr0f6hy_mWnVLzVp/w480-h640/IMG_6258.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scrambling the summit pyramid</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We changed into our approach shoes and soloed up the summit pyramid, following the same route I did with the Loobster years ago. This is such a fun, solid scramble (once up the first 100 feet). Derek led the way and we followed a beautiful rib of rock. The scrambling is about 400 vertical feet. We dispatched it efficiently and hung out on the summit. We had cell service! I called Sheri but she wasn't available. She'd call back soon, but once I descended off the top, I lost service. </p><p>In the same time that a group of 8 guided climbers descended the bottom 300 feet, we climbed 300 vertical feet of snow up to the start of the route, switched out of boots and into scramblers, ate, drank our last water, soloed to the top, spent 15 minutes there taking photos and making phone calls, reversed back to our gear stash, switched back into boots and crampons, packed up, and headed down. </p><p>We descended Hell's Highway and made the traverse across the Upper Curtis Glacier to the campsite above Winnie's Slide. We took an extended break here to rehydrate, eat, and rest a bit. We each drank an entire liter and left with full bottles</p><p>With our mountain boots still on, we kicked steps down the steep Winnie's Slide snow slope. Then through some talus down to the White Salmon glacier, which we crossed in just a couple of minutes over to the top of the Fisher Chimneys. Here, naively thinking we were done with steep, hard snow, we switched out of our boots for what we thought was the last time. Wrong! We descended until snow blocked the route and I led us down a false path, off route. By the time I realized my screwup, we'd descended quite a bit and I wasn't sure where I went wrong, though it must have been at the snow blockage. We were able to work our way back to the correct descent with some dicey scrambling on a very exposed traverse. This led to a steep slope of grass, scree, and slabs.</p><p>Once back on route in the Fisher Chimneys, which is just a ramp, we did two rappels. Heck, we already had on our harnesses and the rope was easily accessible on the side of my pack. Once at the base of the Chimneys, we encountered rock-hard snow on the final...glacier? Maybe this is an arm of Lower Curtis Glacier. There was no way to safely kick steps in our scramblers. We had to boot-up and don crampons once again. I'd keep the boots on the rest of the way -- clear back to the car. </p><p>Putting on my G5 boots, I noticed that the BOA cable securing my boot was stuck in the zipper of the attached gaiter. I couldn't get it out. I could still wear the boot but not fully secure it or zip the gaiter. Upon returning to Boulder, I took it to Sportiva to fix it. They couldn't get it out either without breaking the zipper and BOA. Instead, they gave me a new pair of boots! Yeah, I love La Sportiva...</p><p>Derek slipped early on the glacier and went down, but expertly did a self-arrest and stopped almost immediately. We continued across the glacier to the rocky prow where the Loobster and I camped on our ascent. I promptly caught a crampon in the rocks and went down hard. My left ankle was twisted and I felt it, but I was fine to continue. We pulled off the crampons, stowed the axes, and got out the poles. Before we could get moving, though, the rain started in earnest. It poured on us, turning every tiny gully into a stream with crazy big drops. Descending the steep rocks at the bottom of this slope was a challenge in the running water and we were very focused here.</p><p>The trail crossed many snow gullies and one was particularly steep and a bit hard. I carefully kicked some steps and braced myself with my poles...until I didn't. I made a mistake and down I went, immediately accelerating down the slope. I had to drop one pole so that I could use two hands to drive the other pole into the slope to stop myself, which I did after about 150 feet of mostly out-of-control sliding, tumbling. If I wasn't completely soaked by the rain, I sure was now. And cold. My hands were frozen. Derek retrieved my other pole and we met up on the trail... and promptly lost it.</p><p>We got back on it and had little trouble following it to Lake Anne, which was completely covered in snow, as was the surrounding terrain. This was where we were sure the going would get easier since we just hit a popular trail only 4 miles from a trailhead. Oh how wrong that was. It turned out the Lake Ann trailhead was closed, as was the 2-mile road leading to it. So no traffic had been on this trail. And it was completely buried under snow. At least for the first three miles, we were on it. Or at least close to it, as we could barely tell if we were on a trail or not. </p><p>The going was arduous and a bit dangerous. Stepping down off a steep section, I planted my butt onto a stump. Getting a sharp-stick enema is not nearly as fun as it sounds. Instead of the nice packed trail I envisioned, we got very confusing snowfields in forests, willows, and raging streams. We lost the trail too many times to count, and we forgot what it was like to have dry feet. Several times, after losing the trail so often, we decided to forge our own way and quickly learned of a huge stream or gully that forced us to backtrack.</p><p>Derek handled all the navigation, using the GPS track from my previous ascent. He had it loaded onto his watch and without him leading the way, I'd never have gotten out. In fact, the one time I went into the lead, when Derek stopped to switch out of his boots, I promptly lost the trail and led out the wrong way. He quickly righted me, retook the lead, and I backtracked to follow in his footsteps.</p><p>So much of the hike out was walking over snow that could collapse at any moment. We broke through into crevasses, talus, streams, and the trail itself! The trail was a pretty deep rut, and snow would melt out underneath, forming a tunnel. We broke through them all! Happy to not twist a knee or bash a shin too bad, but we both have some cuts from it. And I broke my trekking pole (since replaced by Black Diamond -- thank you!)</p><p>The last mile of the trail climbed 800 feet out of the valley. I had almost forgotten about this indignity. How horrible to put such a big climb at the end of a descent! It was demoralizing, but we finally had some dry trail upon which to trod. It almost made the climb pleasant. It wasn't, but heavenly compared to the snow work that we'd been doing since 4:20 a.m. Alas, snow obstacles were replaced with deadfall, and the never-ending stream crossings persisted.</p><p>Derek got a text while still low on the climb. It was from Renee, telling us that the car wasn't at the aforementioned closed trailhead. We'd have to walk an additional two miles down to the Mt Baker Highway. That was tough to hear, but there was nothing to do but death march on. At least the road was dry.</p><p>Once on the road, our pace picked up. I was able to cut a big road switchback via a steep, hard snow slope, only because I was still in my mountain boots. Derek, in trail runners, had to stick to the road. He had to do an extra half mile because of this. I spotted him trotting to catch up! With a big heavy pack, 16 hours into the day, he was running. That's one tough dude. </p><p>Back at the car, we immediately changed into dry clothes. I experienced the heavenly relief of removing my boots for the last time. We threw everything in and started driving almost immediately. We had a long way to go. We gave profuse thanks to our angel, Renee, who not only relocated the car but also loaded it with snacks. Donuts, Snickers, and Gatorades slid down our gullets. She even cleaned out our McDonalds trash.</p><p>The drive home was smooth save for a couple of fast food false starts. We missed the Burger King drive-thru by 2 minutes at 11:02 and had to go 20 more minutes to a Wendy's. We got back to Derek's apartment at 12:15 a.m. I was packed for the airport by 1 a.m. I showered and got to bed just in time for two hours of rest before meeting my Uber to the airport at 3:15 a.m.</p><p>Then things got bad... Airlines suck. Either their people, their software, their training, or their procedures and checklists suck. I was still in Seattle on Tuesday and booked to leave Wednesday. Fortunately, I got out via standby and was the last person to board the plane. But this is an off-topic rant not suitable for this report. Suffice to say that I'll never fly again. Just like I'll never climb again.</p><p>I’ve now done 38 50CCs. They are, in no particular order:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Ellingwood Arete on Crestone Needle</li><li>Durrance Route on Devil’s Tower</li><li>Kor-Ingalls on Castleton Tower</li><li>East Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock</li><li>Royal Arches in Yosemite National Park</li><li>East Face of Mt. Whitney</li><li>South Face of Charlotte Dome</li><li>The Southeast Face of the Clyde Minaret</li><li>The Northwest Face of Half Dome</li><li>The Nose on El Capitan</li><li>The Salathe Wall on El Capitan</li><li>The Regular Route on Fairview Dome</li><li>The Lost Arrow Spire in Yosemite National Park</li><li>Northcutt-Carter on the North Face of Hallet’s Peak</li><li>The Petit Grepon in Rocky Mountain National Park</li><li>D1 on the Diamond of Longs Peak</li><li>Direct Exum Ridge on the Grand Teton</li><li>The North Ridge of the Grand Teton</li><li>The North Face of the Grand Teton</li><li>Northeast Face of Pingora</li><li>East Ridge of Wolf’s Head</li><li>The Direct South Buttress of Mt. Moran</li><li>The Finger of Fate on the Titan</li><li>The Japanese Route on Mt. Alberta</li><li>The East Ridge of Mt. Temple</li><li>The North Face of Mt. Edith Cavell</li><li>The West Ridge of Forbidden Peak</li><li>Liberty Crack on Liberty Bell Mountain</li><li>The East Ridge of Bugaboo Spire</li><li>The Northwest Arete of Mt. Sir Donald</li><li>Shiprock in New Mexico</li><li>Steck-Salathe on Sentinel Rock</li><li>The North Ridge of Mt. Stuart</li><li>Becky-Chouinard on South Howser Tower</li><li><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/9908744/3207029565211238435" target="_blank">Northeast Buttress of Mt. Slesse</a></li><li>Traveler Buttress on Lover’s Leap</li><li>Liberty Ridge on Mt. Rainier</li><li>Price Glacier on Mt. Shuksan</li></ul><p></p><div><br /></div>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-54121940639974537682023-02-11T19:16:00.008-07:002023-02-13T09:16:55.952-07:00Kit Carson in Winter<h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWG3y6nAtfVNaYyAR5iq0Mdxdb7ruw2yoZ3CQE4oVvKNtubP9LEvzA7yZ7Grcw3NZkGXgF9JVgEolXB_IQdmZ5an8UO56YnZto5fxN-IgGyQdhTTuwdFKzao5IMnYvSnpUSk4FoBHGUV6eRJ0VxrQL-XcKJGVrLhPx1M0vjkZgj6VNtDti_Q/s4032/IMG_4849.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWG3y6nAtfVNaYyAR5iq0Mdxdb7ruw2yoZ3CQE4oVvKNtubP9LEvzA7yZ7Grcw3NZkGXgF9JVgEolXB_IQdmZ5an8UO56YnZto5fxN-IgGyQdhTTuwdFKzao5IMnYvSnpUSk4FoBHGUV6eRJ0VxrQL-XcKJGVrLhPx1M0vjkZgj6VNtDti_Q/w640-h480/IMG_4849.HEIC" width="640" /></a></h2><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8546116929">Strava</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/GzeKJitMZJMB3zDo8">Photos</a></div><p>Climbing 14ers in winter is...well, varied. They are always more demanding than in summer. Duh. But with good weather and ideal snow conditions, they can be reasonable if you can get to the summer trailhead. That last bit is frequently a significant factor and can sometimes double the roundtrip mileage versus the summer, which generally means a lot of travel in the dark on short winter days.</p><p>I've been slowly working through the 58 (59 in winter!?) Colorado 14ers. As of this climb, I've done 32, so I know a bit about doing these and have encountered a wide range of conditions, especially with the weather. In general, I won't attempt a winter 14er without a good weather report. Even then, it's unlikely you'll have stellar weather the entire day and I've turned back on numerous occasions. These are serious objectives and if you make a mistake high on one of these peaks it would quickly become a life-threatening situation. Hence, I'm pretty conservative.</p><p>While I won't try a 14er without a good weather report and good snow conditions, once committed, by far the most important factor is your choice of a partner. And it is here where I am very blessed. John "Homie" Prater is one of the most experienced 14er climbers with 600 ascents and more than 100 winter ascents. He's done every 14er in winter, many multiple times, and more than half of them twice. He isn't impervious to cold, as no human could be, but he seems that way to me, as I would never be out in conditions where he'd truly be cold. He's also got unreal endurance. When he went for the 14er speed record, cut short by injury, he'd done over 40 14ers in seven days. Seven days of nearly continuous climbing!</p><p>Dan Mottinger and Wes Thurman joined Homie and me for this climb. Dan and Homie did the Maroon Bells traverse, in winter, in a day. Wes is an accomplished ultra-runner and he's running the Barkley for the second time this March. These two are badasses, yet, there was no question in anyone's mind who our leader was: Homie.</p><p>Homie picked Dan and me up at my house at 2:30 a.m. and drove us to the Spanish Creek Trailhead (same as the summer trailhead) where we met Wes. The weather report was good and would hold for the entire day. When we started at 6:45 a.m., it was 8 degrees and a bit chilly for the first hour, but working hard kept us warm. </p><p>Homie led us up the "trail" which was entirely covered in snow. We broke trail the entire way, though down low, it was just a couple of inches of sugary snow that wouldn't consolidate. Eventually, we started to rotate leaders and the snow got deeper. We constantly had to deal with deadfall. Most of the time we could climb over it, but a few times we had to go under it and I was reduced to crawling a couple of feet. Staying on the trail was a constant chore, as it was faint to the point of being invisible most of the time. Homie and Wes used topo maps on their phones to keep us on track.</p><p>After two thousand feet of gain, we had to pull on the snowshoes. We had resisted as long as we could because of the deadfall, but once we were plunging consistently to our knees, it was time. Now we really had a peloton rotation going. The leader would break trail until they needed a break and then would stay aside and rotate to the back. Breaking through crust to sugary snow and climbing over deadfall made progress difficult and tiring. We were averaging about one mile an hour. Later, we'd all agree that none of us would have made it without the others. I certainly couldn't have made it with just one other partner.</p><p>Nearly every step of this adventure, up and down, was hard work. That said, the time I spent in the fourth position was heaven compared to being at the front. I've done winter 14ers with Homie and Danny where I never went to the front. It was all I could do to keep up in the back. But this day, I took my turn at the front. I'm sure my pulls were shorter than everyone else's, but I didn't skip any turns.</p><p>Finally, after four hours of near-continuous work, we got the base of a third-class ridge that would lead most of the way to the summit. A snow gully to the right was another option, but we wrongly assumed it would be brutal post-holing and eschewed it. </p><p>I took us first up the ridge, assuming as is usually the case, that I'd be the slowest and would need more time. I'd do this at each of our very short breaks as well. Taking off a minute or two early so that I could get a headstart on my stronger companions. I was concerned about altitude issues as well. I hadn't been over 10,000 feet since early September when Homie, Sheri, and I had climbed Granite Peak in Montana. I expected to get crushed after 13,000 feet.</p><p>I led up the first section of rock and along a flattish ridge. Dan took over and broke trail in snow up to the next step of rock. I went back into the lead here and set a goal for myself to stay in the lead until we hit 12,500 feet. Once there, I still had a gap and reset my goal to 12,700 feet. I was moving really slowly but very deliberately with little wasted effort. The rock on this peak is great: really solid with lots of good handholds. My pace was slow enough that I could maintain it and I just kept going. I hit 13,000 feet and kept going. Normally above 13,000 feet, there is no pace slow enough that doesn't require me to stop to catch my breath. But, remarkably, I found a pace that I could maintain. </p><p>I felt like I crawled the last 1500 feet to the summit since I almost always had my hands on the terrain. Either I was grabbing handholds or punching my hands into the snow. I think this helped me, as I had four limbs propelling me upwards like a dog. And my gap on the others wasn't shrinking but growing. How could this be? Dan was next below me and a similar gap stretched from him down to Wes and Homie. I knew Wes, despite his amazing fitness, wasn't a climber. He was uncomfortable on steep rock and was unfamiliar with the proper use of an ice axe. This climb was probably over his safety margin, but Homie took care of him. Homie takes care of everyone...</p><p>At 13,700 feet, the wind was finally making me quite cold. My slow pace wasn't generating enough heat. I pulled off my pack and pulled out my down jacket. Normally, I couldn't climb in a down jacket as I'd overheat, but with the wind and my slow pace, and my susceptibility to the cold, it worked for me. If Homie had pulled on a down jacket here, he'd have died from heat stroke. I'm an absolute wimp in cold temperatures. I've wondered many times why someone like me would do something like this. I don't have a good answer. It is only because of the quality gear that I have that I can do winter 14ers. </p><p>Once my jacket was on, I pulled out my $300 Black Diamond gloves. These gloves were a game-changer for me. They are ridiculously warm and have an inner, lobster-style, Gortex glove that works well on its own. They are very expensive, yes, but these gloves make my hands nearly as tough as Homie's. </p><p>I put on one crampon and couldn't get the other one on. The buckle was jammed with snow and I couldn't clear it. I gave up and pulled a Microspike onto my right boot. Below me, the others were stopped as well doing the same tasks. Before continuing, I made sure to eat and drink. Then I pulled out my ultra-light ice axe and headed towards the summit.</p><p>I kicked steps in the snow when I had to and scrambled rocks when I could. I hit the summit ridge and encountered a steep, knife-edged ridge of the hardest snow I'd ever seen. It was impossible to kick a step. With only one crampon and one axe, I wondered if continuing was too risky, but, duh, I had an axe in my hand. I laboriously chopped steps up the ridge. I'd hang onto the ridge with one hand, stand on one foot and chop away until I could then plant my axe and pull on it while I hopped up my foot. Thankfully, the ridge was short and I probably chopped only ten steps before I could get across to the fabulously exposed north side and work along a foot-wide ledge.</p><p>A short while later, I arrived at the summit. I sat down there but realized I couldn't see the ridge so reversed back about fifty feet to where I could sit and watch the others. Bundled in my jacket and my giant gloves, I was warm enough, though my feet started to get cold. I watched the others inch up the technical crux toward the top. I could see that Wes was probably at his technical and mental limit. Homie watched him closely. </p><p>Dan arrived first and then Wes and Homie. After some summit brownies, I headed down to stay warm. I quickly reversed back to my pack and continued descending. I glissaded the couloir on the way down but found it to be a heads-up descent as the soft snow layer was thin, and very hard snow lay just beneath. I descended cautiously, keeping my speed slow by digging in my axe. Despite this, twice I got going too fast and had to roll completely onto my axe and self-arrest. I exited the couloir about halfway down and descended the ridge. I wasn't sure anyone would follow my lead. </p><p>I got all the way down to the flat spot on the ridge, found a nice rock and waited for the others. I saw Dan descend the couloir all the way and then he cut back to our ascent track. He stopped above me and waited a bit before descending to me. We watched Wes and Homie carefully climb down the couloir. Wes didn't really know how to self-arrest and even being in that couloir was a significant risk. Homie would later tell me that he was very concerned that Wes might stumble and fall. If he did, he'd have to self-arrest and likely wouldn't be successful. But Wes has an inexhaustible supply of energy. And good concentration. He didn't tire and he didn't make a mistake.</p><p>Homie and Wes didn't stop when they got to us but continued down another couloir which wasn't nearly as steep as the upper couloir but was rock-hard snow. A bit below me, Homie's foot punched through the crust and he pitched forward onto his chest. Homie had only been using his poles and might not have been able to arrest his fall, but his boot was caught by the hard crust and he stopped. His foot was stuck so badly that he couldn't even extract himself. I descended to him and punched out the crust that held him fast.</p><p>Back at the snowshoes, I was once again ready first. I'd had more time to rest and knew I'd be the slowest on the way out. I got started. After a bit Dan caught up. Going back over the deadfall was getting trickier for me as my fatigue built. At one such obstacle, I got on top of the logs fine, but then fell forward. I put out my pole to stabilize me and it plunged completely into the snow. My arm followed up to my shoulder and I had to duck my head to prevent a face plant. Instead, it was a head plant. Thankfully, no sticks or stones were beneath the snow. How Dan didn't start laughing at my position, I don't know. My head planted and my ass in the air. </p><p>Soon Homie and Wes caught me as well. I continued on until I needed a break to drink and get out my headlamp. Dark was coming fast. Dan and Homie continued and Wes joined me in digging out his headlamp. We descended together and soon had our headlamps on. We caught up to Homie when he was shedding his snowshoes. We did the same. It was really dark now and we had lost the trail a bit. But Homie is a bloodhound when it comes to finding the track. He's led me out of the darkness many times and he did it again. </p><p>Back on the trail, we still had 2000 feet to descend and it took a long time. I fell to the back and was continually getting gapped, but Homie constantly looked back for me, making sure I didn't get left behind. Dan was leading and he slowed the pace so that I could tack on for the finish back to the cars. </p><p>What a great group of climbing partners. I'm a lucky guy and I'm acutely aware of it. It's gotten to the point where I really don't want to even attempt a winter 14er without Homie. He's my security blanket. But Dan and Wes were incredibly strong breaking trail and I wouldn't have made the top without them either. So, while I still need Homie to summit, I now need Homie plus a couple more co-guides. </p><p>Homie drove the entire way back. Both Dan and I volunteered to take a turn at the wheel. I certainly couldn't have done the whole drive but could have contributed an hour. Maybe. It might not have been wise because twice in the first hour of the drive home my hamstrings cramped so badly that I screamed out in agony as I tried to get them to release. If I'd have been driving... Well, I'm thankful for Homie's heroic turn at the wheel. </p><p>I was so tired on the final descent to the car that I could not imagine ever trying another winter 14er. But I still seem to possess the most important quality of an alpine/winter climber: a bad memory. As I write these words, less than 24 hours after the climb finished, the suffering doesn't seem so bad now. Maybe I could do another 14er. Maybe even this year. But only if Homie and Danny and Dan and Wes come along too...</p><div><br /></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-32070295652112384352022-09-24T19:12:00.005-06:002023-02-23T10:01:34.598-07:00The Northeast Buttress of Mt. Slesse with Derek<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKv8CwkGWm9N9fCCvLcR5YY4MlrBkQRQxtYZTvMsTDlw5K77xQTDqwtgLgwJIrEBFhnp10wxqOyC59Nj4Icm_2auL2VCyNCOBCoXcrcKuSDyY1mofeHJCGUv70bINi6jxwAhubRLBFJUX4iDFagI-4G5LXot-epHxyEjhgxhuQLImcxxLMw/s4032/SlesseFinalApproachSlab.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKv8CwkGWm9N9fCCvLcR5YY4MlrBkQRQxtYZTvMsTDlw5K77xQTDqwtgLgwJIrEBFhnp10wxqOyC59Nj4Icm_2auL2VCyNCOBCoXcrcKuSDyY1mofeHJCGUv70bINi6jxwAhubRLBFJUX4iDFagI-4G5LXot-epHxyEjhgxhuQLImcxxLMw/w640-h480/SlesseFinalApproachSlab.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7865958206">Strava</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/7Ck5mXNx5nJ9jbgdA">Photos</a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>I was bruised and battered<br />I couldn't tell what I felt<br />I was unrecognizable to myself<br />Saw my reflection in a window<br />And didn't know my own face<br />Oh brother are you gonna leave me wastin' away</i><br /><span style="white-space: pre;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>- Streets of Philadelphia, Bruce Springsteen</p><p>While I might not yet be too old for big alpine climbs, I do seem to be too clumsy for big alpine descents. </p><p>I bought my first copy of “Fifty Classic Climbs of North America” back when I was in college in the early 80s. This book directed my climbing for the first twenty years. Then for at least a decade, I ignored them. I’d done most of the ones that were in my wheelhouse and turned to other things like doing Longs Peak and the Yellow Spur over and over ad nauseam. But now that I’m older, I took a serious look at my climbing bucket list. There is no time to waste. </p><p>Last year, Derek and I went to Slesse, but we didn’t even attempt the NE Butt, as the weather wasn’t conducive to rock climbing. Perhaps we should have canceled the trip, but I wanted to go see this mountain. With rain expected, we started up the descent route on the west side of the peak and climbed up one of the steepest trails I’d ever been on. It was a 50% grade for thousands of vertical feet. We got within 500 feet of the summit and onto technical ground when the rain started. We turned back.</p><p>This year, when the weather looked really good on a weekend, I booked my ticket and Derek picked me up at 5 p.m. at the SeaTac airport on Friday. We drove the three hours to Chilliwack (a pretty chill place but definitely a bit whacky) and then on up the rough road towards the trailhead. At 9:15 p.m. we came across a minivan crosswise and blocking the entire road. They were in the midst of an Austin-Powers-ish 23-point turn. The road ahead was too much for their soccer-mom-mobile. We decided to stop as well, though Derek’s CrossTrek could have certainly made it, we didn’t want any stress and still needed to pack for tomorrow.</p><p>The only problem with this decision was that we’d have to put up our tent directly in the middle of the road, as it was the only flat spot. We hoped that no one else would be driving up this road this late or even early in the morning. This was Canada, where a popular climb means it’s done more than once a year. We were wrong about the traffic, though.</p><p>The couple in the van was headed to the NE Butt as well but immediately told us that they were planning a 2-day ascent. This is the more common way to do this route because the approach is long and arduous (MP suggests four hours), the route is 24 pitches, and the descent is very long and very complex. I figured I was about the worst climber that could do this route in a day, but doing it onsight would make it even more difficult, as a mistake of any length would probably mean a bivy. We carried two emergency shelters with us and I thought the chances of using them were very good, maybe 80%. If we descended the way we came up the year before, once down we’d still have 20 kilometers of walking to get back to the car. There was another way down, though. </p><p>The usual descent from Slesse was something called the Crossover Descent, but a big landslide took out a section of that route, making it impassable. A couple of years ago, some guides put up a route called the Crack of Noon Club. This climbs up a buttress to Crossover Pass. They equipped the route with 11 bolted-chain, rappel anchors, which makes the Crack of Noon Crossover descent possible. This descent isn’t a gimme, though, and we didn’t know anything about it. At least we knew the west side descent and that it was entirely on a trail, once we descended the top 600 vertical feet. We’d decide later.</p><p>We packed our gear, which was mostly a double rack to #2 Camelot, a #3, a #4 (used 3 or 4 times), a full set of stoppers (heavily used), two Micros (used one once), and 13 alpine draws. We took one 60-meter rope, though we knew a 70-meter was handy on some rappels, I couldn’t stomach carrying a rope so long. A 60-meter worked out fine, though we did have to do some down climbing off of a couple of rappels.</p><p>Once packed, we set up our single-walled First Ascent BD tent. This isn’t the best choice for the northwest where there is so much moisture in the air even when it hasn’t rained, and the dew point is high. In the morning the inside walls of our tent were damp. It was no big deal but not ideal. </p><p>Before we could even get into the tent, a truck came up the road and we had to pick up the tent and move it to the side. We’d see these two guys the next day and spend most of the day with them. Once they were by, we moved the tent back into the middle of the road and hopped in around 10:15 p.m. with an alarm set for 3:50 a.m. Just after the alarm went off, the tent was completely lit up by headlights. Another truck was trying to get up the road. We hurriedly pulled on our shoes and jumped out of the tent to move it out of the way once again. The guys in this truck were headed for another cool mountain: Rexford. They said Slesse was on their list. Being from Chilliwack, they’d have ample opportunity to wait for ideal conditions.</p><p>We wolfed down a cold breakfast and were hiking before our goal time of 4:30. I thought we had close to a mile to the trailhead, but we arrived there in only a quarter of a mile. Cool. We started up the narrow, twisting trail, crowded closely by vegetation that was soaked with condensation. I was excited to see two salamanders on the trail. The moist conditions suited them but the cold temperatures made them immobile. </p><p>By the time we got to the Propeller Cairn at the end of the trail, my pants, socks, and shoes were completely soaked. It was only in the 40s at this point and wouldn’t get above 55 degrees all day. I don’t think my approach shoes fully dried until Monday. </p><p>The north face of Slesse loomed above us, split by three buttresses with two glacier-carved cirques between them. We had to cross slick slabs to get to the middle buttress, where we ascended steeply to a notch in the ridge and then down the other side on very slippery 4th-class terrain. It was an introduction to moss/lichen/rock climbing. Vegetation is a feature on this route.</p><p>Walking up the smooth granite slabs to the base of the wall, I thought of the upper slabs of Snake Dike, as the angle and rock were quite similar. That’s high praise of rock quality, I know. Alas the route itself has no rock remotely as good as these approach slabs. </p><p>In the middle of this slab was a huge chunk of a glacier. This chunk was the remnants of the Pocket Glacier that fills this cirque in the winter and spring. It seems strange to call something a snowfield that disappears every year a glacier, but I think it is a glacier. It builds up enough ice to flow and crack with crevasses. Climbers wait for the Pocket Glacier to slide down this granite ramp before climbing this route because otherwise, you are crossing directly underneath it and very close to it, meaning if something falls off you will not have time to avoid it. In late September it was long gone. </p><p>Speaking of late September, this isn’t the ideal time to climb such a long route, due to the lack of daylight and colder temperatures (the high was 52 degrees), but much more important is to have a dry forecast. There is so much lichen on this route that I imagine it would be nearly unclimbable when wet. Our forecast was good. We had to make an attempt. I knew I was in for adventure and all that entails which means stress and discomfort. I don’t yearn for challenges like this as much as I once did and I felt that uneasy. Once we got up reasonably high, we’d be committed. There isn’t an easy way off this mountain. There are no fixed belay stations anywhere on this route and hardly any tat. If we got high on the route, we’d have to top out, but there is no walk-off on this mountain. Every route to the summit is a technical route.</p><p>As we headed up the slabs to the ByPass Ledge, which avoids the first six pitches of the Direct NE Butt (10c), we heard and then saw a pair of climbers. They were roped up and simul-climbing along the ledge. We quickly gained the ledge and seeing that it was really just 3rd and 4th class, continued unroped in our approach shoes. The exposure grew significantly with upward movement as we gained the buttress itself. We could already look down on a thousand feet of vertical. </p><p>We caught up to the follower just as we started heading up the buttress proper. His name was Cory and he was a rock guide from Squamish. His partner was also a guide and his name was, and this is his true name on his birth certificate, Tigger. I couldn’t resist asking Cory if his partner’s head was made of rubber and his bottom of spring. But he didn’t know what I was talking about, so I had to sing it to him:</p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>The wonderful thing about triggers<br /></i><i>Is tiggers are wonderful things!<br /></i><i>Their tops are made out of rubber<br /></i><i>Their bottoms are made out of springs!<br /></i><i>They're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy<br /></i><i>Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!<br /></i><i>But the most wonderful thing about tiggers is<br /></i><i>I'm the only one</i></p><p>Cory and Tigger were the guys that drove by our tent the night before. </p><p>We moved up to the right of these guys to a small perch in trees and dirt with hardly any level ground. I found a sling anchor here. We geared up, being careful not to drop anything. I asked Derek if he’d like to lead first or me. He said I should start leading “just in case any passing was necessary.”</p><p>I climbed up steep ground, but most of it was dirt and trees with some rock. We were still really working our way up to the cleaner rock. I ran out all the rope and decided to belay Derek up rather than simul-climb because of the drag of 60 meters of rope. If we were to simul-climb we’d need to shorten the rope, which we really never did. Instead, I did long pitches and by then I needed more gear anyway.</p><p>The climbing on the lower half of the buttress is low angle, broken, and rich in vegetation, meaning lichen covered the rocks and moss filled the cracks. Some cracks were clean and others had gardened-out spots for placements. The climbing was probably 5.6 or easier but insecure because of the greenery and a bit freaky because protection was sparse. </p><p>I stayed in the lead and we followed Cory and Tigger up the route. We were both using the MountainProject written description, but I didn’t need to refer to mine, as I just followed these guys. They were both really friendly and we got along great. Tigger was leading everything on the first half of the route so I got to know just Cory. They had a 70-meter rope (for the descent) but were climbing on just 35 meters of rope and simul-climbing with Micros. This simul-climbing seems to be catching on. Pretty soon people will be doing it in Eldo!</p><p>Despite not simul-climbing, we kept up with them and sometimes even had to wait on them a bit. But they were doing all the route finding, so we didn’t mind at all. I was worried about the descent and secretly hoping we could join forces to figure it out. Or that they could come to pick us up if we went down the other descent.</p><p>From the moment we left the car, we’d been moving nearly continuously. I didn’t even sit down to belay but once or twice. Derek and I are very efficient at the belays. Once he arrives, we re-rack gear, get him anchored, take him off belay, put me on belay, and I’m off. Rarely does this take more than a minute and never more than two. I liken our partnership to a band that is “tight”, meaning all working together in the exact same rhythm.</p><p>The crux of the lower half of the route is a 5.9 pitch just below the halfway bivy ledge. It was by far the steepest pitch yet, but it went nicely on some big holds and good gear. It was by far the best pitch yet. Derek liked it because “it was mostly rock.” That’s a strange comment to make for a rock climb, but it was appropriate for this route.</p><p>At the halfway bivy ledge, which is huge, we’d done 12 pitches with 12 to go. It was just 11 a.m. The route above steepened and the climbing got harder. Above us were three more pitches of 5.9. I asked Derek if he wanted to take the top block and he hesitated. He said he wasn’t feeling that great about the climbing. I got that completely because I was a bit put off by it as well. In Italy, Derek was keen to be in the lead for all hard climbing. He asked how I was feeling. I told him I was happy to keep leading. I like leading and I was already used to climbing and had my lead head going. He said that he wanted to lead some but maybe a bit further up.</p><p>I ended up leading the rest of the route and we never talked about switching leaders. Just like our change-over coordination, we know each other so well that there was no need for discussion. I knew Derek would speak up if he wanted to lead. Frankly, this climbing is my specialty: semi-runout, moderate, tricky-gear-placement, alpine climbing. I’d have included ‘difficult route finding’, but the guides were doing that all for me. If the climbing was harder and cleaner with more solid gear, Derek would have been in front, placing all the gear for me to grab and pull on. He’s done that before. Still, it was good to know that I can still be useful and a valid partner to my much younger, much stronger, much fitter son.</p><p>The 5.9 pitches above were steep and interesting. One had a few precariously jammed flakes that were necessary to use. It was freaky to pull on them, but they didn’t move. Another pitch was runout and devious. The last real pitch was rated 5.7, but this passed by some rock that was just barely attached and too big to trundle for fear of hitting Derek or chopping my rope. I felt this was the crux pitch, mentally. </p><p>There is a 4th class escape at the top and I took that. I got incredible rope drag going hard to the left, down, and then up again and Derek had to simul-climb below me to free up the rope. But it got me to the summit and soon Derek had joined me. It was just before 4 p.m. Cory and Tigger were nearby, packing up their gear. Derek and I ate, drank, changed shoes, stowed the rack, coiled the rope, and were soon headed down, following Cory and Tigger.</p><p>We scrambled down some scree and then across exposed ledges, up to a notch, and steeply down the other side to some rappel slings. The guides went down first on their rope. They moved surprisingly slowly on rappels, as each set up a prussik backup each time. They weren’t that slow. I’m just used to guides that move ultra-efficiently. They pulled their rope and we rapped down next. We had to do an extra short rappel due to our 60-meter rope.</p><p>More scrambling and more exposed climbing led us to another rappel. Then we traversed further around and decided to rappel what the guides were down climbing. We did two more rappels here with some short, fifth class, heads-up down climbing to get to the next anchor. Then it was hiking and scrambling in loose gullies, over notches, and along the ridge. Up, down, up, down. At one point, I slipped off the narrow trail and fell to my knees. Then my hands slipped and I literally planted my face into the rocks. Thankfully, I bashed my face into my cheekbone, which seemed way better than knocking my teeth out or breaking my nose. It really rang my bell though. Derek was right there and knew I was hurt. I laid there for a while just trying to get my wits about me. After less than a minute I stood up and moved on. We had a long way to go and little daylight left.</p><p>We kept traveling the ridge, up and down. We topped out the highest mini-summit and had to do two more rappels to get down into another loose gully. In general, I was always last here, as I’d pull the rope, coil it, and put it in my pack. I always encouraged Derek to just keep moving once he was off the line so that he could either follow Cory and Tigger or lead the way and find the route down. Derek did a great job of this all the way down.</p><p>Eventually, we got to Crossover Pass and the first rappel anchors of the Crack of Noon Club route. From here it would be 11 single-rope rappels down to the talus, all on 2-bolt, chain anchors. In this last section, I caught and passed Tigger who seemed to be fading a bit. This set Derek and me up to go first down the rappels. Cory asked if it would be a good idea to have the first guy down bring the second rope and set up a rappel below, but I nixed that idea. It didn’t make any sense for this many rappels, as you’d then have to pull the top rope, coil it, and transport it down to the third rappel. It made much more sense for us to descend as two teams of two and just pull the rope through the next anchors when we pulled it down. Plus, Derek and I would simul-rappel the entire thing. We’d known from the earlier rappels that we were faster than the guides.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1cYO_wlmyK9jGzzZ8gMA-sVnBfxCu3DT1uwGqGcg3UBMYmMu3phRsCTSZM9P3uLXgsBJUJtFuDnieRA8L69AacLvpTy7c1gJ6gnIO9F6BeaWm8qm6r8FctddKpbck_e-Icgw4GmZOCl7Stb9CR-JUAuHGXFea__dvUmZoz9MPxK43Rio5Q/s2000/SlesseApproachAndDescent.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1466" data-original-width="2000" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1cYO_wlmyK9jGzzZ8gMA-sVnBfxCu3DT1uwGqGcg3UBMYmMu3phRsCTSZM9P3uLXgsBJUJtFuDnieRA8L69AacLvpTy7c1gJ6gnIO9F6BeaWm8qm6r8FctddKpbck_e-Icgw4GmZOCl7Stb9CR-JUAuHGXFea__dvUmZoz9MPxK43Rio5Q/w640-h470/SlesseApproachAndDescent.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This shows the descent we took, with the dotted yellow line being added to this photo by me.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Derek and I both got our Grigris on the rope and started down together, but not before getting our headlamps out and getting Cory’s phone number, as we suspected this might be goodbye. Our descent went super smooth. We have a lot of experience simul-rappelling. We count down weighting and unweighting the ropes. We knot the ends. We clip into the anchors…mostly. After maybe the second rappel we had to turn on the headlamps. Here simul-rappelling really helped us, as we could scan a much wider area on the descent in search of the rap anchors. Sometimes Derek would spot the anchor and sometimes I would. Each time we predicted where the descent would go and tossed our ropes in that direction. We always made the right decision. A descent this long, sight unseen, in the dark would normally be quite stressful for me, but here the angle wasn’t very steep and ledges were plentiful at each anchor. We counted down the 11 raps and were soon on talus.</p><p>Here, we finally took an extended break, though by extended I mean 15 minutes. We got to finally strip off our harnesses and helmets. We ate a ton and drank even more. We’d carried three liters from the car and still had plenty left due to the cool temperatures of the day. We had one crux left: finding the trail. In the Pacific Northwest, you cannot descend through the forest without a trail. Something that would take two hours on a trail would take two days without one. </p><p>Derek led the way down and left across the talus, searching for pink or yellow tape or a cairn that would mark the way. We found nothing but continued on in the same general direction. Derek was faster here and he’d get out ahead, always searching. Sometimes he’d wait for me to catch up and turn on my powerful headlamp so that we could scan further. After 30 minutes or so, Derek said, “I may have found something.” When I caught up, he pointed at a cairn. Sweet. We made our way from cairn to cairn and lost them at one point, but found them again. Then we hit the forest and a very faint trail. We followed it across and up and down and then hit a T-junction. Derek followed it uphill because he spotted some tape, but after a while we turned around, figuring this must be the old route up to the pass. Back at the T-junction, we followed it down and soon it became obvious that it was the trail. At that point, Derek stopped, turned around, and gave me a big hug. This has traditionally been my move and it touched me deeply to have Derek initiate it.</p><p>It was all over now but for the marching. We couldn't do much damage to ourselves from here on it…or so we thought. We still had to drop 3600 feet.</p><p>Cory caught up to us a bit further along but Tigger never did. We chatted with Cory a bit before he dropped back to be with Tigger and that was the last we saw of him. It was fun sharing the climb and descent with these guys. They were both very solid alpine climbers and basically guided me up the route.</p><p>Derek and I continued to the only stream crossing. We walked across a one-foot-diameter log that didn’t quite reach across and the end of the log was covered in moss. Fearful of that moss at the end, we both didn’t pay as much attention to a trio of smaller logs that we stepped onto with our right foot. These logs were as slippery as anything I’ve ever stood on. Or rather, tried to stand on. They couldn’t have been more slippery if they were coated in verglas. Derek immediately slipped, but he didn’t fall. He did plunge one foot into the creek though. Warned by his slip, I inched across carefully but didn’t know the three smaller logs were the problem. As soon as I put my foot on those logs, I was down. But I landed on the logs. Trying to get up, which was impossible due to the slickness, my left hamstring cramped. I had to scoot along with my hands and feet to the other side to stand up. </p><p>We descended on and on, our satisfaction with a great adventure increasing with every step. But fatigue was also increasing and I fell back a bit from Derek’s pace. Not much, but some and I tried to close the gap. I stumbled and not wanting to do another face plant, ran forwards in an attempt to get my feet underneath me. As I did so, something, a branch of something, stabbed me in the eye. It was excruciating pain and I cried out but kept moving. Derek stopped and turned back and I told him I got stuck in the eye. Less than a minute later I had Derek check my eye since it seemed like something was still in there.</p><p>He shined his headlamp on my eye and gasped. “Oh, Pops,” he said, “that doesn’t look good.” He immediately whipped out his phone to take a photo of my eye. I had a rapidly growing blood blister in my eye. It was big enough that had it been anywhere else besides my eye, we’d have punctured it and tried to drain the blood out. Sticking something sharp into my eye, even to drain blood, didn’t seem like a wise decision to us, so we moved on. I moved a bit slower now. I could still see out of the eye, but a bit diminished and I was gun shy about another possible stumble. It was uncomfortable to blink because my eye was so swollen that I had increased friction between my eyelid and my cornea. This would actually scratch my cornea. </p><p>The rest of the way to the car went without incident. We got there 18h36m after leaving it. It was after 11 p.m. We hopped into the car and headed towards Chilliwack and possibly to a hospital. While the adventure ended a bit, unfortunately, the day was hugely successful. I loved that we were still a well-balanced team. We look out for and took care of each other. We had the skills and fitness to pull off this one-day ascent safely. My clumsiness cost me a bit of pain and some recovery time. It’s a price I’d rather not pay, but if I had to pay it for this climb, it was worth it to me. I don’t know how many more adventures like this I’ll have with Derek. I cherish each one.</p><p>I’ve now done 36 50CCs. Amazingly, Fred Beckey did the first ascent of seven of these classics. I still haven’t done three of these Beckey routes, but the Price Glacier on Mt. Shuksan will likely be the next one I try. The 50CCs I’ve done are, in no particular order:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Ellingwood Arete on Crestone Needle <b>(x3)</b></li><li>Durrance Route on Devil’s Tower <b>(x3)</b></li><li>Kor-Ingalls on Castleton Tower </li><li>East Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock <b>(x3)</b></li><li>Royal Arches <b>(x5)</b></li><li>East Face of Mt. Whitney</li><li>South Face of Charolette Dome</li><li>The Southeast Face of the Clyde Minaret</li><li>The Northwest Face of Half Dome <b>(x2)</b></li><li>The Nose on El Capitan <b>(x3)</b></li><li><br /></li><li><br /></li><li>The Salathe Wall on El Capitan <b>(x2)</b></li><li>The Regular Route on Fairview Dome <b>(x2)</b></li><li>The Lost Arrow Spire</li><li>Northcutt-Carter on the North Face of Hallet’s Peak</li><li>The Petit Grepon <b>(x5)</b></li><li>D1 on the Diamond of Longs Peak</li><li>Direct Exum Ridge on the Grand Teton</li><li>The North Ridge of the Grand Teton</li><li>The North Face of the Grand Teton</li><li>Northeast Face of Pingora</li><li><br /></li><li><br /></li><li>East Ridge of Wolf’s Head</li><li>The Direct South Buttress of Mt. Moran</li><li>The Finger of Fate on the Titan</li><li>The Japanese Route on Mt. Alberta</li><li>The East Ridge of Mt. Temple</li><li>The North Face of Mt. Edith Cavell</li><li>The West Ridge of Forbidden Peak</li><li>Liberty Crack on Liberty Bell Mountain</li><li>The East Ridge of Bugaboo Spire <b>(x2)</b></li><li>The Northwest Arete of Mt. Sir Donald</li><li><br /></li><li><br /></li><li>Shiprock</li><li>Steck-Salathe on Sentinel Rock <b>(x2)</b></li><li>The North Ridge of Mt. Stuart </li><li>Becky-Chouinard on South Howser Tower</li><li>Northeast Buttress of Mt. Slesse</li><li>Traveler Buttress on Lover’s Leap</li></ul><p></p></blockquote><p><b><u>Postscript</u></b>:</p><p>We drove from the trailhead to the hospital in Chilliwack to have my eye checked out. We figured, “Healthcare is free in Canada, right?” Well, that’s just for Canadians. Unlike healthcare in Argentina, which is free to everyone. And, yes, it’s upsetting that I know these things from personal experience. Don’t worry, I also go to hospitals in the US. I’m apparently doing my own personal survey of healthcare across the globe. After the attendant found out I wasn’t Canadian, she asked for $1250 before she would proceed. I was shocked. Being within an hour of the US border where my health insurance would help me out, I opted not to pay this fee.</p><p>We were both pretty tired now, but Derek was extremely sleepy. I gave him an Advil PM after we got off the rappels and it had affected him more than expected. Either that or it was being up for 21 hours straight and working very hard for 18.5 of those hours. I had to drive and we first went to a hotel that was locked up and they didn’t answer the doorbell. I called another hotel but it was going to be $300 for the night and we’d be checking in a 1:30 a.m. Instead I drove around looking for a place to sleep and found a parking lot in the town of Cultus Lake, a short distance south of Chilliwack. We threw down the ground cloth, our pads, and bags. Derek was asleep less than 3 minutes after getting horizontal. I was so jealous. </p><p>I slept some for sure, but my shoulder was hurting fiercely. It’s been a problem for a year or so, but much worse since my bike crash. I know I have a torn rotator cuff. I need to get (another) MRI to assess how bad it is now. I probably need to fix it and I’m not looking forward to that.</p><p>We got up around 6:30. I’d been awake since 5:30 but busied myself doing puzzles on my phone. We packed up our gear under the watchful eyes of…a security guard? I wasn’t sure, but he was giving us the stink eye that’s for sure. We headed to a Denny’s and ate like there was no tomorrow. With our belly full and our third cup of coffee empty, we headed south, back to the US, towards my sister Brook’s house, where Derek was staying. We figured we should make a quick stop by the hospital to see if we should be concerned about my eye, which was now completely red. I looked positively…satanic. How appropriate.</p><p>I figured my eye would just have to get better on its own, but I wanted to be on the safe side, especially with a terrible record of self-diagnosis. The hospital had me in a room quickly and a doctor saw me shortly afterward and did an impressive job of examining my eye for an ER doctor. Derek had mentioned earlier that one of his goals for the day was to get a doctor to say that this was the worse subconjunctival hemorrhage they'd ever seen. Derek had done some internet research on my eye issue and seen photos of my condition, but my eye looked way worse than the photos he found. The doctor did admit that it was amongst the worst she’d seen before. She took a photo of it and sent it to an on-call ophthalmologist, who recommended a CT scan to make sure no foreign debris was still in the eye. That led to a tetanus shot, an IV in my arm to inject a tracer into my blood during the CT scan, and various eye drops and antibiotics. I stayed five hours in this hospital and then had to travel to Seattle (with the I-90 bridges closed in that direction) to see the ophthalmologist that day. It made me think back to my pulmonary edema incident, where I thought the hospital was just running up the bill on a torn chest muscle. </p><p>One happy note was that the doctor that took over for my original doctor was a climber and had done the NE Buttress of Slesse. The other doctor told him that I had “hiked” Slesse and he knew there was no hiking path to the summit. He came by to see if I had just been hiking near it or had actually climbed it. We talked about the Crossover descent, which he did before it fell away. He told me I was being discharged and said goodbye. Then ten minutes later, he came back and asked, “Are you the Bill Wright of speed climbing records?” Then we chatted more about stuff like scrambling up Flatirons and timing it. So, that was cool. </p><p>The worst part was that my mother-in-law Marilyn passed away just as I was being wheeled into the CT room. We had just seen her last month for several days. Though she had dementia she knew who we were and her physical health seemed fine. We expected her to live a lot longer, even though that would have been tough on her and us, especially Sheri’s brother Mike. He has been in charge of her health for the past 16 months. He moved her out of Texas to an assisted living center near his home in Portland. She was relatively fine then, but it started a steady and rapid decline which ended this day. </p><p>Sheri and I cried together on the phone and she made plans to get to Portland immediately. Not for Marilyn, of course, but for Mike and for herself. I was so frustrated that I wasn't with her to hold her. I drove to Portland in my sister's car the next morning to join her and Mike.</p><p>That night, I went to the Harbor View hospital in Seattle and it was depressing. Homeless people, a guy dripping blood from a leg wound as he wandered around the waiting area, people hurting, everybody using their phones in speaker mode, and hours of waiting. I was told it might be a three-hour wait. Derek had enough and left for home. I didn’t blame him one bit. He’s been through this before with me and it is almost as bad for him as it is for me. I’d take an Uber to Brook’s house when and if I get medical attention. It’s a horrible place to be and reminded me of the horrible hospital in Buenos Aires where Derek and I waited for hours to get medical attention. Just like then, I’m tempted to just leave and go see an eye doctor back home. Except that I don’t know when I’ll be back home. I waited for over three hours and then left, taking an Uber back to my sister's house. I'd see a doctor in Portland the next day and find out that my eye would be fine and recover in a number of weeks. I just need to keep it lubricated.</p><p>Things are tough now, but I will cherish this adventure with Derek for the rest of my days. We are already planning our next one.</p><div><br /></div>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-77803429788747465972022-09-07T15:06:00.006-06:002022-09-09T15:35:34.996-06:00Pilot Peak with Homie<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPKYaZD3cqsaRJv0Mh8jqBu9TFzAY5NuwljWAvhk1-FN3TI-7wd9oVx01ZnNn8dcKAIAwZvjYOlTGS2pwsz6ab9CgPn6WfkSX1asv9TEaaeCPUjpTh2nJRXStkAJdQGEF08gOwK05dFqSwBSl2z3rrwzrAhSStHcouC_fKTqEU0t4nCCL-5g/s4032/IMG_3732.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPKYaZD3cqsaRJv0Mh8jqBu9TFzAY5NuwljWAvhk1-FN3TI-7wd9oVx01ZnNn8dcKAIAwZvjYOlTGS2pwsz6ab9CgPn6WfkSX1asv9TEaaeCPUjpTh2nJRXStkAJdQGEF08gOwK05dFqSwBSl2z3rrwzrAhSStHcouC_fKTqEU0t4nCCL-5g/w480-h640/IMG_3732.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7780146406">Strava</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/kfXJ43cuw1jncYYT9">Photos</a></div><p></p><p>Sheri and I were headed to Big Sky for our niece’s wedding and we decided to go north up early and bag Granite Mountain, the highest peak in Montana. I’d already done Granite so I started searching for nearby peaks to climb as well. I stumbled on Pilot Peak and it grabbed my attention…hard.</p><p>It’s a cliché to say a mountain is “the Matterhorn” of this or that range. Like Ama Dablam is the Matterhorn of the Himalayas. Why is the Matterhorn the standard of alpine beauty and inaccessibility? Well, just look at it. If you need more explanation than that, you aren’t a climber. Pilot Peak looks like the Matterhorn of Wyoming. It’s form is irresistible to a climber. That isn’t completely true. While the desire might be there, the skills might not be. I found the easiest route, the only route, up the mountain was rated 5.6/7. That’s a range where I might solo it except that the route was supposedly very loose. No way I’d solo something like that. I needed to recruit a partner and reached out to my long-time partner Homie. </p><p>Homie is the most knowledgeable peak bagger I know. Yet, he hadn’t heard of this peak. Why should he have? It’s only 11,699 feet tall. He did some research of his own. The peak isn’t climbed often. On his favorite peak-bagging site, Lists of John, there were no recorded ascents. His interest increased. With the prospects of Granite and Pilot Peak, he didn’t hesitate at all. He was in.</p><p>Granite went well and we rested and prepared for Pilot. We had a reasonable route description, but the details were sparse, left as an exercise to the climber. Knowing how well prepared Homie always is, I abdicated my responsibility of collecting the route information even though this was my idea. Homie didn’t let me down. </p><p>I did know the rough line of the approach to the peak, which always looks reasonable when looking at a 2D topo map. Seeing the terrain directly in front of you is quite a different story. We started hiking right out of town, at 7600 feet. After two hundred yards on a steep 4WD road, we broke left onto the Woody Creek Trail. We followed this for a couple of miles and a thousand vertical feet. This trail was marked on my Gaia map but not very accurately. We were looking for a fork in the trail and once we passed by that point, at least according to Gaia, we wondered if a faint branch lower down might be it. We reversed back to that point and soon the trail and Gaia synced up. </p><p>This trail just stopped on my map so we were expecting the end. The trail dropped us into the creek bed, which was a hundred feet wide and carpeted with smooth river rocks. The stream itself was minimal and we crossed back and forth looking for the smoothest passage. After a mile we arrived at the confluence of the creek draining the basin below Pilot Peak and its companion Index Peak. Both of these peaks are spectacular.</p><p>We headed east, towards the basin, following the creek on more creek-bed stones. We passed what looked like a couple of cairns, but we couldn’t be sure due to the tremendous effects of the flooding that struck this area. This was the same flooding that devastated Yellowstone National Park, which lays just west of this area. Soon the valley turned into a gorge and then nearly a slot canyon with a waterfall blocking further progress. Now what?</p><p>I’m not big on retreating. It’s not so much determination as laziness. I didn’t want to go back and try another way if there was a way forward. There was. It was up an incredibly steep slope to the south. This would lead, eventually, to a high ridge where we could traverse over a couple of intermediate sub-summits to Pilot Peak. We knew gaining the ridge would be loose and somewhat dangerous and maybe even impossible at this exact location, as we couldn’t yet see the slope above us due to the dense trees.</p><p>We continued up, blindly, determined to make treeline and assess the situation. Once there, the view was daunting, at least initially. After some study, we could see a couple of possible routes that might go. The slope was very steep and consisted of what could only be called a rock soil. The rocks were all loose and the climbing was stressful, delicate, and dangerous. We moved like we were rock climbing, picking out each foothold carefully and placing our feet gently, so rocks wouldn’t break free. We climbed parallel to each other instead of behind to minimize rockfall danger. </p><p>We made steady careful progress and eventually got into a rock gully that was mostly solid. Further up, we broke out onto grassy tundra which would normally be considered risky at this angle in dot-rubber approach shoes, but compared to what we had been doing it felt very solid. Gaining the ridge was a relief. We knew we could approach the peak from here albeit with some work. The first peak loomed ahead and we continued along the rocky ridge, side-hilling around any gendarmes. At the top we took a well-needed break to eat and drink. I was surprised to find I had a cell connection — something we didn’t have down in town. I sent Sheri an update on our progress.</p><p>Pilot Peak stood guard at the end of our ridge. It looked…difficult. But that was part of the appeal: a mountain that looked extremely hard, yet was only 5.6/7. We started down from the summit of our sub-peak and in just a few minutes, I slipped on the loose ground, threw out my arm to get my balance, and sliced a flap off the heal of my right hand on the sharp rock. I tried to stop the blood with the sleeve of my shirt. I slipped a second time and nicked my left hand. After my third fall, I pulled out my gloves to protect my hands. I’m a slow learner, but I do learn.</p><p>Homie had no trouble on this terrain and led the way. Eventually, I tried to stick directly on the ridge. This proved much nicer for me. Though it was steep in spots, the rock was pretty solid here and at least I didn’t have to fight the slope. The sides of the ridge were steep, loose, and thousands of feet down. It is truly an impressive position.</p><p>When we got to the base of Pilot Peak, the north aspect of the peak completely blocked the ridge. This spire was clearly unclimbable for us and maybe anyone not named Ondra. I asked Homie which side we’d traverse around, as both sides seemed equally improbable. We went on the west side. It looked horrible and I steeled myself for a miserable, dangerous traverse, but it wasn’t as bad as it looked and we made good progress…until we went around a corner. </p><p>The route ahead looked ridiculous. I’ve traversed rock climbs that were less steep and way more solid. My first thoughts were to abort, but Homie forged ahead. Well, if he thought it was doable, I thought, I need to pretend it looks reasonable. Again, we moved forward like we were rock climbing instead of hiking. The consequences of a fall or a slip here could be fatal. I wasn’t sure where you’d stop if you slipped, as it didn’t seem possible to stop yourself since the terrain would be coming down with you.</p><p>We got around this section only to meet something even more exposed. This was true scrambling but more serious than most of the Flatiron scrambling I do. I led this time, slowly, gripped. Around the corner things were better and I hoped we’d soon find the start of the roped climbing. We might have used the rope earlier if there was hope of any gear. </p><p>We ascended a loose scree field to the base of the wall and traversed hard back to the left, looking for a break. The wall above was steep and either unclimbable or much harder than the 5.5/6 start we were looking for. I was in the lead and got to a corner where it seemed foolish to continue. Homie looked on the right. No dice. I swallowed hard and decided to venture around the corner to seek the start of the route. I inched around very carefully. There was reasonable footing, but I was worried about every handhold, every foothold collapsing under me. A mistake here would end things. Hence, what would be trivial scrambling on solid rock, got my full attention. Once around the corner, I ascended into a small bowl and found a crack that matched our description. Now I had to reverse back around to notify Homie. And then do it again to start the route. Before starting up the route, Homie would read the description again and we’d realize that this traverse was actually part of the first pitch.</p><p>In the exposed bowl, we geared up and decided to leave our packs, as we’d descend the same way. I could find no anchor, so I told Homie to not tie into the rope or belay me until I got a solid piece in. If I fell off, I didn’t want to pull him with me. The start was steep but only for about twenty feet and probably only 5.6, but, again, I had no gear and didn’t trust anything until I pounded on it with my hands or kicked it with my feet. I moved deliberately and tested every single hold. I found solid gear, placed a cam, and Homie had me on belay. I put in a second solid piece and moved up into the bowl above where I found a fixed sling — our first sign that people had been here before. </p><p>I continued up and left, passing a short, steep, but easy wall onto low angle terrain and up to a flat ledge. I put in a single piece (the only one I could find) but it was solid. Homie joined me and I continued up and left for two more pitches. This was easy going. In fact, most of it was just walking on loose ground with short sections of scrambling. I was looking for the crux pitch and had some trouble locating it. I didn’t realize where it was until I was fifty feet by it. I put in a piece to belay Homie, who was already simul-climbing, and when he got to the right location he stopped and I reversed back to him. Things were about to get very interesting.</p><p>I climbed a steep wall for twenty feet with no protection. The technical difficulties were moderate and the holds seemed solid, though I tested and re-tested each one, acutely aware of how far from help I was and the consequences of a fall. Once above the wall and into another small bowl, I spotted a crack up and right and made a beeline to get in some protection. Once the gear was placed, I was puzzling out how to continue when Homie called up, “Hey, you’re supposed to exit that bowl on the left.” I looked left and it did look climbable, but I wasn’t sure about the gear. I pulled my only gear and downclimbed a bit and to the left, where I found a solid piece. The next twenty feet would be the crux of the climb.</p><p>The rock here didn’t look great. Five feet out from my piece, I tried to place another cam. I fitted it into a crack and then gave it a tug. The rock to the left of the piece moved. It was no good. I removed the cam but then noticed that the huge piece of rock, to the right of the crack, was loose as well. In fact, it was too loose for me to safely continue. The rock was the size of a microwave and just moving by it might cause it to come loose. I was afraid it might cut my rope. I called down to Homie that I had to trundle this rock. I told him to move as far away as he could, though, since I had moved left of where I started, I thought this rock would land well to his left. I pulled it off and it plummeted, hitting the wall and bouncing towards Homie, landing right where he was initially belaying and shards barely missed him. </p><p>Fifteen feet out from my only piece, I placed a 2-cam #0.5 and a 2-cam #3. I didn’t think either would hold. I wouldn’t have weighted them if I was aid climbing unless a solid bolt was just below. There isn’t a bolt on this entire mountain. I tried hold after hold, either rejecting them as insufficient or too likely to break off. I knew I could not fall and I was determined to take as long as it took to make myself nearly positive that I could do the move and that the holds wouldn’t break. I wrestled with this situation. Was this too risky? Was it worth it? If I fell, I’d certainly rip my gear. Maybe the one solid piece would stop me before I hit the ledge where Homie belayed. I might be able to survive that fall, but I wouldn’t be going anywhere under my own power. Even if the piece held and I didn’t hit the ledge, I’d be hurt. Maybe hurt enough where I couldn’t get down without help. Unprotected 5.7 climbing isn’t a big deal for me, though it will have me very focused, but unprotected climbing at any grade where I have very little confidence in the integrity of the rock itself is terrifying. </p><p>Rock climbing like this is such a strange thing to do for recreation, for fun. It’s no wonder that so many people think climbing mountains and rock climbing is the definition of misery and an insane thing to do for fun when you could play tennis or golf or sit on the beach and sip exotic drinks. Why would anyone put themselves, willingly, into a situation where they know they will be afraid and possibly in real danger? Climbers get this and in fact most people can understand why some can’t resist this challenge. Homie would comment later about the phrase, “Well, at least he died doing what he loves.” That isn't how we want to go. If you die while climbing, you screwed up. We like to think we know what we’re doing. Did I know what I was doing here? I wasn’t sure. I take calculated risks all the time and I could die with some of those risks. Heck, people take risks, though likely not calculated driving their car while messing with their phones. But, as I said, I’m reluctant to turn around. I’d done so much work just getting to this point. This reluctance to turn around might be an asset to a professional climber, but I think isn’t such a good quality for a mediocre climber like myself. What’s the point of taking such a risk for a 5.7? </p><p>I moved upwards, gingerly, focused. I searched out holds that weren’t edges, as edges can break. I eschewed anything too positive for pulling off an entire block. I kicked aggressively at any foothold I wanted to use. If it was going to pull off, I wanted it to happen before I committed to it. I got through the steep section and onto easier ground. There still wasn’t any gear, but I saw a crack above and moved easily up to it. Once there, I could see around the corner to the left. There was a mess of fixed gear there: a piton (the only one on the route), a fixed nut, a threaded sling, assorted other tat, and a biner. The entire climb I was concerned how we’d get back down. The only anchor I’d seen so far was that sling atop the first steep section. Homie had seen another fixed sling a bit above where I had climbed as well. I was prepared to leave gear, including cams, to descend safely, but that wasn’t my first choice. Seeing this anchor, I knew we could at least descend back to the ledge, where, if we had to, we might be able to down climb to the sling Homie spotted. </p><p>I clipped in and put Homie on belay. He made short work of the initial steep section, though he found it a lot steeper than he originally thought. He traversed over to the crux section, noticing the fresh rock scar from my trundle. Once at the crux, he called up, “Keep the rope tight.” He’d later tell me that two or three times during the climb he had a foothold fall off after he moved off it. That’s unnerving. I kept the rope taut.</p><p>As Homie ascended, I was noticing the darkening skies. A squall was brewing and there was no way it would miss us. Homie was keenly aware of this. He thought he heard thunder on the previous pitch. When he arrived at the belay, he mentioned the weather and concern etched his face. I knew he was on the verge of calling for a retreat. I could read that plainly in his eyes. I wasn’t unconcerned, but I had invested so much and I hadn’t heard thunder or seen lightning. Not yet, at least. Before he could think any longer, I pressed. “Let’s tag this summit and get out of here.” I re-racked and Homie put me on belay.</p><p>The last pitch of note was a steep 5.7 chimney, but the rock was bomber compared to everything else. I placed three solid pieces and only struggled with a flared jam at the very start. I found a rappel anchor on top, though the sling was in tatters. I called down the good news to Homie (neglecting to mention the tatters). He swarmed up the pitch, faster than I had led it, spurred onwards by the threatening clouds now above us.</p><p>Once up, I sent him onwards to the summit, along the summit ridge. He passed two sections without placing any gear, then clipped the anchor on top and kept going on easy ground to the very summit. By the time he got there, I was simul-climbing, though most of this pitch was walking. We slapped a high five and took some photos before scurrying back to the rappel anchor. We found no summit register.</p><p>Homie is rock solid in the mountains. He knows what needs to be done and he does it. He never cuts corners either. He makes me a safer climber and I’m thankful to have him as a partner and a friend. He brought some accessory cord on this climb, expecting to leave it behind to either backup anchors or create new ones. He also brought a knife, which was necessary to not spend all the cord on one rappel anchor. At this first rappel, we threaded two reasonable slings and I went first. </p><p>Back at the tattered sling atop the chimney, we used Homie’s cord and cut off just what was necessary. Down I went, as the wind picked up and skies started spitting at us. The next rappel was the mess at the top of the crux pitch. It looked okay and down we went. Although the climbing was easy below, we stayed roped and I led downwards, putting in a piece whenever I could find a location, so about every fifty feet.</p><p>On the second pitch of downclimbing, I was struggling to find the anchor that Homie had seen. At first, I traversed too high. I had to retreat back and try the next ledge. All the while Homie is out of sight, around the corner, and above me. He was stressing. Why wasn’t the rope moving, he thought. Bill is normally quick with this and now, when we need to be as efficient as possible, the rope isn’t moving. I knew what was going through his mind, as it would have been going through my mind as well. On the ledge below, I spotted the sling around a huge boulder, perched on the very edge of a crumbly ledge. That had to be it and I traversed over to it, clipped into a sling in such bad shape that I thought I could have pulled it apart. I immediately put in a cam between the boulder and the ledge to back it up and started reeling in rope.</p><p>When Homie joined me, he immediately got out his cord. There was no chance either of us was going to trust this sling. We had just enough to get around the boulder. In fact, we tied it a bit long, so that it hung below the tattered sling. I instinctively threaded the rope through both slings, thinking two is better than one. But now, when I weighted the rappel line, I’d also weight the tattered sling. As I did so I told Homie, “Okay, I have to remember not to freak out when that sling breaks and I drop three inches onto our new cord.” I cringed and weighted the rope. The tattered sling held. Down I went, but I noticed that Homie wasn’t clipped to the boulder. He thought if the sling broke and I shock-loaded the new sling, the giant boulder might be pulled off the ledge. He didn’t want to go with it. Everything stayed in place and while I struggled with a tangle on a ledge below, Homie adjusted the new sling to take my weight first. </p><p>I almost got back to our packs on this rappel but was ten feet short. I had to stop at the first fixed line I had clipped at the start of the climb. Luckily this was in a cave of sorts and I was sheltered a bit. When Homie arrived, he rightfully didn’t want to trust a single sling, despite it looking quite good. I used four of my slings to back it up and sent Homie down first. As he descended, the lightning flashed and the rain and graupel hit us hard. I pulled off all my gear and piled it away from me. I huddled in the back of the cave, but the wind was so strong that it blew the moisture straight sideways directly at me. My marginal rain gear was located below, in my pack. </p><p>I called down to Homie and suggested that we wait out the worst of it. I feared getting on rappel with the lightning cracking. I called for a 5-10 minute break and we each huddled in our respective caves, me forty feet above Homie. The storm did ease after maybe five minutes. The fixed sling held Homie, so I pulled my slings and descended down to Homie. We agreed that roping up the first part of pitch one, the part we had soloed on the approach, was the smart move now that the rock was soaked and the wind was so furious. Homie led, placing a couple of pieces, and I followed around the corner.</p><p>Once there, the storm stopped. Or at least paused. I wasn’t sure we’d seen the last of it and I knew we had lots of dangerous ground to reverse before we’d be safe. We switched back into our approach shoes and stripped off our harness and stowed our gear. I was able to get Sheri an update on our situation and told her we were probably five hours from getting back to town.</p><p>We carefully reversed ourselves back to the ridge and then down the ridge to the low point. Now, instead of going back over the peaks on the ridge, we dropped down steep, loose, 4th-class terrain into the giant cirque below Pilot and Index Peaks. We took different ways down this section, each trying to find something that would go safely. We both succeeded. Below we stopped to eat and drink and even shed some clothing. It seemed the storm was done.</p><p>We descended into the bowl and followed the creek until it became slot-canyon-like. We crossed to the west side, hoping to eventually intersect our ascent route to the ridge. Here we found a faint trail and followed it down for hundreds of feet before losing it at the creek. We crossed to the other side, hoping it might be better for descending, but avalanche deadfall forced us well away from the creek. We found an old mudslide and followed the hard dirt lower and lower, eventually back to the creek. We crossed over, again hoping to intersect our ascent route and traversed the very steep hillside, into and out of steep, loose, flood-torn ravines, sometimes following game trails, sometimes not. We never did identify our ascent route, but we crossed over it at some point. We found our way clear down to the initial rocky creek bed. We followed that for a mile, regained the trail, and were back at the car by 7:15 p.m., 12.5 hours after we’d left. </p><p>This was a significant adventure. Once down, Homie likened it to Mt. Alberta and Shiprock. I’m not sure I agree, but that isn’t too far off. It was much shorter than Alberta and maybe as dangerous. It was much more dangerous than Shiprock but not nearly as technically challenging. It was the hardest summit I’ve done in Wyoming, but that isn’t saying that much, as I’ve done few peaks in Wyoming, but my ticklist does include the Grand Teton and Gannett. I’m sure that will entice others to give it a try and completely understand that, but I won’t recommend it. It’s just too dangerous to recommend. If you haven’t heard of this peak before, if you haven’t seen this peak before, count yourself lucky and forget about this trip report.</p><div><br /></div>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-8527418992177755372022-09-06T19:09:00.001-06:002022-09-06T19:09:55.564-06:00Granite Peak with Sheri and Homie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxqAS2HIzLrimsE5DQPWd8bfM2OOdymWa9i8S69vNHq32RdYn7FEp6ijMLyiNFGsESTNhTbGjFP7tpCcirrXyc_7ar4EECDpBknb-UjdLEKgl7JwHlGpJajnwEu57YqkBMkcP3UyA1o6Z74l5PvW06IHvNoti_RgPDuLsTsjI2GKZ2C4ggyw/s1592/Screen%20Shot%202022-09-06%20at%203.34.34%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1592" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxqAS2HIzLrimsE5DQPWd8bfM2OOdymWa9i8S69vNHq32RdYn7FEp6ijMLyiNFGsESTNhTbGjFP7tpCcirrXyc_7ar4EECDpBknb-UjdLEKgl7JwHlGpJajnwEu57YqkBMkcP3UyA1o6Z74l5PvW06IHvNoti_RgPDuLsTsjI2GKZ2C4ggyw/w640-h462/Screen%20Shot%202022-09-06%20at%203.34.34%20PM.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Photos coming soon, but you can see the best ones on Strava</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7764529314">Strava approach</a><br /><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7764529035">Climb</a><br /><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7764529263">Strava hike out</a></p><p>My niece Schuyler’s wedding was scheduled for September 10th in Big Sky, Montana. Being newly retired, Sheri and I decided to head in that direction a week early to do some peak bagging. Sheri wanted to climb Granite Peak, the highest in Montana and I was interested in Pilot Peak, just south of there, in Wyoming. Since Pilot Peak is technical (the easiest route up is rated 5.7), I recruited Homie as a partner. Turns out, he also wanted Granite Peak, so that worked out great.</p><p>I’d climbed Granite Peak before, with Derek, when he was 16 years old, as part of the G3 Summit Trip. We approached it from the north via Froze To Death Plateau. This is the easiest approach, but leads to a more technical route, though still just 4th class and quite steep and sustained for that grade. In order to add more variety to my second ascent, I advocated for the southern approach. This starts out of Cooke City, Montana which also happens to be the start for Pilot Peak. </p><p>Sheri and I drove up on Saturday and got a hotel room. All the official campgrounds said “No Tents’ because of active grizzly bears. Plus, it was quite hot and we wanted a place to relax and hang out. We got to watch the US Open on TV, so that was a bonus. Homie met us at the hotel the next morning, having finished the drive that morning.</p><p>We packed up and drove four miles to the trailhead and headed out. I had a newly purchased canister of bear spray on my hip belt, ready to defend my team at the first sign of a charging bear. I must say I was not disappointed that we didn’t see any bear signs at all on this trip.</p><p>The hike followed a nice trail for about four miles, but then it became…adventurous. The rest of the way must have been at least 50% of talus walking, almost all of it off trail. It was grueling going, finishing with a very steep, big boulder, 400-foot drop to upper Sky Top Lake. This last bit, with an overnight pack, just about did Sheri in. Despite only being about 10.5 miles, it felt more like twenty.</p><p>Even on Labor Day weekend, this area was not very crowded. We saw a few people before we broke off trail, but then only two girls and a dog, hiking back to their camp at Upper Aero Lake. They bailed on an ascent of Granite, but three guys in their party persisted. We saw them later, at our camp, and they succeeded. We saw a couple other teams heading out from a successful ascent as well. On the hike itself, it was very lonely.</p><p>We arrived at 5 p.m. and set up our tents in a very strong wind. Once up, Sheri had to get into the tent to prevent it from blowing away, while I passed gear into her and secured the rain fly with numerous stakes and boulders. After dinner, I was in the tent for good before 7 p.m. </p><p>Now, below the peak and staring directly at the face we were to climb, Sheri grew nervous that it might be too much for her. She said, "I think I didn't do enough research on this peak before this trip." The two young women who turned around had her second-guessing her skills and tolerance for stress. Head on, the face looked very steep and intimidating. Sheri wondered aloud if it would be better for just Homie and I to climb it. She decided to head up the peak in the morning and bail if it became too stressful.</p><p>The next morning we were moving at 7 a.m. A few minutes out of camp, we saw two other campers getting ready to climb the peak as well. We gained a grassy ridge and reveled in the easy, boulder-free going for a full twenty minutes. Then it was back to talus, boulders, scree, and scrambling. We gained the ridge to the right of the peak and had to descend a bit to the saddle. On the way out, we’d take a more direct path across a permanent snowfield.</p><p>We ascended a steep, loose scree cone towards a pinch with an overhang. We broke hard left and scrambled around it onto more solid talus above. Not solid, mind you, but less loose. We followed this up to the base of a huge, unbroken slab, which is the defining landmark on this side of the mountain. We traversed underneath it, to the left, until we arrived at the Southwest Ramp that rose up and right along the side of the great slab.</p><p>This route is mostly class 2 and 3, but there are three crux sections, the first two with fixed lines. We didn’t use the first lines and were able to scramble around to the right, on the very edge of the slab, on solid rock. At the second fixed line, we used it a bit to get up a steep, wet section. The final crux is the steepest and most sustained and there is no fixed line here, though there is a rappel anchor above it. Homie did a wide stem and some face climbing on the right and Sheri didn’t like the look of that. I found a route up on the left but when I downclimbed it to spot Sheri up, I found it trickier than I’d prefer. </p><p>Sheri started up it and at the crux, with me behind her and not really able to give her much of a spot, I regretted this decision. It was too hard. I expected Sheri to balk and we’d have to reverse back to the gully to don harnesses and break out the rope. But before I could fret for long, Sheri moved up confidently through the crux. We continued upwards on steep but easier ground and soon gained the final gully to the summit ridge. Once there, it was a few minutes along the ridge to the very summit!</p><p>We arrived just before 10 a.m., so we did the ascent in less than three hours. We ate our lunch on top and enjoyed the views. Sheri and I both put on our harnesses, as I didn’t want her down climbing any of the tricky sections. I also pulled out the rope, of course. We all pulled on our shells, as it was quite windy and we wouldn’t be working as hard on the descent.</p><p>We reversed the ridge back to the final gully and there we ran into the two climbers we passed early that morning and a third guy that had just tacked onto them. The timing was good, as we’d be able to get down the Ramp before they entered the top and became a rockfall danger to us. </p><p>We down climbed as far as I dared with Sheri and I put a sling around a pinch as an anchor to lower Sheri. She never learned how to rappel and doesn’t need that skill often, so I just lower her down. She hadn’t done anything like this in quite a while and I thought she’d be more nervous, but she immediately weighted the rope and went over the edge.</p><p>Once down, I dropped the roped, pulled my anchor, and downclimbed. Homie had already downclimbed and was leading Sheri down the Ramp as I coiled the rope and followed. At the two fixed lines below, I lowered Sheri once again. It all went very smoothly and soon we were stripping off our harnesses at the bottom of the ramp. </p><p>Sheri had done so well on this climb — ascending quickly and confidently and without a rope, despite doing some 4th class or maybe low 5th class moves. Plus, we moved as quickly as I’ve ever seen her move over talus. This was excellent talus to gain confidence. It was mostly big, almost all solid (once off the peak itself), with flattish tops. Sheri cruised. </p><p>We carefully descended all the loose talus back to the snowfield, slid across that, and then descended talus to the glorious grass ridge. We were back in camp at 1 p.m. — six hours roundtrip. We decided to at least start hiking out and were on the move, after a rest and some food, by 2 p.m. </p><p>We decided to go out via the Sky Top Lakes approach, thinking it couldn’t be worse than what we did on the approach. A major difference, though, was that we started this hike after a 6-hour climb. The first three miles of this route was mostly talus traversing, and this was very tough on Sheri now that she wore a heavy pack. It was slow going and after these three miles, we took a break and Sheri decided that we should tell Homie to go on ahead, as he was committed to reaching the trailhead and we didn’t think we’d make it.</p><p>Less than a mile further we caught the two guys that had camped near us (they had gone by us earlier). Homie decided to hook on to them and hike out. Sheri and I continued until just past 7 p.m. when we found a flat spot near the trail and near water. We had just enough time to purify our water, cook and eat dinner, and brush our teeth before it got dark. </p><p>We awoke to lots of dew on our tent and the grass around us. I brewed us a couple of coffees and we packed up. We hiked for nearly a mile sipping coffee from our mugs. After an hour and fifteen minutes, having seen just two other people, we arrived at the trailhead and found Homie just returning from a short walk. We threw our packs in the car and headed for town, with visions of a big breakfast in a nice restaurant with Wifi. We were going to be disappointed.</p><p>The only places open in Cooke City were the two gas stations. They did have coffee and one even had fresh donuts, but we persisted in our quest. At one station they told us about the cafe in Silver Gate, less than three miles away. We started salivating once again, but upon arriving there we were greeted by a sign that said, “See you in Summer 2023!” We retreated back to Cooke City and got gas-station coffee and a couple of donuts.</p><p>Post-adventure lassitude struck down Homie with a vengeance. Instead of dreaming of our next peak, he fixated on the burgers being advertised by a couple of local restaurants that looked like they’d open up for lunch and dinner. I, of course, was raring to go but reined in my boundless energy to sit in the shade at the visitor center and write this report. Our new plan was to blast early the next day for Pilot Peak.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-48591200271957249272022-08-09T12:48:00.000-06:002022-08-09T12:48:53.987-06:00Washington to Washington, Days 48-50<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/qbws3tcnNb4F2kTf8">Photos</a></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Monday, July 18, 2022, Day 48: C&O Canal Towpath</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Since our hotel was right on the C&O (Chesapeake and Ohio) Canal Towpath, lots of trail riders stay here. I met ten or more of them at the hotel breakfast. They were all riding towards Pittsburgh, so I asked about trail conditions ahead of me. They informed me of two detours coming up, one at the PawPaw tunnel.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Google Maps was confusing me here, as it didn’t route me on the trail the entire way. There are sections that go out onto the roads. Maybe this is to make the ride shorter, as the trail is quite circuitous. I decided to just finish out the ride on this trail, as it would be traffic-free, obviously. I did expect the mud that Lawrence and Louise warned me about, but hopefully it wouldn’t be a deal breaker.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">More rain that morning had me putting off the start until after 10 a.m. I rolled out onto muddy trails, peppered with pools of water everywhere. Within two miles my shoes were completely covered in mud and after ten miles I had a layer of mud on me from the shins down, plus splattering all over my jersey. Mud all over my hands would bother me, but I didn’t really mind it all over my legs. My feet were soaked with water and mud, but they weren’t cold as the temperature was above 70 degrees. But it was such a mess that I sent Sheri a text not to ride towards me from the PawPaw tunnel, as I knew she would not like to be covered in mud.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The riding for the first twenty miles was more like mountain biking than gravel riding, complete with sections of single track riding. It was slow, muddy work and I only rode 17 miles in the first two hours. After that the trail became a bit smoother and a bit drier. I’d learn later that this section was the worst of the entire C&O, so that was good to have behind me.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After 24 miles or so, I caught up to three ladies. The front two were riding two abreast on the double track trail and the third trailed behind one of the lead riders. I didn’t have a bell on my gravel bike and didn’t call out from way back. Instead, I just eased up behind the other lead rider and said quietly, “Hello.” The lady next to me shrieked, startling the front two riders. I apologized for scaring her and it was immediately forgotten.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The ladies singled up to let me by, but when I pulled even with the lead rider, I just matched her speed to chat. They all live in Cumberland and were riding to DC over the next few days, averaging just 45 miles or so a day. They were taking it easy and just enjoying themselves. The lead rider must have been around 45 years old. Her name was Sherry and I had to ask how she spelled it because of my wife Sheri. She responded by asking my wife’s middle name and it turned out that both her and Sheri’s middle was Lynn. She was a P.E. teacher that taught in West Virginia. The second lady was older and retired, maybe in her 60s, and the third lady was quite a bit younger, probably in her late 20s. I love seeing such a wide age range, as I have climbing partners that range from 24 years old to nearly 80 years old.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode with these ladies until just before PawPaw tunnel, after I’d ridden 28 miles. Sheri was on the trail waiting for me and we all stopped to chat. The ladies noticed Sheri’s tennis shirt and all three of the ladies were in a tennis group together. They mainly got into riding because Covid shut down all their other activities. Since Sheri already had plans to ride on this trail and now seeing these ladies, she was really motivated to do some riding. We modified our plan a bit and decided to cut the day short and stop in Hancock, as there was a motel there. Hancock (population 1,500) is located in the thinnest section of Maryland. Here Maryland is only 1.8 miles, north to south. So, 1.8 miles to go from Pennsylvania through Maryland to West Virginia. I wanted a motel since I was a muddy mess. I was so muddy that during my lunch break in Paw Paw, we used a pump water station and I basically showered from the knees down, including my shoes and socks, and washed off my bike. I was still soaked from the knees down, but I was a lot less muddy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I ate two sandwiches and we waited out 15 more minutes of rain before moving on. Sheri would drive to Hancock, book us into the hotel, and then start riding back towards me. The ladies told us about the Western Maryland Rail Trail, which is a paved bike trail that parallels the C&O. Sheri and I would hopefully meet on that trail.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Immediately after I left Sheri, I had to do the steep tunnel bypass (the PawPaw tunnel was closed due to construction). I heard from all the other riders that they just push their bike up the<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>0.4-mile hill and then ride down the other side. The entire bypass is about 1.4 miles and Sheri read on the website that riders should be prepared to take 90 minutes to do this. 90 minutes?! I wondered what was ahead of me.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The bypass climb was all single track and indeed it was steep, with roots across the trail that were slippery, but it wasn’t that bad and I could ride it on my gravel bike, though I was huffing and puffing, nearly at my limit. But before I did that climb, I had to cross a small 4-foot-wide wood bridge. There was a 90-degree turn to get on this bridge and I carefully negotiated that. Thinking it was cruiser now, I relaxed a bit and immediately my tires slid out from under me. The bridge had no railing on it and was only about thirty feet long, but the wood was soaked and incredibly slippery. As soon as my tires slipped, I knew it was over. I was going off the bridge and below me were lots of logs. I was only maybe four feet above them, but I knew this was going to hurt and most likely injure me. Maybe even damage my bike. In that moment, I feared I wouldn’t be able to finish the ride. I’d screwed up so badly. One moment of recklessness and now I was going to ruin my day, my ride, my entire trip. I tumbled over the edge.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">And I landed in mud! I somehow missed all the logs through no agility on my part. It was pure luck. I was cringed and braced for a horrible impact and instead just sunk into ooze. I couldn’t believe my luck. I extricated myself and my bike and was surprised to have no injuries at all. The bike seemed fine as well. The only damage was having my feet and lower legs covered in mud.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Descending the bypass, I caught up to my three lady friends. They were walking their bikes gingerly down the steep, wet, rocky double track. I stopped to chat briefly before moving on, carefully. I passed a tandem lower down that was creeping down even more carefully. Once down and back on the C&O, things smoothed out nicely and I was able to move along at 12-15 mph.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The canal was full of water and the surface varied from being completely coated in green algae to clear water. When the water was clear, I saw a lot of ducks. When the water was covered in algae, I saw turtles. During one half-mile section I saw hundreds of turtles sunning themselves on every log that protruded from the water. Previously on this ride, I’d occasionally get a glimpse of a turtle and stop to try and photograph it. But turtles have excellent eye sight and as soon as they spotted me, they’d leap off their logs and disappear beneath the water. I learned to stop early, well away from the turtle, and zoom in with my phone before trying to get closer. I mostly failed to photograph them. But now I had so many to photograph. I used my same technique and photographed a bunch before becoming overwhelmed with how many there were. To locals, turtles are like prairie dogs are to us: nothing unusual. But it’s rare to see a turtle in Colorado. I have, but there aren’t many. In this small section of the canal there are probably more turtles than in the state of Colorado.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I got a text from Sheri that she had booked us a room and that she was riding towards me on the West Maryland Rail Trail. I wasn’t on it yet, but once I put Hancock into Google Maps as my destination, it showed me a slight jog to the north to get on that trail. It was just like the ladies had said: smooth, paved trail just above the C&O. I could now move a couple of miles per hour faster and cruised towards Sheri. I had no cell connection here, so I couldn’t inform her that I was on the trail, but we couldn’t miss each other.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I ran into Sheri about 7 miles from Hancock and she turned around and rode with me to the hotel. Once there, I got into the shower fully dressed, bike shoes and all. With my shell, which had been in my back pocket. For the next thirty minutes I tried to get all the mud off my shoes, socks, clothes, and me. I was mostly successful, though my jersey will need an industrial-strength cleaning and my socks might not be salvageable. Sheri took a shower next. She wasn’t muddy since she rode on the paved trail, but it was hot and humid and she was wet with sweat.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">For dinner we went to a local chain convenience store called Sheetz, which basically is a combination gas station/convenience store/fast-food restaurant all in one. We ordered dinner off a touch screen where you can customize your food to quite an extent. We both got burgers and this was the first time I’d ever seen the option of putting fries on a burger. I’ve been doing that for twenty years, but this is the first time I’d seen it as an option when ordering. Cool.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We ate back at the motel while we got caught up on the Tour and watched an episode of “Alone”.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Two nights in a row in a hotel. Such decadence, but it was warranted. We should be done in two days. It’s getting pretty exciting.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Tuesday, July 19, 2022, Day 49:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Our Super 8 hotel didn’t have much of a free breakfast, so I didn’t gorge myself quite like I’ve become accustomed. I started riding a bit before 8 a.m. with the mindset that I’d likely be putting in over 100 miles today. We had at least 165 miles to reach Annapolis. Why Annapolis? Well, we started with my bike tire in the Pacific Ocean and so thought it was appropriate to end with my front tire in the Atlantic Ocean. Yes, technically, my tire will be in the Chesapeake Bay, but that’s salt water and connected to the Atlantic Ocean, so good enough for us.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Anyway, 165 miles meant that I needed to average 82.5 miles in the next two days and I wanted to be more than halfway after today. But the biggest reason was finding a place to stay. The C&O is a great trail, but it is surprisingly remote. It proved quite a challenge for Sheri to even find the trailheads adjacent to the trail where we could meet. Hotels or even campgrounds were at least ten miles off the trail.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Always looking to chat, I pulled up alongside a rider. His name was Joseph Kannarkat (he ended up sending me a text message). He was riding from Pittsburgh to D.C., where he lives. He’d never done a long ride before but had heard about this trail and tried to recruit friends. Only Gabe would join him, though he wasn’t an experienced rider either. They were having a grand adventure. I love that spirit and I suspect they will build upon this one. They were staying at B&B’s along the route and had planned ahead. Unlike us.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I met Sheri at Williamsport at a nice park after 32 miles. I took a nice break there. Afterwards, I had to do a 3-mile detour with some significant hills. When I got back on the trail, I was directly against the Potomac River. I’d been following this river for<span class="Apple-converted-space"> a long time.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Next, I met Sheri at a trailhead parking lot at mile marker 64.9. I’d now done 65 miles. It was hot and buggy. Three ladies arrived and starting inflating their stand-up paddle boards. I ate and drank, but it was bugs that prompted me to move on.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I last met Sheri at the Edward’s Ferry trailhead parking. I’d ridden 97 miles to this point and knew I was going comfortably over one hundred today. Here we made our final plan. We decided on the Hilton Garden Inn in Bethesda and I plotted my route there. It was 25 miles away and I’d have to leave the trail for the last 11 miles and ride on likely busy roads.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I switched over to listening to music and just cruised along down the C&O. The trail was pretty smooth here and I moved along at a good pace. I exited the trail, following Google Maps, and got onto roads. It had been awhile since I’d ridden on roads, but I was eased into it via some quiet roads and then a bike path alongside the road. But the party ended abruptly. Not only did I have to deal with rush-hour traffic, but the road was coned and singled-lane in spots. So, no shoulder at all.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri texted me that she had checked in and gave me the room number. It was on the ninth floor. It was the first building with over four floors that we’d been in for the entire trip. We even had to pay to park. Sheri sent: ‘We aren’t in North Dakota any longer.” Indeed, we had finally hit the expected east coast density, though a lot later than I thought we would.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri had some traffic trouble herself and was happy to be in a comfy hotel, doing her exercises and watching the Track and Field World Championships. It was always reassuring to get Sheri’s text that she had secured the night’s lodging, whether a campsite or a hotel room.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Google directed me onto the Capitol Crescent Bike Path and that took me to within a mile of the hotel. I rode city streets to the hotel and Sheri was outside waiting for me. I was tired, having ridden 122 miles that day. She ushered me into the hotel and up to our room. After a shower, I walked a quarter mile to Chipotle and Sheri went to Panera. We ate dinner in our room and watched something on TV.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Wednesday, July 20, 2022, Day 50:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The last day. Finally. We’d been looking forward to this for the last week. I waited until rush hour traffic subsided and<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>started around 10 a.m. I needn’t have waited that long as I was on bike paths all the way into D.C. I was taking a circuitous route to make sure I rode directly through D.C. on my way to the coast.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">While I had just fifty miles to ride, the weather was challenging. It was headed over 90 degrees and would get there less than halfway to my destination. Add in the humidity and, according to our weather app, it “felt” like 99 degrees. I do not perform well in heat. Or cold come to think of it… I’m an absolute beast if the temperature is between 64 and 68 degrees, though.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I quickly gained the Capitol Crest Trail and rode that until it dumped me onto the National Mall, ten miles away. I saw the Washington Monument from a good distance away and grew excited to be finally arriving in D.C. I snapped a few photos, but I forced myself to move on expeditiously, as Sheri would be waiting for me out at the coast and we’d be touring the city together the next day. First, I needed to finish the ride.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Why even bother going to the coast? Because I started with my back tire in the Pacific Ocean and if I wanted to claim that I rode across America, I felt I needed to go ocean to ocean, despite the name of my adventure. It was only forty miles further, which should be no problem for me, right? After all, I’d been averaging 75 miles a day. Well, it all depends on conditions and the weather and traffic for those next miles conspired to sap me. It was over 90 degrees and the humidity was brutal.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode through residential Washington and then onto the Martin Luther King, Jr. Highway. I was headed for Annapolis. Google directed me through a complicated route to pick up a couple of bike trails. I rode the South Shore Trail for a bit and then the Poplar Trail. Just as I got on the South Shore trail, I saw a heavier lady in front of me. She was riding a bike with panniers. I increased my speed to chat her up, but before I could make any headway, she turned the throttle on her e-bike and sped away. Those bikes are cool. I probably have one in my future.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Actually, a good part of the blame for being sapped was my own stubbornness. I only had two bottles with me and I was bone dry with ten miles to go. I decided to just press on, without stopping to take on more liquids, despite passing a convenience store. I didn’t think ten miles without water would be too hard. I was wrong. I made it, but I suffered the last few miles. I was just so dehydrated.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At the last signal, I could no longer hold my head up and it hung down as I slumped over my handlebars. Little did I know that Sheri was watching me from the corner of my next turn, into the park. If I had seen her, I’d have held my head up. The light turned green and I pedaled on and was surprised to see Sheri. She was on her bike and we rode together.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I thought the finish was just a mile away, but it was more like three miles. That was disappointing in my weakened state, but the car was just two miles away and I had to stop there for hydration. We sat in the air-conditioned car while I recovered a bit and downed a liter of liquid. We didn’t linger that long, though, as I wanted to put this ride to bed.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We hopped on our bikes and Sheri led me down to the beach. A few people were there, none of whom spoke English. There were a couple of short, rock jetties. I posed for some photos on the beach, with my front tire in the water, and on the jetties. It felt anticlimactic, but we were both excited to have completed the project. It was time to put the bike in the car.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Over 50 days, I rode 48 of them, for a total of 3824 miles — an average of over 75 miles per day. I also climbed 115,665 vertical feet. The two days I didn’t ride weren’t for rest, but for weather: wind and rain. In addition, we hit four state highpoints along our route.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Conclusion</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Did I see America? I saw a part of it. I saw farms everywhere, small family farms, mostly. I saw F*** Biden, Let’s Go Brandon, and Trump 2024 signs aplenty. I saw silos of grain and acres and acres of peas, soybeans, and corn. I saw amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesty.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I have seen a lot more of America, but it was a thin slice. From my ride, you’d think that American was made up of mostly conservative, god-fearing farmers. While conservatives do amount for nearly half the country, only about 3% of Americans make their living farming. More than half of the US live in urban centers. So, while I’ve seen a lot, I learned much about Americans in general.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">If you look at a map of all the counties in the USA and color the country red if Trump won it in 2020 and blue if Biden won it, you’ll see the US as almost entirely red, with blotches of blue, mostly concentrated on the coasts. That map is surprising and misleading, but the take away is that so much of the US is rural, even in these midwest and eastern states. I thought we’d see more pavement here but am gratified to learn that you need to get very close to the coast before you enter the megapolis.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I did gain even more appreciation for Colorado, with views and vistas everywhere. They are so prevalent in Colorado, that we hardly notice them, but other places don’t have them. There are no vistas in the forest. Heck, even the turnout on 36, at the top of the Davidson Mesa, is a dramatic view if you are from the midwest.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It had been a great trip, but it has just confirmed what I already knew: I’m a mountain man. Not in the sense that I’m tough and live in the cold, snowy mountains, but that I like looking at mountains and I like hiking and climbing up them, where I can see so far and get a sense of the area. In the east, it’s hard to even tell which direction is west. We have forests, but we can rise above them. We have canyons and deserts and not just open spaces but open views and skies.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">While we have space in the west, we don’t have much water. The east, especially the midwest is awash in water, which probably explains why it is the nation’s breadbasket. People have yards that are gigantic and there and no sprinkler system keeping them green. Water isn’t an issue there, like it is in the west. Yet, more and more people want to live in the west. It’s a conundrum that will plague us for decades, I imagine. At least until we can cut a canal from Lake Superior and pump it 1500 miles west and 5000 feet higher.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Drivers were almost universally nice to me, moving way to the left when they passed me. I probably had had less than ten unpleasant car interactions, with at least one being my fault.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After visiting the memorials and museums of our nation’s capitol, we packed up the car one last time and headed west, into the night. Home to the Disneyland of Boulder, Colorado.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Afterward</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Actually, we left DC at noon, but I resist stealing that line from Dada. We headed west to Backbone Mountain, Maryland’s highpoint. The summit is called Hoye Crest, in honor of a famous Marylander. My guidebook described the area as one of the wildest in the eastern states, stating that the brush can be so thick that finding the sign identifying the highest point can be difficult. It wasn’t. I think highpoints have become a lot more popular, as all the ones we visited were clearly marked with signage directing us.</p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We parked at a turnout in West Virginia and almost the entire hike (of only 1.1 miles) was in West Virginia. We crossed into Maryland just before reaching the summit.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After Hoye Crest, we headed south, still in West Virginia, to bag Spruce Knob, that state’s highest point. Driving US 48 through West Virginia, we were surprised to be on a nice four-lane highway. Above us, all along a ridge, towered huge windmills, all turning in the steady winds. Apparently, coal-centric West Virginia was embracing green energy.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We found a campsite very close to Seneca Rocks and erected our tent before driving another 15 miles to nearly the summit of Spruce Knob. We hiked a half mile, roundtrip, bagging this highpoint. It was cool up there and we hiked through a spruce forest (big surprise, right?). It felt alpine for the first time since we left Montana. It was great to breathe some crisp air.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Back at the campground, we went to a ranger presentation where she told us a true ghost story and we had s’mores. The next morning we hiked 4.5 miles up to the summit of Seneca Rocks. It was hot and humid. We saw some climbers approaching the crag on our way down. I was shocked that they would start so late. I’d have been going two hours earlier in an attempt to beat the heat. They are probably more habituated to this weather.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We took the climbers’ trail over to the base of the crag, but I found nothing that interesting or inspiring to climb. I’d find out later that doing the approach is not sufficient to find the goods. Others assured me that there were gems to be found.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We resumed our trip home at 9:30 a.m. First, we headed to Campbell Hill, Ohio’s highpoint, and then Hoosier High Point, Indiana’s highpoint. Both were…silly. Thankfully neither was that far out of the way. We probably spent an extra 90 minutes to bag these two. Over a 30-hour drive home, that seemed pretty cheap to me. Once she saw them, Sheri wasn’t so sure. She enjoyed the two highpoints of the previous day, but these were in another category. Just a hundred yards away from the Indiana highpoint, I was pretty sure I found a higher point in a cornfield. It was only twenty feet into the field, but this field was packed with corn plants and there was no way to get there without hurting the plants. But in this case, getting to the official highpoint was enough for me, just like in Pennsylvania.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In total, Sheri and I bagged eight new state highpoints. That gave me 27. I’m more than halfway done. Sheri now has 18, but she is only mildly interested in these points because she doesn’t plan on ever getting Denali.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Would I do this again? No. At least not in this style. Not because it wasn’t worthwhile, but because it wasn’t a pure journey of discovery. To really know places, you have to spend more time there. I didn’t tour around towns enough, as I was tired from my riding. I experienced these places by riding through them. While much slower than driving by on a highway, it still wasn’t slow enough.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was extremely lucky to have Sheri with me for this trip, but I think it was too heavy a burden for her to do again. Nor would I want her to do it again. But it has turned me on to the idea of supported bike touring. Now, I just want to ride with Sheri and have a tour company support us. And to move through a smaller area at an even slower pace. I see the appeal of Ride the Rockies. Touring around one state seems to be a perfect size for a bike adventure. Or a smaller country. The United States is huge.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So, what’s next? We are thinking about supported hiking tours in Europe. Like the Tour de Mt. Blanc or the Alta Via routes in the Dolomites. Back into the mountains, with their endless vistas.</p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-18658588283235204232022-07-18T08:36:00.000-06:002022-07-18T08:36:00.801-06:00Washington to Washington, Days 41-47<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/N1RuWtU3au7qUdLx9" target="_blank">Photos</a></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Monday, July 11, 2022, Day 41:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The hotel had a nice breakfast spread and I ate too much, as usual. I watched and read the news while eating. Sheri came for a quick bite before heading to the fitness room for a stint on the elliptical.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today was pretty tough because of strong headwinds and crosswinds. The first 30 miles weren’t too bad as I was fresh and the Saginaw Rails-to-Trails path had lots of trees to shield me from the wind. The next 24 miles were brutal but I just put my head down, downshifted, and turned the pedals. I was on a road with little shoulder and too many cars. Eventually, I rolled into a park and found Sheri sitting in the car. Rain was coming. We took a 90-minute break to wait out the rain. We ate, chatted, and read our books.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The final 24 miles were still rough, but the roads were better and almost deserted of traffic. The last 11 miles were all on dirt, farm roads, but the surface was good and no issue.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri found us a campground, but our site was near an algae-covered frog pond. Just as I arrived, a family with three kids headed right passed us to the lake. All carried small nets at the end of small poles. It wasn’t but a few minutes before they’d caught their first frog. They didn’t do anything with the frogs besides look at them and hold them for a bit. Then they let them go.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After dinner we watched an episode of “Alone” and I contrasted their starvation with my gluttony. I’d have trouble making it through a day on “Alone.” Donut-less and without Sheri?! I’d tap out immediately.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Then we watched the fireflies light up. I used to catch these in jars when I was a kid and visiting grandparents in Illinois. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them in Colorado.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Tuesday, July 12, 2022, Day 42:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Thunderous rain pelted our fly and lightning raged across the sky around midnight. I was glad to be snug and dry inside our tent. We’d anticipated the storm and had most things stowed in the car. This was wise, as everything out was soaked, and puddles ruled the roads.</p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today, we needed to get the oil changed in Jeepy and see if REI had my road bike parts and could fix my crank and shifter. The plan was for Sheri to head directly to the Jeep dealership and I’d meet her there, switch from my gravel bike to the road bike and ride to REI. Then we’d meet up for a lazy, late breakfast and hope that both stops would be successful.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It’s been great but we are both ready for a new state. Pretty nice riding today with the exception of the time in Ann Arbor. But it was well spent as the REI shop had the part and replaced my crank and got my shifter working again.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Rode the gravel bike for the first 36 miles and then the road bike for the last 44 miles. We had to do an extra 9 miles when our first campground was a bust.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We continued to a KOA campground, expecting a bit more of a carnival atmosphere and were not disappointed. This campground had lots of kids and lots of places for them to play: multiple playgrounds, a soccer field, volleyball, basketball, a game room, a lake for swimming and a lake for fishing and paddleboats. It even had one of those giant, enclosed-tube slides that you see at water parks. None of this cost anything extra. This would have been a great place to go with a group of kids. It wasn’t bad for us either, as our site was well away from the action and even any other campers. Pure tent campers seem to be rare these days. I even took a dip in the lake. The lake was small and therefore not very cold. It was quite refreshing.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Wednesday, July 13, 2022, Day 43: Oh, Hi, Ohio</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Riding through Toledo was the first real urban area I’d seen since a brief stretch in Seattle. It was gritty, with bumpy, poorly maintained roads, but it was interesting and the traffic wasn’t too bad and was giving me good space. I got on a bike path here, but it was short lived.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">On the other side of Toledo I rode a two-lane highway, which wasn’t great, but the further I got out of town the less traffic I saw. Sheri ran into some traffic issues, so she was behind me and was going to be a bit late to our first planned meeting. I stopped and searched for a coffee place and found one right on my route: Ignite Coffee. I went there, ordered a coffee and hung out waiting for Sheri. When she arrived I had first lunch.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode on a great paved bike path. After 57 miles I met Sheri in a park and she brought me an Arby’s sandwich and some fries. It really hit the spot.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The trail turned to dirt, but it was firm and no problem, though more exposed to sun and I got a bit warm.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri got us a site at the exact polar opposite of the KOA the night before. Then she rode back towards me, reaching me 3.6 miles from camp. We rode together back to camp and then Sheri rode eastward, on the trail, a bit further until the threat of rain convinced her to turn back. She arrived at the campsite about five minutes before it started to rain.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So, our campground. Here’s what I think happened. This lady, young for a great grandmother, has a couple of acres of land. She maybe did something with it in her younger years but then nothing. At least until the new bike trail went right by her land. She thinks, “I’ll start a campground for all the cyclists coming by!” A campground is way easier than a motel, as there is hardly anything to build. But campers expect some things, like a bathroom, which will have to be cleaned and maintained (actually, we found a number of campgrounds where the managers seem to think this wasn’t necessary). “No problem,” she thinks, “I’ll just get a Port-o-Potty and the company will be responsible for managing it." Cyclists also like to shower. That’s a tougher nut to crack, but she has a great idea to just put a shower head on the outside of an existing maintenance shed. She had a little fence build around it, puts down some gravel and flagstone. Voila! Instant shower with absolutely nothing to clean!</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Showering outside sounds great. I love it. But there is just one problem with it. What if you want to shower when it’s raining? What do you do after you turn off the shower? She built no roof or even an overhang around the shower. Do you dry with your towel, now wet from the rain, and put on your wet clothes? Yes. Yes, I did. It kept my shower short, which was not a plus.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Since it was raining, we decided to go into town, ten miles away. It beat sitting in the car or the tent. I searched for a coffee shop where we could hang out and found: Sheri’s Coffee Shop. It was even spelled right. We had to visit even though it was closing soon. We had a vanilla latte and I asked where was a good place to eat. The barista mentioned Bob Evans. I asked, “What’s that? Who’s that?” He smiled at me like I was a turnip that just fell off the truck (isn’t that an expression used around here? Somewhere? Sometime?). I quickly said, “I’m not from around here.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I gathered that,” he said. “It’s comfort food.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">That sounded good to me, but I didn’t want a fast food restaurant. I wanted a place to hang out a bit. I asked, “Do you order standing up or sitting down at this restaurant?” He answered “sitting down,” and we headed there. It was great. Fast, friendly service with reasonable prices and good, “comfort” food. Sheri got a salad and I had roasted chicken, corn, and mashed potatoes. Yum.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Thursday, July 14, 2022, Day 44:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rolled out the next morning and rode the trail until it ended on quiet country roads. After 14 miles, I turned east onto a quiet 2-lane highway and saw a sign that said nine miles to Lagrange. I immediately thought, “I bet they have a lot of nice girls there.” I hadn’t been listening to anything, but now I couldn’t resist. I found the Texas trio, dialed up the song, and cranked it. Life is good.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I met Sheri first at LaGrange park. Then we met again at a baseball field near Bath, and then another meetup at a high school near Stow. It is always great to see Sheri so often, as it breaks up my ride and gives me something to look forward to. With such frequent breaks, it doesn’t seem like I’m riding that far. I rode lots of great trails and paths.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When I wasn’t on the trails, I was on quiet roads, going by small-town America. In the last few days I feel that 50% of the time I’m riding by houses. Lots of these little towns have great, huge, well-maintained parks.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Super nice, though very large, campground at West Branch State Park Campground. Our site was huge and completely isolated from adjacent sites. The only other site we could see was across our road. We had nice grass all around our asphalt parking spot and all of that surrounded by dense woods. Nearby was a nice shower and fresh water nearly at our site.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The only drawback was no wifi and limited cell connection, though it was sufficient for me to do my research for my Camera piece, which was due the next morning. I felt really tired for some reason and I lay down in the tent to do my research.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri did a load of laundry, which was a pain in the butt due to a broken washer (thank you, Sheri!), and then she went for a run/hike around the campground and the lake.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I had great weather today. In 44 days in this trip (so far) we’ve had just three days above 80 degrees and <b>zero</b> days above 90. I feel very lucky about that.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We are counting the days now before we finish. We are under 400 miles and will be there in less than a week. It’s been a great journey but also a long one. We’re ready to finish it off, see D.C. and head for home.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Friday, July 15, 2022, Day 45: West Virginia, Mountain Mama</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Take me home, country roads. That’s what I was thinking. I miss John Denver. Brilliant songwriter.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">West Virginia is the second fattest state in the nation. We noticed. It’s also the least flat state, meaning the most mountainous. I’m not sure how that is measured, but my buddy David The Sometimes Swiss assures me this is true. I guess it is appropriate that the University of West Virginia mascot is The Mountaineers. The Mountaineers, which may sound hilarious to us Coloradans, but the steepest roads of this entire ride were in this state.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Rode backroads and bike paths for the first 44 miles. Then we took a 90-minute break in Lisbon— a cute, little town. We were at the small park in the town quad. It would have been perfect if not for all the big trucks running through the center of the town. They need a truck bypass. We also finished my bi-weekly piece for the Daily Camera.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I then rode 20 miles to Chester, West Virginia for another break. I went across a cool, ancient, suspension bridge.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The last 14 miles were adventurous. Constant hills and I even continued on through a closed section of the highway that was barricaded to cars in multiple places.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I finished with a very steep one-mile climb to the campground in…Pennsylvania!</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today was a good test. I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to climb a proper hill on a bike after 3500 miles of relative flats, but today, climb I did. True, my pace was glacial, but I did make it up without walking. The hills weren’t long, but some were extremely steep.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Saturday, July 16, 2022, Day 46:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This morning the Atlantic Ocean was 335 miles away. We figured it could be done in four days of riding, so that was the plan. Sheri found us another campground about 80 miles away. The impediment was the rain, which started around 7 a.m. I decided to wait a couple of hours to let the storm mainly pass us by. I didn’t start rolling until 9:30 a.m.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The route ahead looked very hilly. It was going to be up and down all day, much like the previous day, only even hillier. That was fine with me, though it would slow my pace quite a bit. I just needed to chip away at the miles a little bit at a time.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I picked up the Montour Trail outside of Pittsburgh and rode that until it dumped me onto streets. I followed signs to the Three Rivers Trail but found that to be just a wide shoulder along an industrial road with lots of debris. It wasn’t very pleasant.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri picked out a park that we thought was along my route and it was close, but 300 feet above my route! It provides an incredible view of downtown Pittsburgh but proved quite the grunt to get up there. This was after 34 miles and I took a break here to eat first lunch.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After a rest, I rode back down the hill and through some industrial areas to get onto the Great Allegheny Passage (aka the GAP trail). I was riding right along the Monongahela River now. This is one of the “Three Rivers.” The Monongahela and the Allegheny River join to form the Ohio River. This path was really nice with lots of views along the way. It passed by some restaurants and had lots of signs describing the steel-producing history of Pittsburgh (the football team isn’t called the Steelers for nothing). With my late start, I wasn’t able to stop and read all these signs. That hurt, as I like doing this a lot, but I had a long way to go.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I should have stayed on this trail and I’m not even sure where it continued when I left it, but I was blindly following Google’s route to D.C. I met Sheri in Irwin City Park and I was drained. The road surface was so bad and the two-lane, shoulder-less road had tons of traffic. The road had the look of it that you’d expect little traffic…except there was tons of traffic. Maybe there is just so many people out here and all of them had places to go and people to see. It was Saturday, after all.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri suggested some alternative stopping locations, including right in Irwin. Physically, I felt fine and we decided to continue to New Stanton, only ten miles away. From there it would be just 17 more miles to our planned destination in Donegal, at a campground.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The riding to New Stanton went fine. The road surface got a lot better, a small shoulder appeared and the traffic seemed less. I just had a quick drink here and continued on. What was in front of me was the biggest, steepest hill of the entire ride. I was in my lowest gear, spinning away on a shoulder with lots of gravel, going up a relentless hill on a four-lane highway. This hill was considerably steeper than Flagstaff. Not Super-Flag steep, mind you, but really steep. It wasn’t as twisty as Flagstaff, but it was probably the steepest hill I’ve ever seen with a four-lane highway going up it. I suffered. I nearly had to stop and I never stop while climbing a hill.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I got to camp about 5:30 p.m. I’d ridden 85 miles and just under 5000 vertical feet — the most climbing of any day of the trip. I wasn’t wasted, but I was beat. I drank a chocolate milk and had some meat and cheese, and then took a shower. It was nearly 7 p.m. when I started dinner, which was just canned Spaghetti O’s. That might turn some people’s stomachs, but at the time, it tasted great and took little effort to make. I just heated it on my stove.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After dinner, Sheri went for her usual exploratory walk. I just rested. The campground manager, Dan, came by to get us registered and to collect payment. He’d been out riding on the GAP trail when we checked in. A super nice guy, he gave me some good information on the best way to get back on the GAP trail. He even drove back up to our site later with a couple of maps for the trail.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I should have stayed on this trail from Pittsburgh, but I didn’t know about it and Google routed me this direction. I just didn’t do enough research. Our route will end up being nearly 3800 miles and I just got route fatigue, falling back on Google to create my route. Oh well. My laziness caused me to partially miss out on the best route. That’s okay. Especially since I can’t change the past.</p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We think we could finish in three days, though it might be four if weather continues to be an issue.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Sunday, July 17, 2022, Day 47:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The rain started before 6 a.m. and was a downpour by 6:15. I got soaked making the coffee, but it was delivered to my sweetie in the tent on schedule. I hung out in the car, waiting out the rain for the second consecutive morning. The weather and roads were conspiring to make this a tough finish for me.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">To get the most of the trail I’d ride to Ohiopyle (that’s a funny name), but it would then take me 62 miles to get to Meyersdale instead of 35 going the direct way. I decided to compromise and head for Rockwood, 25 miles away. I’d get on the GAP there and ride it for 13 miles to Meyersdale, where I’d meet Sheri.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The highest point in Pennsylvania is Mt. Davis and it was only 10 miles off our route, so we did a little side trip to bag it. This was another highpoint that we could practically drive to, so we did. We met at a gas station in Meyersdale and I put the road bike in the car for the ten-mile drive to the trailhead, eating lunch on the way.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We ended up hiking about three miles to get to the high point, climb the tower on the summit, and then try to get to the LiDAR high point that Homie had told me about. We hiked up a gravel road to get within a hundred meters or so, but the forest was impenetrable. We turned back.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We drove back to Meyersdale and spent some time in the historical museum at the trailhead. We walked through a caboose and viewed three running model train setups. One was the Lionel-gauge railroad that my dad had and one was HO-scale — the size that I had as a kid. It really brought me back to those times of playing with model trains. I then kitted up and got back on the bike. I had 32 miles left to ride on the GAP trail to Cumberland. The weather forecast did not look great. I was hoping to make it before the rain started, but I carried my rain shell.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was feeling a bit tired and just soft pedaled, listening to my lectures on science fiction and on how to write fiction. I’m not sure I will ever write fiction, but if I do, I’ll have been trained up. Heck, some people view my trip reports as fictional, so maybe this course will help me polish them up a bit.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I caught up to a couple riding with panniers and I chatted them up. Lawrence and Louise, who were biking to Washington D.C. from Pittsburgh. We were on the GAP now, but the trail changed to the C&O Canal Towpath at Cumberland (where George Washington took control of the then British regiment fighting the native Americans). They told me that the C&O is a lot rougher, muddier, and grassier. Clearly, this wasn’t their first time riding this trail. They enjoyed it so much that they came back to do it again. The C&O becomes single track for sections. Lawrence asked if I had fenders with me because, if I did not, I’d get covered in mud. Oh well. Muddy I will be.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I pedaled on at a bit faster pace and a few miles later the rain started. I still had 25 miles to go. I pulled on my rain shell and continued. At first it was light rain and no big deal, but it steadily built to a downpour. I was gaining on a rider in front of me and I caught him in a long tunnel. We stopped at the far side to wait out the rain. It was raining so hard that I knew it couldn’t last at that intensity.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Chad lived in Frostburg, the next town on the trail and only three miles ahead. Chad was 82 years old and still skied and rode his bike regularly. In fact, he was still working for the state, helping seniors to re-enter the work force. He’s been widowed for 15 years. He said that he used to look forward to the weekends to spend time with his wife, but now he looks forward to Monday so that he gets to go to work and interact with others. He’s not lonely, though, as his daughter and son live nearby.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When the rain came nearly to a stop, we continued on. He told me about the steam locomotive that runs from Frostburg to Cumberland on the weekends. It is supposedly the biggest steam locomotive east of the Mississippi. He told me about George Washington and his activity in fighting the Native Americans out of Cumberland. At Frostburg, we shook hands and said goodbye. I had 16 miles left to ride.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It wasn’t long before the rain started again for me. I picked up the pace to limit my time in it, but soon it was raining as hard as ever. Despite my shell, I got soaked to the skin. I couldn’t have been wetter if I had jumped into a pool. With eight miles to go I entered another tunnel and stopped at the far side to wait out the worst of it, yet again. I texted with Sheri here and she told me that it was raining hard in Cumberland as well.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It wasn’t cold out, but standing in the dark tunnel, soaking wet, wasn’t comfortable. When the rain eased just a bit, I decided to just ride on. I couldn’t get any wetter and the sooner I got to Cumberland, where Sheri had checked into a hotel, the sooner I’d get into that hot shower. So, I pushed on into the rain.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was actually sort of fun, riding in such a deluge. I put on some tunes to pump myself up and started really moving. The path ran right next to the little-used tracks and would occasionally cross to the other side. At each crossing I took care not to slip and fall over. As long as I kept the rubber side down, the riding was fun. I even shot some photos and videos while riding.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I found the hotel, the Fairfield, directly adjacent to the trail, and entered the lobby, soaked, with my soaked dirt bike. The clerk at the desk didn’t bat an eye and just asked, “How are you?” I said, “I’m soaked.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri met me at the room (she had been in the workout room), and I proceeded to strip off my cold, wet clothing and jump into a hot shower. It felt so good. Sheri started some laundry, as both of my kits were now dirty. Then she went and got us some pizza and a salad for dinner. We ended the day by talking to my dad and then with Derek, before finishing an episode of “Alone.”</p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-29957375131633557292022-07-11T06:53:00.000-06:002022-07-11T06:53:10.961-06:00Washington to Washington, Days 35-40<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/BbgrZ1t7Fc6L2i8HA" target="_blank">Photos</a></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Tuesday, July 5, 2022, Day 35:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was soggy this morning and then started raining again at 9 a.m. I didn’t start pedaling until 10:30 a.m and I did that on very wet roads and with some mist in the air.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There was a nice shoulder to begin with but then 8.5 miles of riding with a six-inch shoulder and some traffic. It was stressful to have to ride in such a tiny space for so long. I stopped after eight miles of this to eat a bar, go pee, and get my headphones going. A young mother noticed my Leadville shirt and asked me about it. Her sister-in-law was riding Leadville this year. I continue to be surprised at the notoriety of this race.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I had noticed that my left pedal had some give to it. I figured it must be a loose cleat, but at my stop I found my cleat to be very secure. As I rode on, it was still annoying me. I thought I must have something wrong with the pedal, but on closer inspection, I could see that my crank was moving side to side. I stopped and cranked down the crank with my hex wrench. Thinking the problem was solved, I rode on.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I met Sheri at a big, green, very nice, state park. Sheri talked her way in for free. She’s such a charmer. I was a little chilled when I arrived--not enough to put on more clothes, but I elected to rest in the car instead of in a chair. I’d done 41 miles to this point and had 34 miles to go. We made plans to meet in ? after 17 miles.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode some on a bike path, but then got back on the highway when the path became rough gravel. When I met Sheri I had to tighten up my crank again. I also took the time to lube my chain. After some food and a chocolate milk, I rode the remaining 17 miles on the Iron Ore Trail and it was awesome. Half of it was paved and the other half was on firm, smooth, crushed gravel,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">With seven miles to go, the weather got really foggy and a bit cold, my phone died, and my crank fell off. No worries about the phone, as I biked with a power brick and a cable and got that going. While the weather chilled me, I tried to fix my crank. When I tried to push my crank back on, the right side moved out away from the bike, as they connected together. Eventually I got the crank on well enough to continue to the campground. Just before this happened I also noticed that I couldn’t shift into my big ring any longer. I thought this was just a cable issue and that I’d either need some lube on it or to replace the cable. I retro-fitted this bike with Ultegra less than two years ago, so this was curious. Maybe I did a bad job of it.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When I got to the campground, I found Sheri sitting in the car with her down jacket on. We’d got the last site. Thank goodness for Sheri. I wouldn’t have wanted to go searching for an alternative. I was quite cold at this point, so immediately headed to the shower, mostly to get warm.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When I returned, Sheri was off on her exploratory hike. I found a bike shop 2.5 miles away and hopped on my bike, hoping that they could quickly solve both of my problems. The mechanic, Nevin, gave me prompt service. He got my crank on a bit better, but I was lacking the loading bolt and he felt the threads were stripped enough that I needed a new crank, which he didn’t have and wouldn’t have until Friday. He gave me the part number so that I could call ahead to a bike shop hundreds of miles ahead. He wasn’t able to solve my shifting problem either. He replaced the cable but to no effect. The problem seems to reside in the shifter. I had been experiencing some trouble with this for a week or more. It just took more effort to get it to shift, but now no effort would get it to shift. This would have been quite the delay if I didn’t have a second bike.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Wednesday, July 6, 2022, Day 36:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The tarmac in the campground was dry when I woke up. I hoped that boded well for a drier, warmer day in the saddle. I had to ride the gravel bike today, due to the issues with my road bike, but I wanted to be on it anyway, as I was planning to ride the gravel roads recommended by Nevin from the bike shop.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was quite cold for the first 30 miles. 50 degrees or so. I was in leggings, armies, a hat, and even a jacket. I warmed after after that and was down to shorts for the last 40 miles.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Lots of highway riding but good shoulder and few cars. Buckhorn Road was awesome and I then did about 10 miles of gravel. I saw the sun in the last couple of hours. It was the first time seeing it in three days.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I started out on the coast of Lake Superior and ended on the coast of Lake Michigan.</p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Our campground is great and it is sunny and beautiful now. There was also really nice showers here. I made spaghetti and we ate it while watching a summary of Stage 5 of the Tour de France. After dinner we walked down to the Lake Michigan beach with our chairs, watched the lake and read our books. We mostly just watched the lake, and Sheri got a phone call from Derek and caught up with him.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Michigan is the only state (except for states with islands) that consists of two separate land areas. It looks strange. The obvious question is “Why isn’t the UP part of Wisconsin?” since it is adjacent to it. It probably would have been if not for a faulty survey. When Michigan (and Wisconsin) were just parts of the Northwest Territory, the border of the territory was officially the latitudinal line that extends to the east from the very bottom of Lake Michigan. The original survey for this line was horrible and trended well to the north, so that Toledo was south of the line and therefore part of Ohio. When Michigan was applying to be a state, the governor of the territory was adamant that Toledo was in Michigan and sent troops to occupy it. Ohio responded with their troops. No shots were fired, but a sheriff was stabbed in a voting dispute. This is known as the Toledo War — over the Toledo Strip — even though not a single shot was fired.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The governor of Ohio had a lot of pull in Congress and blocked Michigan’s application for statehood. This dispute went on for years until a compromise was reached. In exchange for giving up the Toledo Strip, Michigan would get the UP, which was considered worthless wilderness at the time. The UP turned out to be very rich in iron ore and became a cash cow for Michigan.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">While I am musing, I must correct my earlier critique of the gaits of deer. Since then I’ve seen deer run with such variety and such grace that I’m embarrassed that I thought they only walked and hopped. They can trot, canter, gallop, and leap. Oh, the leaping is impressive, huge, graceful jumps of up to 25 feet and as high as eight feet for a white-tailed deer. The hopping is actually known as a stott or pronk. So, if you can “run like a deer”, you are truly a versatile, athletic, incredible runner. Sheri used to run like a deer. She still does, though maybe a slightly older deer.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Here’s another topic that’s been on my mind lately: Loud trucks and motorcycles. I’m not referring to semis here, but mainly pickup trucks that seem to be specifically modified to make a lot of noise. Harleys are this way. They make a tremendous amount of noise compared to the whisper-quiet Honda road cruiser bikes or even the fastest crotch rockets, so the loud sound doesn’t indicate raw power. It’s just loud. I assume this is a call to “look at me”, similar to people that dye their hair green or pink. There isn’t anything inherently wrong with this. We all want to be seen and noticed (well, most of us), but we draw the line at literally yelling, “Look at me!” How close we come to that line, though, varies quite a bit. I assume the people driving these noise machines know that they are annoying 98% of the people that hear them. They aren’t impressed. But, I guess, there are 2% that hear that noise and think, “Wow! Did you see that guy in the super loud truck? He’s so cool.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">While biking along the highway, I pass by numerous houses, all with mailboxes along the road, some quite close to the road. I guess they are close to make it easier on the mailman. Many of these mailboxes have a small, wooden wall in front of them. I assumed these were to prevent kids from driving by with a baseball bat and whacking the mailbox off the post. I stopped to take a photo of one and the owner asked if he could help me. I told him my theory and he corrected me. “No,” he said, “It’s to protect them against the snow thrown by the snowplows." The UP gets a lot of snow each winter. He told me that they frequently have 2-3 feet of snow on the ground for the entire winter.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today I went over 2700 miles for the trip and have about 1000 miles to go. That’s some serious progress. I’ve also done over 88,000 vertical feet, which, while a substantial total, is a tiny amount for so many miles.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b></b><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Thursday, July 7, 2022, Day 37:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today’s goal was to make it to St. Ignace, which is on the norther side (the UP side) of the amazing Mackinaw suspension bridge — the longest suspension bridge in North America. Sheri found us a goal campground and I needed to ride 88 miles to get there — the same distance I rode the day before.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I saw a lot of dead animals today: turtles, porcupines, birds. I rode highway the entire day. Really wide shoulder but not my favorite riding as there was a lot of traffic at times. There are many nice roadside parks though. These all have well-maintained lawns. Lake Michigan feels and smells like an ocean here. It has beaches and even some wind-driven waves.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was coldish and clammy today, despite starting out in perfect weather and nice sunshine. That lasted less than ten miles. Maybe only five. Then it was in the low 60s and overcast the entire time. We've been hearing about all the extreme heat covering huge portions of the US and we've avoided it completely so far. I guess that is not surprising being this far north, but it has been super hot in Minnesota and North Dakota and other northern areas...just not when we've been there.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Tomorrow we head due south and it should get progressively warmer, but hopefully not too warm.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Friday, July 8, 2022, Day 38: The Mighty Mac</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The Mackinaw Suspension Bridge is the longest suspension bridge in North America, and in fact the entire western hemisphere, and the fifth longest in the world with a span of 8,614 feet. The total bridge length, including the non-suspended parts, is 26,372 feet or almost exactly five miles long. It’s known as the “Mighty Mac” and bikes are not allowed to cross it. Hence, we tossed the bike in the car for the crossing. If you didn’t have a sag wagon, you can take a ferry from St. Inge to Mackinaw City.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We were up and out of the campsite by 7:40 a.m. I rode over to the ferry dock and Sheri drove over there. We were taking the ferry to Macinac Island — which is in Lake Huron, as it sits east of the Mackinaw Strait. It’s a beautiful island with plenty of nice, paved roads, including an 8-mile loop that circles the island and it has NO cars! Most people seem to rent bikes as soon as they get off the ferry, but we were bringing our own. Others walk or take carriages (lots of these) drawn by huge draft horses. It’s a big tourist location, but does have permanent residents, though not many in winter. My Uncle Bob got married on this island that is a popular wedding destination.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We biked the island loop and it was great. Nearly perfect weather made the riding very enjoyable. Plenty of people were on the road and the one hiking trail we did (to a very cool rock arch), but not nearly crowded. We rode up to Fort Macinac and learned a bit of history. The British first built the fort in the late 1700s but ceded it to the US after the revolutionary war. The fort was retaken by the British with the help of lots of Native Americans in 1812, and the fort commander didn’t even know there was a war going on. He surrendered without a fight to avoid a possible massacre.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We also rode up to the Grand Hotel which is huge and has its own golf course. The grounds here and everywhere are impeccably maintained. Flowers and manicured lawns are everywhere. The Grand Hotel has a strict dress code after 6 p.m. Gentlemen must be in a coat and tie and ladies cannot be wearing pants. That reminds me of the Thirty Rock episode where Jack Donaghue (sp?) is in a tuxedo at work and Liz Lemon asks him, “Are you wearing a tux?” and he responds, “Lemon, it’s after six. I’m not a hillbilly.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Before leaving the island we bought some fudge. Apparently this island is famous for it and they have so many different kinds. It turns out that Sheri loves fudge. Who knew?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Back in St. Ignace, still in the UP, we headed over to a park for lunch. The park was right on the shore of Lake Michigan with a tremendous view of “The Mighty Mac.” Afterwards, I put my bike in the car, because bikes aren’t allowed on this bridge. There is no walking across this bridge either, as there is no walking/biking path, like on the Golden Gate Bridge. In fact, the edge of the bridge is so close to the roadway that cars have fallen off this bridge and people get nervous about it in high winds. Even Sheri preferred to drive in the middle lane.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Immediately on the other side, we got off the highway (I-75) and I got on the bike. We were now on the Lower Peninsula (no one calls it the LP) and would head due south for the next 350 miles. I immediately got on the North Central Michigan rails-to-trails route. This is a smooth, firm, crushed-gravel trail that runs for 65 miles. It is in forests but also along the shores of lakes, including the large Mullet Lake. Riding down along this lake, I was impressed with so many nice houses, so well maintained, along the lake front. I rode along this for 10-15 miles and it was very scenic. It reminded me of one of my favorite movies: Breaking Away, though I know that movie was set in Indiana. It was quintessential middle America.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I stopped to take a photo at one point and a lady was out tending her garden. She said that her house was a former train depot. Cool. I marveled at the great location and she said, “Isn’t Michigan the best?!” That got me thinking. It seems that most people think they live in the best place. The two forestry guys we met in Wisconsin had lived in California before and I asked why they returned and they said the same thing: “Because Wisconsin is the best place to live.” I think the best place is Boulder, Colorado. This is a great situation, for people to be so happy with where they live.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri went ahead and found us a campground, at her third choice, in Wolverine. Wolverine. What a perfect name for a town in Michigan. Now if I could only see one of these… She then came back to give me some support. I didn’t need it, but I love seeing her along my ride. We met at a beautiful park right on the lakeshore and ate second lunch: McDonalds. I still had 18 miles to ride and kept going down the trail. I was listening to a Great Courses book about the history of Science Fiction. I pedaled easy and just loved the movement. Derek reached out for beta on the Petit Grepon and I called him and we chatted for at least fifteen minutes, all while I was riding down this glorious trail.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri was waiting for me at the road to the campground, to make sure I found it, as we had a very weak signal here. I took a shower and Sheri did a workout with weights. I just read in the paper that the big star of the latest Thor movie was Natalie Portman’s arms. Muscles are in on females and Sheri has some guns.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We had a simple dinner, read our books and retired to the tent.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Saturday, July 9, 2022, Day 39:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We awoke to roosters this morning. Honestly. I got out of the tent and saw four or five chickens and at least one was a rooster (can there only be one?) and it was periodically announcing the morning had arrived. It was cold — in the 40’s — but I didn’t see a cloud in the sky. That’s common in Colorado, but this was maybe the first day of the entire trip where I noticed this, including in Montana. I was sure it wouldn’t last the whole day, but the forecast was brilliant: sunshine all day long with a high of 77.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode the last 16 miles of the North Central Michigan trail this morning. At one point a paved path appeared parallel to my crushed-gravel path and I veered onto it. This was a mistake, for after a half-mile or so, my path ended and there was quite the brush barrier to getting back to the real trail. There were even manmade stacks of branches to prevent getting there, but I stubbornly pushed through, scraping my legs and possibly picking up a tick, which I’d later find in the shower (I don’t think it burrowed into me, though).</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I found Sheri waving me down after just twenty miles. She thought she was in Waters, but was seven miles north of it. I was surprised to see her this early but always happy to see her. I had a drink and a snack and we made plans to meet in Grayling, 24 miles away.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Quiet roads and some nice shoulders got me close and then I picked up a paved bike path into the northern part of the town. A short stint on a busy street brought me to a park where I found Sheri sitting in a camp chair in some shade. She had another chair for me and an incredible assortment of food: two breakfast sandwiches, chocolate milk, cinnamon roll, donuts, Coke, etc. We stayed here over an hour, chatting and eating and resting.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Our final destination was a campground at the southern end of Houghton Lake. It was 27 miles away and we’d just meet there. I took off on the bike and immediately ran into trouble. My first route was supposed to take me on the Railroad Road. The route ended at a railroad yard of sorts, but there was no road here. I searched around for an alternative without luck and then tried to take an alternate route suggested by Google Maps, on the other side of the Interstate. This route ended after only a mile at a closed gate with a “Private Property, No Trespassing” sign. Next, I figured to just get on the Interstate for a couple of miles to the next exit. It was the most direct path at this point. Unfortunately, there was a sign barring non-motorized vehicles… I briefly thought about viewing my legs as motors, but relented and turned back to the north.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode north, back through Grayling, past the park where we’d had lunch to highway 72 and took that east to a side road that had a “Bike Route” sign and took that south and west a bit to where I came across the start/finish of a Gran Fondo. I talked with a nice lady with a fancy time-trial bike that had just finished her first metric century. I congratulated her and asked for directions. She set me straight.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode out to highway 93 and then south on that to Military Road, which indeed had a number of military vehicles on it (we were near a base). The shoulder was minimal, but the traffic was even lighter. As I rode south, I saw a number of riders coming back to the north, perhaps completing the longer 100-mile ride. I waved at each cyclist as they passed by. I was finally on track and headed to camp.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My Google Maps tried to direct me down one tiny, loose, dirt path, and I rejected that idea. I stayed on the pavement. It was a lonely road and I could ride in the middle of the lane where the pavement was a bit smoother. Eventually, I crossed over a highway and got on the West Shore Lake Drive. It was great. I passed by house after house in a residential area. Each house had a dock and a boat. I continued on this until a mile from the campground where I had to veer west a bit. Here Google Maps tried to take me down another non-existent road, but that path ended after less than 100 feet, so no big deal.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I found Sheri at the campground, tucked into a densely-wooded alcove at the far end of a small grassy clearing. There was a picnic table here, but it wasn’t clear what, if anything, the campground had done to actually create a campsite. They had a shower, but it wasn’t the best I’ve seen. Other than the tiny size, spiderweb, old rag, and smell, it was also quite dirty. But it did allow me to wash a tick out of my head. Perhaps the tick was already in the shower. Too bad the spider didn’t get it.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We walked over to a KFC and had dinner. This was nice, as the bugs were plentiful at camp and we avoided cooking and cleaning up. I ate my usual 2000+ calories for dinner. This was on top of the two donuts and chocolate milk I had after finishing my ride. It really is remarkable that I’m not fatter than I am. I just can’t be burning the amount of calories I’m eating. Seriously. The riding I’m doing is too flat to be burning this much. Maybe I’ve become a more inefficient cyclist… This wouldn’t be such a bad thing, as it would allow for a greater donut intake. Life isn’t all about donuts, but I’ve come to realize that they are an essential part of my happiness. Not quite up to Sheri’s level, mind you, but key.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Sunday, July 10, 2022, Day 40:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In the 40s again this morning, but it is supposed to crack 80 degrees today. We’ve camped for five nights in a row and plan to hit a hotel in Midland tonight. My route is just 74 miles long and the last 30 miles of it will be on the Pere-Marquette Rails-to-Trails route. This is paved, flat, scenic and rated one of the top 25 Rails-to-Trails routes in the US. That sounded like heaven.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode out of the campground in chilly conditions. I felt great in the sun, but whenever I was in the shade, I was a bit cold. I knew it wouldn’t last though. It spurred me to ride a bit harder in the shade to generate my own heat. I rode 25 miles to a great park in Harrison, where Sheri was waiting for me. We spent an hour here, eating and relaxing. It was a decadent break after only 25 miles but would be my only support stop, as Sheri wanted to ride some of the trail as well. Her plan was to drive to our hotel in Midland and then bike back towards me on the path.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I eventually rode on, along roads with little traffic to Clare. I was follow directions to the trail when I sensed a disturbance in the force. My donut senses were tingling. A shop was nearby. Sure enough, I found the “World Famous Real Cops and Real Donuts” shop. I had to stop. The shop was located right on main street with al fresco seating on the sidewalk. People filled the tables and were enjoying all manner of donuts. I tried the door but it said to go to the door on the left. That door told me to go further left. Then another going left. When I finally got inside I found a massive line. I don’t know the speed of the line, but it couldn’t have been quicker than 15 minutes. Maybe 30 minutes. I was meeting Sheri, so I suppressed my strong donut urge and moved on. Sheri trumps donuts…barely.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I got on the path, which was really wide, maybe 15 feet. I was cruising along, listening to my podcast on life in the universe (spoiler alert: probably just Earth has life), when I spotted a recumbent bike ahead of me. I figured I’d reel them in quickly enough and chat. I did not. I increased my effort and slowly closed the gap. Very slowly. Too slowly. I put in considerable more effort and eventually ran this guy down.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Dave lives in Midland and was on his way back from a 40-mile out-and-back ride. He rode the recumbent because of hip problems (he needs a replacement). He told me about the LPGA golf tournament in town, which was probably why rooms were harder to find and more expensive. This tournament is a unique two-person, team format. Dave has lived in Michigan his whole life. He runs a construction company. I asked him how he likes living here and he responded, “I live in Florida 4 or 5 months of the year.” That sounded like what Sheri wants to do with Colorado: abandon it for winter and spring.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Dave stopped to use the bathroom and I was thankful to be able to lower my speed. Dave, who was 64 years old, was pounding out an 18-19 mph pace and putting some stress on me. I was using “Find My” on my phone to locate Sheri and while she was getting closer to me, it didn’t look like she was moving. Indeed, she had biked far enough and was taking a break. I met her and we rode the remaining 8 miles to the hotel together. Google directed us onto a fitness path that was only three feet wide. It was really twisty and fun to ride. Sheri got in twenty-one miles — her longest ride in at least a few decades. No problem for her, though.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We were able to check into the Hampton Inn at 2:30 p.m. While I ate and did nothing, Sheri went and did all the laundry. Yes, yes, I’m spoiled. I didn’t just lie there, though. I took a shower and gave myself a badly needed shave. So, you know, I was working too.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We walked two minutes to dinner at Panera and each had a salad with our sandwich. We haven’t eaten many salads on this trip. Back at the hotel we watched an episode of “Alone” on this History challenge. We watched a number of these seasons and enjoy the show quite a bit. We also watched a summary of a couple of Tour de France stages, though we are still a few stages behind in the results.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri thought my legs would benefit from a soak, so I went to the pool and sat in the jacuzzi. Shortly after I got there Jason (four kids of 11, 8, 6, and 3 years old) arrived. He’s working on the video production for the LPGA tournament. We chatted briefly, as I was only there for a 10-minute soak. I did see him at breakfast the next morning as well and we exchanged emails and websites.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p><br /></p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-60766530111581559602022-07-05T06:56:00.001-06:002022-07-05T06:56:45.063-06:00Washington to Washington Days 31-34<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/nKwLFbxk18sF1wGw6" target="_blank">Photos</a></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Friday, July 1, 2022, Day 31: Timms Hill</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The Tour de France started today. We’re big fans and will miss watching it each night, but we’ll follow along via our phones. Maybe their riding will motivate me. I should try to match their mileage each day…probably not.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After a hotel breakfast that in most respects was sub-standard, except for the saving grace that they had donuts (!), and watching some Wimbledon, I started riding toward Ogema, the closest town to Timms Hill, which at just under 2000 feet, is the highest point in Wisconsin. It was 44 miles to the trailhead and I’d meet Sheri there. She got there 90 minutes before me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode some paved backroads and then they turned to gravel. Bummer. I continued down the road for four miles or so and then at the junction my route had a sign saying “Road Closed Ahead.” I checked my map and turned right, rode another mile of gravel and was back out on the main two-lane highway. The traffic was light enough and I had a good shoulder. It was fine. I listened to various podcasts and rolled along.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I turned onto a smaller road and then took a one-lane, one-way road up to the trailhead for Timms Hill. A half-mile down from the parking lot, I ran into Sheri. She’d already done five miles of running and hiking around the park but was saving the summit to do with me. After some lunch, we headed up the trail, but not together. Sheri sensed an opportunity for a Strava trophy. She was warmed up and ran the trail to the tower. This was only a quarter-mile and it gained 130 feet, but still, she looked good running away from me. I just hiked up it. At the summit was a 70-foot tall tower with a public staircase that led to the top. The view was nice up there and the breeze made the temperature perfect.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Just after a group of four guys arrived at the top, Sheri started down. I chatted with them. One was a high pointer, like me. This was his 9th summit. It was Sheri’s 10th and my 21st. One of the other guys was excited about my bike trip and said that I inspired him to revive an old plan he and his wife had about biking across Spain. I hope he gets it done.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Back at the trailhead, Sheri called a campground 28 miles away and booked us a site. Since it was the Fourth of July weekend, we feared everything would be booked up, so we took this one sight unseen. She drove off to set up camp and I rode there, pushed by a nice tailwind most of the way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The campground was near a dirt race track. They raced until nearly 11 p.m. and it was quite loud at our site. Also, a camper three sites away was cranking up his country music, possibly to hear it over the race track. Redneck central. Oh, and our site was covered in ants. They didn’t bite, but they crawled on me every chance they got. It wasn’t our most restful night and we would be happy to move on in the morning. Still, I was glad to stop and just relax and read my book. And they had a shower.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Speaking of showers, I’ve been through quite the assortment at the campgrounds we’ve visited. In Washington, every shower was a separate room entered via an exterior door. There was no shower curtain, as the room was basically the shower. All these showers took tokens, which you had to buy, so no free showers in the campgrounds we visited in Washington.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In Idaho, Montana, North Dakota, and Minnesota, the showers were free. Some were just concrete alcoves and some had curtains and a chair and hooks. All had hot water.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In Wisconsin, the first campground we visited had a gigantic room as a shower. It had two stalls to shower in, but one was just for wheel-chaired people, as the shower head was really low. In this shower, there was one control: a button. I had no control over the temperature of the water and I feared it would only be cold. I pressed the button and got 15 seconds of water. At first, it was freezing, but after a few pushes, the water was nicely warm. Still, I had to press the button twenty times to take a 5-minute shower. It probably is a great way of saving water.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At the race-track campground, I had to pay for the first time since Washington. This shower took quarters (no tokens) and was pretty cheap: fifty cents for six minutes, which was plenty of time. This shower had zero controls. I put my money into the machine and bright LED numerals started counting down from 6:00 and the water came on. It was quite hot. In fact, it would have been too hot if the pressure was greater, but it dribbled out slowly enough to be bearable, though I had to move my head around to get it completely wet. With thirty seconds to go, the timer started beeping and beeped all the way down to zero, and then the water immediately cut off. I guess there is no excuse for still being soapy.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Saturday, July 2, 2022, Day 32: Hiawatha Trail (again)</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was up around 5 a.m. and doing my puzzles (Wordscapes and Wordle) and out of the tent by 5:20 or so, mainly driven by the need to pee. I made coffee for myself and Sheri. I always pass Sheri’s coffee into the tent for her — just like I did on the JMT. She loves that time in the tent to do her puzzles and read the news while staying warm and cozy and sipping on her boiling-hot coffee. I had some donut holes for first breakfast and then made us pancakes for Sheri’s first breakfast and my second breakfast. They were delicious!</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We were now headed towards the highest point in Michigan, which is Mt. Avron and it is located in the Upper Peninsula, or the “UP” as the locals call it. Our goal for today was to make it just over the border into Michigan. Again, we were worried about camping availability, but we’d just have to see.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I realized today that our route through Michigan, along the entirety of the UP, plus the entire north-to-south distance of the main mitten (MM?) would be nearly 700 miles long. I rode just over 700 miles in Montana, so Michigan is nearly the same length as that huge state. We’ll be in Michigan for more than half of the rest of our trip. That’s surprising.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode the Hiawatha Trail for 30 miles to Minocqua. This is a very nice, smooth, double-track dirt trail — a rails-to-trails project that goes over a number of low trestles. Each one is named and the length noted on a sign. I took photos of some of these. It was such pleasant, mostly shaded riding, as I was riding through a forest, but crossing many streams (hence the trestles) and weaving among lakes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I saw quite a few runners and even a few cyclists. The closer I got to Minocqua, the more I saw of each. Sheri drove to Minocqua and then rode her bike south, towards me. We met eight miles south of Minocqua, so Sheri got in a 16-mile ride. We passed some really fast-looking female runners. We chatted one up and she was just finishing a 13-mile training run. She is planning to run Chicago and the California International Marathons (Sheri and I have both run this latter marathon).</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Also, on this trail, I ate a bug. Not on purpose and it wasn’t the first bug I’ve eaten on this trip, just the first one that I remembered to document. Despite the fact that a lot of the world eats bugs and they are supposedly a good form of protein, I don’t think they were thinking of eating flies out of the air. I’m not sure what kind of a bug it was. It flew directly into my mouth and was too far down my throat to cough up, try as I might. Once I knew it wasn’t coming up, I took a big swig from my bottle and washed it down. Hopefully, my stomach acids will render it harmless. Like I said, I’ve done this at least twice before and I seem to be fine.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">But that reminds me of an idea I had for a new creature. Baleen whales, like humpback whales and blue whales, eat by scooping up swimming pools of water in a single gulp and then filtering out the zooplankton, like krill, as its huge tongue pushes out the seawater through the baleen bristles. I think there should be a creature that is super light and quite large, like a giant balloon — say five feet long on average, but with monsters getting more than ten feet long. Maybe they produce hydrogen gas in internal pockets so that they can float along. These creatures would live up in the forests of Minnesota, like around Eagle Mountain, and they would glide through the forests with huge mouths open, scooping mosquitoes out of the air by the hundreds. There wouldn’t need to be laws about harming these creatures, as humans would clearly see their value and love to follow them down trails. Wildlife managers would try to introduce them to other parts of the country, but because they are so big and so light, they can only exist where the wind is light or in dense forests that don’t allow strong winds to blow. They could be called Bloaters or Bug Balloons or Skeeter Eaters. Some wish they could live in a world without war. All I want is a world without mosquitoes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri and I biked back to Minocqua, chatting all the way. It was so great to be able to ride and chat with her, as this had been a rarity. We crossed a couple of cool bridges including a big one, for bikers and pedestrians only, that crossed over to the island where the town was located.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Minocqua is a super nice-looking town in a lake! Well, on an island in Lake Minocqua. Very much a vacation town. We overhead conversations like “Oh, hi. When did you get here,” like people came here for the summer. Such a life of luxury… I’m sure most people just come for the weekend and this was the long Fourth-of-July weekend.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After a 90-minute break to walk around a bit and then have a nice relaxing lunch while sitting on a bench on the dock and watching the boaters and the water skiers, I got back on my bike and continued north, towards the town of Land O’ Lakes — you know, where the butter (or is it margarine?) comes from.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode east for twenty miles and just before I turned north, I spotted a rider pulling out onto my road and heading in my direction. I increased my effort to chat with him. He appeared a bit more burly than I, and I didn’t expect it to be hard to chase him down, but it took longer than expected. I had to turn in just 1.5 miles, so I didn’t have long to chat. He was from Madison and up here for the long weekend. After a few minutes, I had to turn left. I’m usually very in tune to car noises and can detect when a car is closing on me and I heard nothing. We were riding two abreast, mostly in the bike lane. I bid him adieu and broke hard to my left into the on-coming traffic lane (which was devoid of cars) and then left onto my new road. Just as I was doing this a pickup came by and yelled at me. Since we were going in different directions, it was all over in one second, but I must have cut in front of him. He was rightfully pissed, as I did not signal. I was lucky he wasn’t closer and I could have been killed. I’ve made stupid mistakes like this before, even when climbing. I’m still alive but only by luck. Eventually, I won’t be lucky. Hopefully, I won’t make that mistake again.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Our first choice campground was booked solid (no surprise there), but Sheri found us a forest campground that was five miles off my route. We threw the bike in the car and drove out there. It was paved all the way, so I’ll probably just ride that distance back to my route tomorrow.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The campground was primitive (no showers, pit toilets, and only a pump for water), but at least it wasn’t by a race track. We set up the tent, read, and wrote. While Sheri took a short nap, I ate and drank (chocolate milk), and drank (Diet 7Up), and drank (Coke). Then we decided to drive into Land O’ Lakes to get some dinner.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We went to a cool food shack called Dari-Maid. You ordered at a window and then got to buy the world’s most expensive vanilla coffee malt ($8.50), which was delicious. We also ordered burgers and fries. Our cell connection at the campground and in town was very weak and it took a long time to even upload my Strava track. I only really need the connection for plotting my route to the next stop and I am pretty dependent on it. I do have maps downloaded in a couple of other apps, so I wouldn’t be completely stranded, but I do like my Google Map directions.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">On the way back we stopped at a couple of historical markers. We were camped at the headwaters of the Wisconsin River, which starts at Lac Vieux Desert (a big lake where we were camped) and flows 300 miles to the Mississippi River. It was a major transportation route in the 1700s and 1800s. Nowadays it has so many dams on it that it is called “The Hardest Working River in America”, though I wonder if the Colorado River works harder. The Colorado works so hard that it dies before it reaches the ocean in the Gulf of California.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Back at the campground, which we naively assumed would be so much quieter than the racetrack site, we were serenaded by loud music and constant fireworks until well past 10 p.m. Our site was a good distance from other sites and we could barely even make out a vehicle in the next site because of the dense woods, but we could hear fine.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Sunday, July 3, 2022, Day 33: </b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was nice and quiet this morning. I wished I had some fireworks to light off at 5 a.m. Just kidding. I don’t begrudge my fellow campers their USA birthday celebrations. We’ll be hearing more of that tonight and tomorrow night. Hopefully, on the night of the 4th we’ll be somewhere we can see fireworks, but I doubt it.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was also cold this morning, at 46 degrees. I drank my coffee in the car to stay warm. Our goal today was Baraga State Park in Michigan, which will be another new state for me. I will be crossing into that state within three miles of my camp this morning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode three miles of pavement and seven miles of gravel before emerging onto the highway. Sheri had just gone by but didn’t see me. We met nine miles down the road on my turn-off on Bond Falls Road. After second breakfast, I convinced her to drive to Bond Falls as well. It seemed like a big deal with all the signage and it was just four miles away.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">She drove to the trailhead for the falls, down a steep, paved road, and then followed a paved trail out to a boardwalk running underneath the falls. I was able to ride my bike down the path and out the boardwalk to below the falls. I met Sheri there and we walked around the boardwalk and up along the falls. It was really nice. There is a hydro dam just above these falls. Above them? They could have got a lot more power by building a bigger dam and utilizing this drop, but they would have obliterated the falls, of course, and maybe the topology of the land wouldn’t allow it anyway.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I used the paperboy weave to get back up the steep hill down to the parking. It must have been nearly 20%. I think I could have maybe done it head-on, but it would have been standing at 2 mph if I could turn the pedals at all. Thankfully, it was only about one hundred vertical feet. I went by the hydro dam just above. It didn’t look like much. I wonder how much power it produces.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I continued on nice, paved, twisty roads back out to the highway and then crossed it and got on a rails-to-trails route that paralleled the highway. It was a bit loose and a bit dusty but not too bad. It did seem to have more flies out here, though. The biggest drawback is that this trail was open to ATVs and a couple came by me going the other way and I had to ride through their dust cloud. But then, even worse, a couple came by me going my way. This time I rode in the dust cloud much longer.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I met Sheri at a ranger station along the highway and had lunch. We decided to meet one more time before the final stretch to our campground at Baraga State Park, between Baraga and L’Anse on the shore of Lake Superior. I had second lunch at this next stop. I only had 19 miles to go, but it felt warm (it was only 75 degrees) and I was sweating a lot. The rest in the shade revived me.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode five miles of pavement before my route turned to gravel. And it was soft gravel. I’d weave back and forth across the road looking for the firmest ground. It went gradually uphill for five miles and the sun beat down on me. My pace was about 9 mph here and a frustrating pace because it was variable, depending upon the softness of the road. Also, I was surrounded by flies again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I looked up how fast a fly can fly and, for a house fly, that is just 5 mph. How were these horse flies keeping up with me at up to 20 mph? Were they a super species? It turns out they were! More research informed me that the male horsefly can fly at 90 mph! Though only when chasing a female horsefly. I suspect the flies were helped by flying in my draft. This would explain why they were primarily behind me. I could see them by their shadows. I was to them what a semi-trailer was to me. When those big trucks pass me going in my direction, I get a big pull from their wind. Of course, if they are going the other direction, I get a retarding blast, but it isn’t as powerful, as they are a lane further away.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">With eight miles to go to the next junction, I put on my tunes for motivation. I hoped the surface would switch to pavement at the next junction. I did about one mile per song. The terrain crested and I got some free downhill riding. I also got more shade. After seven miles, the road turned hard left and turned to pavement. Unfortunately, my route was supposed to go straight, and indeed that was directly towards the camping, so I went straight…for about a hundred yards. Then I sunk in so deep that I couldn’t pedal. My measly 40mm tires didn’t give me enough surface area to support my prodigious bulk. I had to turn back. I could see on my map that I could ride the other three sides of a rectangle and still make it to camp. I was only three miles away down the sand road, but it would be more like eight miles to go around on pavement, but it was that or walk my bike for possibly three miles.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I went back to the pavement and rode just another mile before Google Maps directed me onto a gravel road. This road was fine and three miles later I was at the campsite. Sheri already had the tent up and was pumping up the sleeping pads. The campground was dense, but it was pretty. All the sites were manicured grass and there were lots of trees, but it wasn’t in a forest like the previous night. These were landscaped trees. The only drawback was that our site was right against the highway. A two-lane highway, of course, but still it had a lot of traffic in the afternoon. It was the only site open, though, and we hoped for quieter roads at night. Maybe the traffic noise will be drowned out by the inevitable fireworks.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri went for a walk to check out the area, and I took a shower. These showers were nice. A separate room with a chair, plenty of hooks, a shower curtain, a shelf for soap and shampoo, temperature control, the works.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">That night, there were really good fireworks from the bay in Baraga. I had to wake Sheri up and get her out of the tent. We watched for thirty minutes and it was impressive for such a small town.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Monday, July 4, 2022, Day 34: Mt. Avron</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Happy Birthday, America!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Traffic was an issue during the night. Big trucks went by often enough that Sheri didn’t get a good night’s sleep. I woke early and it was raining, so I stayed in the tent doing puzzles and reading the news until 6 a.m. I made coffee in the rain and hopped into the car to drink it. When Sheri was ready, I made her a cup in the rain and served it to her in the tent.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The forecast was for rain all day. It was warming up and, temperature-wise, I could have ridden, but it would have been miserable and we are not into misery. We went into L’Anse for a great breakfast at the Hilltop Cafe (highly recommended). Afterward, I proposed that we drive up to the Michigan highpoint and bag it. That way we’d at least get something done today. If the rain then stopped we could move on in the afternoon.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We followed Google Maps directions and they were not ideal. I should have just followed the directions from my book. Either way, you’re on gravel and dirt roads, but we took smaller, rougher roads than we needed to. We had to do two stream crossing with maybe 18 inches of water. No big deal in the Jeep, but would have been wading on a bike. Our route also had many ruts and potholes and we bounced around enough that we heard a clunk and then Sheri says, “the bikes fell off.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sure enough, the bike rack was sitting completely upright in the middle of the dirt road. We were going slow enough that the rack didn’t tip over and the bikes appeared to be undamaged. We got out and were immediately swarmed by mosquitos — by far the worst of the trip. It was raining pretty hard and we both thought that would eliminate the mosquitos, thinking if they got hit by a raindrop it would kill them. We had to spray ourselves down before we could work on the rack. We removed both bikes and re-inserted the rack into our hitch. Apparently, I didn’t crank it down hard enough when I installed it 4000 miles ago. I cranked it hard this time and we loaded up the bikes and continued.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Soon after we merged with the normal approach to Mt. Avron, which was marked by light blue signs. This road was much smoother gravel and way easier to drive. We drove another five miles or so and I was shocked that we drove within a couple hundred feet of the summit. My guidebook said that we’d do two miles, roundtrip, to bag the summit and some of it would be cross country. I guess my guidebook is a bit out of date. We did see a sign, though, that indicated a hiking route that would probably be this 2-mile roundtrip. We realized that on the way back, but we didn’t have a strong desire to hike longer in the fog of mosquitos.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There is a decent-sized parking area just before the summit. We parked there. It took longer for my Coros watch to find the satellites than it took me to walk from the parking lot to the “summit?” “Highpoint” is the proper term here. We took photos and did a tiny loop out to a viewpoint where we could at least see out towards Lake Superior. It was hard to tell what was clouds, water, or fog. Even in crystal clear weather, I imagine that this view is underwhelming. Even with this loop, I got just 0.2 miles…Zero point two miles… Victory is mine!</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We drove back to L’Anse and did some grocery shopping. It was pouring and the forecast was to continue until the next morning. Plus, the back tire on my road bike was going soft. I bought this $80 fancy road tire in Bismarck. It had significant damage in two spots and was clearly leaking air. I think I rode too much sharp gravel on a tire meant strictly for smooth tarmac. We decided to check into a hotel, dry out, fix my bike, and relax.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We checked into the Baraga Lakeside Inn at 2 p.m. and got to watch Nadal win this 4th-round match at Wimbledon. I had brought a spare tire for my road bike and I proceeded to swap tires and then used my fancy reservoir pump to pop my tire onto the rim, first try! Sweet! This pump is awesome.</p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-59772475760029453512022-06-30T19:57:00.001-06:002022-06-30T19:57:20.466-06:00Washington to Washington: Days 27-30<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/tXvkdUehCqqJRh5p9" target="_blank">Photos</a></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Monday, June 27, 2022, Day 27: Sunshine, Rain, Wind, Bugs, Mesabi, Gravel, Highway</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Wimbledon started today and we watched some of it this morning. After a cup of coffee, Sheri was off for a 5-mile run. I read, ate, and prepared to ride.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The weather forecast was stellar for today and my goal was to get in at least 100 miles. I wanted to get close enough to Eagle Mountain so that we could climb it on Tuesday. After my usual giant hotel breakfast, I was riding at 8:40 a.m. The weather was perfect.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode the Mesabi Trail 35 miles to the town of (Little Danny) Gilbert. Along the way, I went through the town of Mountain Iron. This was a huge center of iron mining. In the western part of Minnesota, I rode mainly through farms, but now in the central and eastern sections, the terrain is heavily wooded and the concentration appears to be on mining (historical) and timber. Right along the Mesabi Trail, I rode by a small lumber mill. Probably an artisan lumber mill with hand-milled lumber that costs five times as much. Or maybe they milled the lumber to construct customer furniture.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I met Sheri here and had a snack. We agreed to meet 25 miles later at a park in Embarrass. Sheri found out later that this town is the coldest town in Minnesota. In 1950 or so, they recorded a temperature of -58 degrees. One winter the temperature never got about freezing from November to March. And one January the average temperature was -8. For a month! We were both happy to be here in the summer.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Just after I left Sheri in Gilbert, the skies darkened and soon it was drizzling on me and would for the next 15 miles. In Embarrass, it was pouring and Sheri was so worried about me that she tried to find me earlier in my route. But then the rain stopped and she went back to the park. I never even had to put on my shell. I stopped to do it, twice, but when I was stopped, the rain was so light that I didn’t want to put it on. Moving on the bike, it was wetter, especially with the tire spray, but I wasn’t cold and just rolled along.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In Embarrass, I had a sandwich and a Coke. I’d done sixty miles and had at least fifty miles to go to our projected campground. I was feeling great and optimistic that my legs would hold out. I took off east down the road on the biking route and it soon turned to gravel. The gravel was soft, though, and no problem on my road bike. I rode about three miles before I regained the pavement.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We met again in Babbitt, which had a park with some giant mining equipment all painted bright orange. Sheri had a mini pizza ready for me and I had that with some milk. I’ve found that the key to any endurance event is constant fueling and hydrating. I eat so much at each of these breaks that if it wasn’t for the hundred miles of riding, I’d be obese.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I’d now done 77 miles and our plan was to meet up every twenty miles or so. I rode off and after about ten miles, the road turned to dirt. Sheri was parked there in case I wanted to switch bikes. The dirt was soft and chunky, so I did switch to my gravel bike. It was here that the bugs became epic. Just switching bikes was difficult, as I was swatting bugs constantly. One giant horse fly bit me and that was not pleasant and would shape my actions for the next ten miles of dirt.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The sun was south of me and I rode north. This allowed me to see the shadows of the flys that buzzed around me in a cloud of annoyance. I time trialed this ten-mile section in an effort to go fast enough to leave the flys behind. Despite doing 20 mph for long stretches and generally above 15 mph for the entire section, the cloud of insects stayed with me. At first, I tried to swat at them while riding, but that was tough and tiring. I resigned to just waving them away when they got near my face and a few swats at my legs.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When I hit the highway, Sheri was there waiting for me. I brought with me the cloud of flies and Sheri immediately sprayed me down with bug juice. She then handed me the can and I sprayed my head and face. This worked well enough. The bugs were still around me but were not landing. I switched back to my road bike. I’d done 93 miles and had 23 miles to get to our campsite.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was now riding on state highway 1, which was really smooth, with a nice enough shoulder and nearly zero traffic. A car would pass me about once a mile. Maybe less. The road twisted and turned and rolled past lakes and beautiful forests. It was great riding and gave me energy. I was rolling along strongly.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">With just a couple of miles to go, so I thought, I saw Sheri driving towards me from the other way. We were supposed to turn off onto a gravel road to get to our campground. My phone did tell me that, but I thought the campground was right off the highway and figured that was just a shortcut, as the directions often did for me. Wrong. The route to the campground and to the Eagle Mountain Trailhead was going to be fifty miles of gravel. After the horrible, dirt-road, fly-infested experience, I didn’t think I could stand that. We called an audible and decided to continue south on Highway 1. This is the route that Google will direct cars. We found a campground ten miles away and headed for it.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After 119 miles, with four miles to go, my phone died. That was no problem for navigation, as this time I knew the campground was right off this road. It was a slight bummer to lose communication with Sheri, but I’d see her at the campground. The big problem was that I lost my tunes. Just as I lost them, I hit a headwind and a hill. Immediately, I bonked. It was shocking how quickly I went from feeling if not great, quite good, to having no energy. I carried a small granola bar in my jersey and I ate it immediately. It tasted so good and I wished I had five more of them. I also had one Gu. I’d been carrying it for emergencies for 27 days. I only had three miles to go now, but I downed that Gu and I squeezed out every last calorie. And it tasted so good.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">For the next three miles I fantasied about stopping and eating. If the campground wasn’t where we thought it was, I prayed that Sheri would stop regardless. I was done. I just wanted to sit in the car and eat and eat and eat. If we had to go further, I’d have to ride in the car.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At 123 miles into my day, I saw the sign for the campground on the left. I turned down a dirt road and within half a mile I was at the campground and continued down the campsite loop until I found Sheri. She was busy putting up the tent and gave me the great news about an available shower and a restaurant in the camp lodge. How glorious. I headed immediately to the shower.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When I got out of the shower, Sheri was just outside my door, in a small anteroom before the women’s and men’s bathrooms. She was sheltering from tremendous rain and hail. I’d missed that weather by fifteen minutes. We went directly to the restaurant, in the same quaint building as the bathroom and had great burgers and even an ice cream sandwich for dessert.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Tuesday, June 28, 2022, Day 28:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The bugs were out in force this morning and I smothered myself in bug juice and sheltered in the car, writing on my blog and drinking my coffee. It then rained for thirty minutes. We headed south, past Finland, to the coast of Lake Superior. It was only eleven miles away and I flew down to the shore.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Lake Superior is the largest freshwater lake in the world (and 2nd largest overall after the Caspian Sea) and the five Great Lakes represent 20% of all the fresh water on the planet (this doesn’t count Antarctica, as that’s ice and not water). So, yeah, Lake Superior is kind of a big deal. All the other lakes know it and respect it. Sure, Lake Baikal has some attitude since it holds as much fresh water as all the Great Lakes combined because it is so deep, but is only the seventh largest lake by surface area. On my trip, I’ll be riding along Lake Superior and Lake Michigan (5th largest).</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At 600 feet above sea level, Lake Superior is the lowest point in Minnesota. Just 25 miles away is the highest point on the summit of Eagle Mountain at 2301 feet. That was our next destination, though it was fifty miles away from where we hit the shore. We decided to drive there, since it was a side trip from our quest to bike across the US. I threw my bike in the car and Sheri zipped us up to the trailhead. Along the way, we saw a moose exit a lake, give us a look, and then take off into the forest. Moose are cool.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We were surprised to find the entire graduating class of a Fargo middle school in the parking lot. Twenty-five kids and three adults broke into three groups to respect the rules of the trail. Sheri and I started up the trail after the second group and soon caught and passed them and the first group.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We were hiking through a very lush forest. It started to rain shortly after we started and I put on my shell but it stopped soon and I quickly shed it. Sheri was setting a fast pace, mostly in a hopeless attempt to get away from the bugs, while my stubby, biking legs, unaccustomed to the ways of the trail runner, struggled to keep her in sight.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We hiked over quite a few boardwalks that kept us out of the swamp below. We’d read that the bugs were epic on this hike and so slathered ourselves in bug juice. While we still had a cloud of mosquitoes trailing behind us, they weren’t landing or biting us. Properly protected, the bugs were a minor annoyance at worst.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We hiked to Whale Lake, so named for the rare and spectacular Pygmy Freshwater Ice Whale. Its size eliminates all predators, save the Kraken, of course. From the lake, we turned uphill. Until this point the trail seemed to go down as much as it went up. After 3.4 miles of hiking we arrived at the summit marker, in the middle of the woods, with no views to be had. Just down from the summit, there was a vista, the first I’d seen since entering Minnesota. It was probably the most striking view in all of Minnesota and equivalent to any small rise in Colorado. Below us stretched dense forest, all the way to the horizon.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We trotted a bit on the way down and despite not hiking or running for a month, my feet recalled my signature stumble. Then I got too close to Sheri and didn’t see a root across the trail. I caught it and tumbled to the ground. I lay there quietly, doing a systems check, and hoping that Sheri hadn’t heard me fall. That way I could right myself and catch up, claiming that I stopped to pee. Alas, I heard her return and ask, “What hurts?” “Only my pride,” I responded.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Eagle Mountain was my 20th state highpoint. I’m working my way west to east and have pretty much done all the highpoints west of this one, though maybe not, as I haven’t done Iowa or Missouri or any states south of these. It was Sheri’s 9th highpoint.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">On the way back to where I stopped biking, we stopped at a coffee and pastry shop in Schroeder. We’d noticed it on the way up because on the side of the building it offered “Espresso, Malts, Pastries.” They also had awesome donuts and I ate four of them before I got back on my bike, along with an incredible espresso malt.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We returned to the junction where I had previously hopped in the car, and I kitted up and got<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>on the bike. We headed southwest along the coast of Lake Superior, at first on the North Shore Road, but then I mostly rode the awesome Gitchi-Gami State Trail — another paved bike path. This got me off the busy North Shore Road for the most part. I did have to ride on it a bit and unfortunately part of that section was under construction and there was no shoulder at all. They were short sections, though, and I mostly rode them without cars behind me. The weather was nice and I stopped at all the information signs and overlooks.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We wanted to camp at Gooseberry Falls State Park, but it was full. We continued another 14 miles to the Burlington Bay campground in Two Harbors. That gave me 45 miles for the day, which was my second shortest day of riding (besides my rest day) and it came after my second longest day, so that seemed appropriate.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We had a nice site in a busy campground, right on the shore of the lake. We read and relaxed. After dinner, we walked down to the shore.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Wednesday, June 29, 2022, Day 29:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The morning was beautiful but a bit chilly at 50 degrees or less. I made pancakes this morning, mostly to finish off our extra container of margarine that was taking up valuable space in our tiny cooler.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At 8:30 it seemed warm enough to ride and I continued southwest to Duluth where we’d get around the western-most tip of Lake Superior, enter Wisconsin, and head back to the east.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode a quiet road that paralleled the main North Shore Road and hardly any cars passed me. I rode by coffee shops, trailheads, bridges, campgrounds, and even a cascade. I wanted Sheri to follow me this way, but I knew she’d already left for Duluth. I then got on the paved bike path that went around a tunnel and continued on quiet roads into northern Duluth, where I got on a bike path and followed it down to the Lakeshore bike path. I found Sheri walking here, about a mile from Canal Park. We agreed to meet at the car and I went on ahead to change clothes and secure my bike, so that we could walk around the park.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I got a drink and a muffin and we sat along the shore on a bench. It was finally warming up. I rode down to Duluth in leggings and armies and my hands were cold enough that I barely had the dexterity to tie my shoes. But the sun warmed us nicely here. We’d been looking out into the lake at a huge ship and Sheri says, “I think that ship is coming closer.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sure enough, it was headed for the canal. We hopped up and walked over to the edge of the canal, where we found lots of people waiting for the boat. We could hear an announcement saying that this ship was 1009 feet long. A guy next to me told us that it was coming in empty to pick up a load of coal. When the ship leaves it will be drawing 28 feet of water and the canal is 29 feet deep. That’s cutting it close.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After the ship passed through at a decent pace, it pivoted and backed into a berth. While the ship was making the maneuver, the lift bridge was descending. The bridge uses huge concrete counterweights on each side to minimize the energy needed to raise and lower the bridge. Once it was down, cars and pedestrians began crossing over it.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We walked out to the lighthouse at the end of the pier and hung out a bit longer. I spent about 90 minutes here. We agreed to continue to a campground in Solon Springs, Wisconsin, about forty miles away. Sheri headed off to buy more coffee and I changed back into biking clothes and took off.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I followed some bike paths and roads, through a downtown-ish section (Duluth has a population of 86,000 people, so it is smaller than Boulder, people-wise, but it seems bigger with a number of cool bridges, some tall (compared to Boulder) buildings). I rode across the Bong Bridge, sober, and found myself riding through neighborhoods until I got onto country roads. I headed for the Wild Rivers Trail, but when I got there, I found it to be chunky gravel and I knew I would not enjoy that on my 25mm tires. I zigzagged on country roads towards Solon Springs and with 17 miles to go, Sheri had found me and I took a break to eat a sandwich and down a chocolate milk.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I had no trouble riding to the campground, but by the time I got there, I was feeling a bit tired and glad to be stopping. I’d done just 76 miles, but it seemed like more. Some days are like that. Some days I feel great and like I could ride forever. Well, for a hundred miles. Other days, I want to stop after 70 miles. It’s probably good to listen to my body. I’ve only taken one rest day, on day 14, and when I did that we thought taking a rest day every two weeks was a good idea. Being this is day 29, I’m due for a rest day, but I think I’m going to save it for a bad weather day. Or when I’m more tired or in a better place to hang out.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We chatted with a couple of college guys that walked past our site. They were studying forestry, which has mostly been about logging, but nowadays it is also about thinning forests for fire management. I suspect they will have no trouble finding jobs in the future.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oh, two things struck me biking through Duluth. First, in the northern part, I rode by a “Dog Bakery”. Seriously. How can Duluth have one of these and not Boulder? The other was “Duluth Water Park”. How many days a year can such a park be open? A couple of weeks in August? That’s got to be a tough investment, versus a water park, say, in Las Vegas.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We are headed to Timms Hill, the highpoint of Wisconsin. It has a gain of 130 feet from the trailhead, but what it lacks in vertical, it makes up for in distance: 0.3 miles…roundtrip. I know it seems silly to bike out of the way for this, but it isn’t that far out of the way and, well, I like checking things off lists. We all have our personality quirks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Thursday, June 30, 2022, Day 30:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I awoke at 4:30 a.m. which isn’t that far off normal for me, but I generally don’t get up until after 5, so I rolled over and the next thing I knew it was 6 a.m. Nice. Sleep is good and I’m not that good of a sleeper these days. The night had been really warm and I was never in my sleeping bag. The morning was warm too and the bugs weren’t bad.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I started riding around 8 a.m. Sheri planned to do her workout and then a walk before catching up to me after a couple of hours. We were headed to Glidden. After three nights in a row camping, we were due for a hotel stay. We didn’t really need one, as the camping had been fine (all had showers), but we wanted to do laundry as well and hoped to find a hotel with laundry.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rolled along nicely today. I’ve been riding by mostly forests since entering Wisconsin and that continued today. I expected nonstop dairy farms. I saw an otter run across the road, numerous deer, two turtles sunning themselves on a log, and a few signs warning me about elk crossing. Elk? In Wisconsin?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">On all the trails that I’ve ridden on this trip, they all specify “No motor vehicles.” At least until I got into Minnesota and Wisconsin. Here all motor vehicles are banned, except snowmobiles. There are also lots of separate ATV trails and lots of signs designating which roads are ATV roads. The signs are all over the place. Apparently, they love their snowmobiles and ATVs in Minnesota and Wisconsin.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri met me after I’d done 38 miles and then again 19 miles later. By then I was hot and sweaty, but Glidden was only 19 miles away. I faced some headwinds and hills getting there and was going through a period of low energy. Glidden is a cute town, but Sheri didn’t like the look of the hotel, so we agreed to go 18 more miles to Park Falls. Some more food and a Coke revived me and I was psyched that I’d get in 90+ miles.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I listened to a book and the next miles passed without any suffering. Still, I was glad to roll into the hotel parking lot and see Sheri just starting to unpack. It was great timing. I laid on the bed in the air conditioning and ate while Sheri went to do the laundry and to pick up dinner. How decadent is that? I’m so spoiled. Sheri gets to a hotel and goes straight to work. I get there and do absolutely nothing except feed myself. I’m a lucky man.</p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We’ve now done 30 days, which is half the time I allocated to do this ride. Lately, we’ve been thinking of shortening up the rest of the trip, which really means just skipping some state highpoints, but we are committed to getting Wisconsin and Michigan and going through the UP (Upper Peninsula) of Michigan.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So, 30 days done and halfway in terms of days. How’s our mileage? We’ve done 2,316 miles (and 77,580 vertical feet) for an average of 75.7 miles per day. My original plan called for 70 miles per day, so we are nicely ahead of schedule. Getting our two more highpoints and skipping the rest, we have about 1400 miles to go. At our daily average that is 19 days to go, assuming we don’t take any more rest or weather days. Call it three weeks until we reach D.C.</p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-19726517225344459132022-06-26T18:24:00.004-06:002022-06-26T18:24:39.467-06:00Washington to Washington: Days 25 & 26<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/Y8P5aZ5uhAHdosjY6" target="_blank">Photos</a> </p><p><b style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px;">Saturday, June 25, 2022, Day 25:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I had a really good day riding today, though the first forty miles had a bit too much traffic. I didn’t start riding until 10:30 a.m. as I was milking the hotel breakfast. I ate everything they had over the course of the four hours they were open. I tend to get a late start when we stay at a hotel. I feel I get more value out of the stay that way. It might not be logical, but it’s my routine now.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I did forty miles on the highway and it should have been smooth, but it was tougher than expected because there was a lot of debris (from the storm) in the shoulder and there was the most traffic on the road that I’ve seen for the entire trip. It still wasn’t that bad, but did take some concentration to avoid the obstacles and the traffic. Also, the median was sort of rough.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri met me after two hours of riding and just over forty miles, so I was off to a good start, mileage-wise. We met again in Park Rapids, in a park, at the start of the Heartland Trail, a paved bike path. I was excited to get on this and get away from the traffic. We had a nice lunch at this park at a picnic table and in the sun. This path was great, though I encountered tons of downed trees. I had to climb over some, but mostly, there was a beaten path around the blockages. I took photos of some of them, but they were so numerous that I stopped. This definitely slowed me down quite a bit.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode 18 miles on this path and met Sheri in Akeley. I didn’t even have to get off the bike path. Sheri had found a trailhead parking and set up chairs in the grass right by the path. It was decadent. I ate and drank some more and we plotted the rest of the day. Sheri was going to check out the Mabel Lake Campground. It would be a 90+ mile day for me, but I was feeling good and didn’t think it would be an issue.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I followed the Heartland Trail north for five or so miles before turning east on the Paul Bunyan Trail. This was the same paved blacktop as on the Heartland Trail, but without the downed trees. It was circuitous, though, and quite hilly. Google Maps didn’t plot my course using this and I wondered why. When I turned onto the trail, Google told me this route was 58 minutes longer than the alternative on the road. I almost turned back, but I wanted to ride and I had the energy for the additional time.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At one intersection, I stopped to make sure I was on the correct route and chatted with a group of riders on E-bikes. They even had their dog with them. The dog rides in a trailer and apparently loves it. They were really nice locals and made sure I was headed the right direction. I rode just a couple more miles on the bike path, but turning onto a road and then another mile later, I was back on the highway.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Here the pavement was smooth, the shoulder generous, and there was no debris. I had a touch of a tailwind and I was smelling the end of my ride, though I still had 23 miles to go. I cranked this section at a pretty hard effort. I stood and pounded up all the rises and kept my speed over 20 mph all the time and frequently over 25 mph. I had my tunes cranked up and had a great time turning over my big ring.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I pulled into the campground at 5:30 p.m. Sheri immediately told me that the bugs were out in force. I walked down to the water pump with a towel and did a quick rinse-off before changing into warm, dry clothes and slathering myself in bug juice, which worked amazingly well. You go, science!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I had soup and a couple of hotdogs for dinner with a hot chocolate and some Little Debbies for dessert. Gourmet eating to be sure.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Sunday, June 26, 2022, Day 26:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was back into my armies and leggings and hat and jacket this morning. It was overcast and rainy almost all day, with brief short patches of sunshine. I started from the campground just past 8 a.m. and cranked off 35 miles to Grand Rapids with a nice tailwind. I got there at 10 a.m. just as it started to rain hard. We holed up in the world's slowest Burger King (they are looking to hire) for nearly 90 minutes. I had a second breakfast here and let my clothes dry out a bit.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Here I got on the Mesabi Trail, which is another awesome, smooth paved bike path and a long one, too. I hope to be riding it tomorrow as well. I enjoyed great riding through forests and by lots of lakes. I met Sheri at a park in Calumet. I got there just after it has poured at the park and just before it poured again. Yet, I just had to ride through a light drizzle. Lucky me. After a snack, I got back on the bike and we headed for a motel in Hibbing — the birthplace of Bob Dylan and Roger Maris. I arrived as it started to rain again. Since the next camping was thirty miles away, we didn’t feel too bad about staying in a hotel.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today is also our anniversary. Sheri's been giving me the gift of her love and companionship for 29 years now. I think I have another 29 in me. We'll see.</p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I’ve now ridden 1977 miles, averaging 74.4 miles per day. I’m about halfway, mileage-wise, depending upon how we finish the trip. Our route is in flux and will remain that way. We decide where we’re going to go each day.</p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-50856964192072950192022-06-25T07:33:00.002-06:002022-06-25T07:43:23.198-06:00Washington to Washington: Days 21-24<p style="text-align: left;"> <a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/WtemiQHEcVLHaRAj6" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Photos</a></p><p><b style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px;">Tuesday, June 21, 2022, Day 21:</b></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Good day except I ruined another tire - this time the back tire on my road bike. I put in a tube and made it to Bismarck, which was about 100K into the day. There I got a new tire and we took an extended lunch break. We debated staying there, but weren’t getting a good vibe from the town and decided to move on.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I rode bike paths until I was southeast of the town and then got on infrequently-traveled farm roads. We up twenty or so miles later and decided to try for Hazelton. Supposedly, we could camp in the town park. Sheri went ahead another 25 miles and checked on me. I was feeling fine and she went on to Hazelton to check it out. Thirty minutes later she reported that the site looked great. I rode on, rolling pretty smoothly to 100 miles, but had a really sore butt for the last ten miles to camp.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The camping, in the town park, was right next next to a playground with lots of kids playing. These were young kids and the sounds of joy filled the area. Amazingly, the public bathroom in this park had a shower! With plenty of hot water. And was really well maintained. I took a shower while Sheri did her usual walk around town to check things out.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Also at this site were covered picnic tables and we cooked and ate dinner there. No other people were in the park past 6:30 p.m. and we had a quiet, restful night.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Wednesday, June 22, 2022, Day 22:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Woke up to so many different bird chirps that I thought I was sleeping in a tropical rain forest. I also slept pretty late (5:50). The morning was clear and a bit chilly (50s), but still. The forecast was for some more tailwinds, but considerably lighter.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I got going early today, just to give us more options. Our maps told this there was a zone after Gackle with no services for 73 miles. And it was 63 miles to Gackle, so… Anyway, I rolled out and biked on good roads through farmland. Some huge farm equipment passed me going both directions. These rigs are really wide with HUGE tires. If I had crouched low on my bike one of them could have driven right over me, without touching me. I only saw three of these beasts, but not many other cars either. I’d get passed about once per mile or two. It was very nice riding.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Speaking of beasts, I saw a few weasel-type animals. They were small and cute and at first I thought they were tiny prairie dogs, but no. They disappeared into the grassland before I could get a photo up close.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri caught me after 41 miles and I’d ridden that in two hours, so I was rolling along at around a 20 mph average and would do so for most of the day. We next met in Gackle, at the 100K point and thought we might stop there, even though it was only 11 a.m. Just because I did 110 miles ht day before and maybe I needed a shorter day to recover. I was feeling fine, but I was also fine stopping early and just relaxing, reading, maybe writing in my blog a bit. We walked the few hundred yards to the Tastee Freeze and I got an awesome coffee milkshake. It’s rare when I place offers these and they are my favorite. I also got some onion rings and Sheri got a shake as well.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We walked back to the park and read for another hour and then toured the park for camping sites. All the good flat sites were taken by a large group of families there to fish. They were all gone at this point, but they started returning from the lake a bit later and I queried some of them. We figured it was going to be a long, noisy night and decided to move on. So, after three hours, I hopped back on the bike.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Conditions were great and I met Sheri at the 85-mile mark. We were now in the “desolate zone”, according to our map. We were ready to just find a spot to get off the road a tiny bit and sleep in the back of the Jeep, if we had to. Sheri found a tiny town called Marion on the map that was just 1.5 miles south of our route. She used satellite images to find a place were we could park and we agreed to meet there, or go on, if we had to.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">She got there and found the town park. She asked lady working there if it was okay to camp in the park and she said sure. A small bathroom, with running water (no showers, of course) was there too. She’d found our camping spot.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I arrived at 4:30 p.m. and did a quick sink shower. I relaxed, read, and ate, while Sheri did her usual town tour. She found the only restaurant in town, TJ’s Bar and Grill, and we headed there for dinner around 6:30 p.m. I had a great burger and fries and Sheri just had a snack. We stayed there until nearly 8 p.m., watching the first period in the Avalanche game. The place was nearly deserted. Just two other ladies were there and they left after thirty minutes. Then a guy came in and sat down. I talked a bit with him. Chris was from South Africa and had framed there all his life, but said that you can’t farm in SA anymore if you are white. If your farm is successful, it will be taken by armed blacks and the government will not stop them. If they try to defend their land, they are prosecuted. He says it has been getting worse every year since the fall of apartheid. Obviously, that sucks for the whites, but really for everyone in the country. I’m sure the blacks view it as payback for a century of apartheid. Anyway, Chris now comes to Marion, North Dakota to farm nine months of the year. He returns home only for three months in the winter. He loves this little town and everyone we met felt the same way. The town has lots of big, public lawns, not just in our park, and they are all maintained very nicely. Actually, that was the same in Gackle. These are pretty, tiny (100-200 residents) towns.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I went over 40% of the milage today. My totals are 1664 miles and 59,202 feet of climbing. We are 36.7% of the way through our 60-day target, so we are a bit ahead on the mileage. At this point I’ve been averaging 73.7 miles per day. I need to average 70 miles per day to get the trip done in 60 days</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Thursday, June 23, 2022, Day 23:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">One of the best things about riding 80-100 miles per day is that I don’t worry about what I eat. At all. If I’m hungry, I eat until I’m not. It is sounds good, I eat it. In Medora, I got on a scale and, though it was hard to read precisely, it showed 158 pounds. I’m usually between 165 and 168 pounds (yes, I have a huge range). This is about where I was after hiking the John Muir Trail. I eat so much every day (two breakfasts, two lunches, sometimes two dinners) that is hard to imagine that I’ve lost any weight, but I’m sure that’s the end of it. I suspect I’ll settle around 160 while this trip goes on. I’ll fatten back up afterwards, like I did after the JMT.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today was a tough one. On paper, or rather, on my phone it appeared straight forward. What I didn’t know was that I’d be riding a lot of dirt and gravel, so I got my road bike again. The first town was Kathryn. I rode east on pavement and then turned north for a few miles, also on pavement. I dropped down into a dell and the loaded meandered. It was great riding, but then my directions had me turning right onto a gravel road. I almost ignored the directions, but I knew continuing north from here wasn’t good, so it was turn onto gravel or turn around and go back.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The gravel was a bit chunky on my 25mm tires, but I was okay. I dropped into the tiny town of Kathryn and then I was directed to turn left and the road got smaller and chunkier. I climbed up a short, steep hill in my granny gear. At each junction, I hoped the road would turn backed to pavement, but I had no such luck. The roads became a single lane and then…the road went straight through a lake. Seriously. I could see the continuation of the road on the other side of the lake. Clearly the lake isn’t here most of the time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I wondered what to do. The roads had been getting worse. Should I backtrack and take another way? I had only one bar of service, but I sent a text message to Sheri: “The road goes into a lake.” The water ran to either side for a good distance, but I thought I could maybe circumnavigate the lake on the southern side. I put my bike on my shoulder and crashed through chest high wheat to shorter brush. The footing was soft dirt and reasonable in my road cleats and I kept working my way south and east. Eventually I got to a stream of water that seemed to continue south for quite a ways further. Maybe a mile.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was tired of this and just wanted to get to the road on the other side, so I took off my shoes and socks and waded the 30-foot-wide water. The cool, soft, very sticky mud felt great on my feet, but it also stuck fast to them. On the other side I just put my shoes back on and kept on walking to the road. Once there, I mounted my bike and rode east to the top of a crest. On the other side, coming towards me was Sheri in our Jeep. What a great site. I knew I could continue this direction and wouldn’t have to re-cross the lake.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I stopped when I got to Sheri and laboriously washed the mud off my feet and my shoes. I’d done just thirty miles in two hours, despite doing twenty of those miles in the first hour. I continued on the dirt road until I hit pavement. The gravel got very chunky and was quite marginal on my road bike. I should have switched to my gravel bike when I met Sheri. After three miles I was once again on pavement.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My troubles were all user error, I'm sure. I just blindly followed Google Maps. That doesn't always get you what you seek. The experience reminded me of the Office episode where Michael follows his GPS directions and drives into a lake. I actually thought about riding into this lake, hoping it was shallow enough to get across. But it clearly was deeper than I was tall and swimming with a bike didn’t seem like a smart decision.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was hot too. It was the first day that I felt hot on the bike, though it was "only" 84. We had a day of 84 earlier, but it didn't seem as hot on the bike and I think the peak heat came later in the day, though that day was tough too.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today seemed harder than the previous two days of 100+ miles. It goes like that sometimes. I switched from my road bike to my gravel bike for the last 22 miles and I should have been on the gravel bike all day. I rode a lot of single-lane, used-only-by-tractor dirt roads. I was really hot and drained by the time I pulled up to the hotel. Sheri met me outside and directed me to the room.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I’m writing this while ensconced in a very air-conditioned hotel room. I definitely needed a shower and some relief from the heat. I'm surprised by the almost complete lack of trees in Fargo. I guess I'm only in West Fargo now, so that judgment is premature. Also, I thought this town was always frigid. In honor of being here, I told Sheri that we should watch the movie "Fargo" and she nixed that idea immediately. She's seen it before and it gave her nightmares. I really like the movie.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At one of my breaks, Sheri was sitting in a folding chair next to me when she jumped up and started swatting away at her legs, saying that a spider was on her. It was quite the reaction and I asked, "Was it a large spider?" and she gave me an exasperated look and said, "They are all large." Indeed.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri gave me great support all day, per usual, and found this nice motel. Sh was waiting for me outside and had already carried up all my gear. She is so awesome!</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Friday, June 24, 2022, Day 24: Minnesota, Don’t Ya Know</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today was a tough day, at least at the start. Looking out our hotel window, we could see the trees being thrashed by the wind and with an impending monster thunderstorm, we almost took the day off. I ventured outside and deemed conditions ridable, but it was probably the worst wind I’ve ridden in so far. That’s a strong statement, I know, but the difference was I was fresh when I started fighting these winds, the brutality only lasted two hours, and I had a good attitude of just going whatever pace the winds allowed.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The winds were blowing almost due north, which meant they were mainly crosswinds for me, but my route went south to begin with and the best I could manage was 8-9 mph. It took me two hours to cover 20 miles, but mentally, I was completely fine. Our goal was just Detroit Lakes, 60 miles away, so that we could have shelter before the storm hit.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was worn down by the three previous days, though, and I was feeling the effects on this ride, but just kept my effort pretty low. The weather was holding so I didn’t feel any pressure to try to ride faster. Because of my fatigue I didn’t even get on the bike until 10 a.m. I just wasn’t motivated early in the morning and wanted more time to eat and rest. Sheri went off to run the trail along the river and was gone when I left. She met me after I’d done 22 miles and then again after another 17 miles and finally with just three miles to go. That support was so uplifting. I didn’t feel hot, but I was sweating a lot and drank quite a bit.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I didn’t see a sign saying “Welcome to Minnesota” but knew I was in the state when I crossed the river. I also didn’t see a single Lake for the first 30 miles of Minnesota. this is the “Land of 10,000 Lakes” and I expected them everywhere. I wonder how big of a puddle counts as a lake in this state. I did see a bunch of small lakes and my route weaved around many of them. These aren’t the spectacular alpine lakes of the Rockies and Sierra, but more like farm lakes, at least so far.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was a pretty day and the weather would have been fine if not for the wind. A big storm is forecast for tonight, so we are holed up in another hotel. That’s good for my recovery as well.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At my last meetup with Sheri, she said the next turn was onto a gravel road. The map showed a twisty, turn-laden route into town and I suspected it would be mostly gravel and dirt roads, so I switched from road bike to gravel bike. In the end, I only rode a mile of gravel, on the road that Sheri had scoped out. It didn’t matter, though. My gravel bike works great on pavement and it was nice to have a different position and a different saddle.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My neck/back issues seem to be mostly behind me and my biggest issue now is my butt. I don’t know how Danny rides 200K in shorts with no pad. I’d have trouble riding 20K like that. My cycling bibs feel great for the first twenty or thirty miles and then I find myself having to move positions a lot. My two bikes are setup a bit differently on purpose to give me a new position. And the saddles are different, which helps. But I’m still sitting on my butt for 5+ hours a day and that still isn’t trivial for me.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The only room left in our hotel (others were sold out) was the King Suite. It’s an awesome room and we were glad to be in it, as the projected storm hit with some serious fury. It was a tremendous downpour with near constant lightning flashes. I wouldn’t have wanted to be in a tent, though we had nights just like that on the JMT. We even had a jacuzzi tub in our room, so we took advantage of that. The weather isn’t supposed to stabilize until nearly noon the next day, so we’re planning on another late start.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oh, and this is a new state for me! I’d never been to Minnesota before now.</p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-29153542039191718532022-06-21T07:33:00.001-06:002022-06-25T07:40:43.010-06:00Washington to Washington: Days 14-20<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/hPLkCSausRLz3WLFA" target="_blank">Photos</a> </p><p><b style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px;">Tuesday, June 14, 2022, Day 14: Stalled…Due to High Winds?</b></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It’s going to be over 90 degrees here in Great Falls on Friday, but Tuesday morning when I hoped to leave town it was 46 degrees and the high today will just be 52. But that wasn’t a problem. The problem was the wind. It was gusting to 60 mph, consistently 40 mph, and I was afraid I’d get blown into traffic. Sheri was concerned for me as well, so we both decided to take a rest day and wait for calmer weather. We have a few days to spare for rest days, so maybe we’ll take one every two weeks. That doesn’t seem too decadent or too lazy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We spent the day reading and writing and relaxing. Well, I relaxed. Sheri was a whirlwind of exercise: twice on the elliptical machine in the hotel gym, then weights and abs in our room. I just sat there eating and watching her. I was okay with it. I was resting from my 900+ miles of riding so far.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Wednesday, June 15, 2022, Day 15: Sailing Eastward</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We awoke to steady rain, which wasn’t forecasted. We’ve found that the forecast changes hourly here and we check it often. It was due to stop by 7 a.m. and it did. After a large breakfast at the hotel, I hopped on the bike in cold (52 degrees), windy conditions. Puddles were all over the road as I navigated through town, going through the University of Providence, Great Falls Campus, and onto highway 87. I’ll be on this highway for days. Most of the time it has a generous shoulder, but there were a couple of sections that had me quite stressed. The combination of no shoulder, high, gusty winds, and occasional big trucks had me concentrating.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Speaking of traffic, I’m pleased to report that Montana drivers, so far, all seem to be very respectful of cyclists. The highway has a pronounced rumble strip down the center of the road and when a car or truck passes over it, it sounds like semi-engine braking. I’ve come to absolutely love that sound, for it means the upcoming vehicle is giving me a width berth. Frequently, I hear the rumble twice in quick succession and I know that the vehicle has entirely moved into the other, on-coming lane. I try to wave thanks as often as I can. The number of times where a car has come unnecessarily close to me is less than a handful.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The wind today was tremendous, though a lot less than yesterday. It was a consistent 30 mph, blowing almost directly east. Because it was overcast and in the low 50s, it was miserable for anything but riding east. If you rode east you felt like a superhero. Crosswinds were brutal whenever road or wind direction changed. Luckily, I didn’t have much of that. But it was so nasty to even stand outside next to the car. Such a strange experience. I rode many miles on the flats at 30+ mph. Up gradients at 25 mph. Great for my average speed but just nasty otherwise and it took a lot of concentration. Tomorrow should be our first 70+ degree day.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I did 100 easy miles to Lewistown (named after Merriweather Lewis of Lewis and Clark) and we found a nice campsite at a mostly-RV campground. I took a shower while Sheri put up the tent with the help of her dumbbells to hold the tent down. Then we went into town to hang out for a bit. We went to 406 Coffee and got a latte. The only other patron in the place was Pastor Russell whose daughter was the barista. We chatted with him quite a bit. He moved out here from Tennessee and has three kids, two daughters (15 and 13) and a 17-old son who speaks in grunt. Of course, he’s a hunter. A bow hunter. We talked a bit about cattle ranching too and he said that in Tennessee you can support one head of cattle with one acre of land. In Montana, it is more like 10-20 acres per head of cattle. The reason? Water. Without water, you don’t grow enough grass to feed the cattle.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Pastor Russell recommend Big Springs to us and we headed out there (5 miles) to give it a look. All drinking water for the entire town comes from this spring south of town. It is one of the largest cold water springs in the world and the water is incredibly pure. It needs no treatment or filtration before being used as city tap water. Out there was also the Big Spring Hatchery and we fed huge trout from a feed dispenser.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We drove back to town, got shut down on a long wait at the most popular restaurant, and opted to just make sandwiches at the car. We then went to the throwback Judith Theater and saw “Top Gun: Maverick”, which was so good. Highly recommended.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Thursday, June 16, 2022, Day 16: Hills, Headwinds, and Heat</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today was payback day for yesterday. 9.5 hours today vs 5.5 yesterday. 13 mph average vs 23 mph. I’m beat, mentally and physically. But it had to be done. No town in between.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Beautiful, Big Sky Country. Started in 47 degrees and hit 78 at one point on the ride. First day over 70 degrees. Endless rolling hills into a headwind. Felt like I did 10K vert. This state is huge.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">129 miles today and I’m really beat. 9.5 hours start to finish, but with three breaks to meet Sheri. This way I had first breakfast in camp, then second breakfast, elevensies, and lunch with Sheri.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We camped in the town park for free. Sheri already had the tent set up. I sat down in one of our camp chairs and ate the three leftover slices of pizza for first dinner.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I finished my op-ed piece for the Dailly Camera in the corrugated-metal dive bar. And ate second dinner there. Sheri asked if she could have a cab and our bartender/waitress just look quizzically at her. Sheri then said she’d like a glass of wine and the waitress responded, “We just have a few different mini bottles. I’ll bring them over to you.” Sheri selected a Merlot from the 3-bottle, 4-ounce collection. I asked if the ham and cheese was grilled, and she said, “I just put it in the Microwave.” Actually, the sandwich was quite good, but as hungry as I was it probably didn’t matter much.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Then we worked on the final draft of my piece on homeless encampments. We didn’t get to bed until 9:30.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Friday, June 17, 2022, Day 17: Pure Hell</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Yesterday’s headwinds were nothing, though I thought they were awful at the time. Today, I cramped early, after only 36 miles, though I was able to stretch them out on the bike.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I thought this day would be a cruise - half the distance of yesterday. Turned out to be one of the toughest, most miserable days on the bike I’ve ever done. It felt like I did a5 8-mile continuous hill. Haleakala on Maui is a 35-mile, 10k vert climb. I’ve done it five times. This was MUCH harder. 58 miles into a 30 mph headwind before the road turned and I got a 30mph crosswind, which felt like pure Heaven. Instead of 5-7 mph, I was doing 11 or 12 mph. If you’ve ever ridden in a 30 mph crosswind, you’ll understand the misery I was in. I took breaks, at one point, every 3 miles. I thought seriously of taking a ride into town and driving back tomorrow. I probably should have done that. I cramped in my quads, hamstrings, back, ankles, and feet despite downing 8 bottles of Gatorade and eating a ton. Haven’t cramped like this since the Pikes Peak Marathon. When I rode with that 30 mph tailwind I said that I couldn’t imagine riding towards it. Well, now I can and I’ve seen hell. I’ll never go back. Met a guy yesterday, riding west, who took two days off because of the winds. Smarter than me. I’m not done paying for this. I’m probably going to be cramping all night. I have a foot cramp now if fact. Yeowch!</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After 56 miles, I crested yet another hill, and before me was just downhill and flat. It was the first time all day that I wasn’t looking at another hill. What a glorious sight. I started to think I’d make it into town. Three miles later, I turned to the north and then just had crosswinds into town, which felt easy. The road here had a huge shoulder. The shoulder was so wide the reflective posts that normally mark the edge of the road were in the middle of the median. Semi-delirious, looking at my phone, I hit one of these posts! Just barely. I looked up just in time to mostly avoid it but struck it with my upper left arm and drew some blood. It could have been much worse.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I went to the RV park and it was deserted and desolate. I checked my phone and Sheri was at a motel just a quarter-mile away. Thank goodness we were in a motel, as I had a rough afternoon ahead of me.</p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I thought I was semi-okay when I arrived in town, but as soon as I got off the bike I cramped my calf. I was dripping in sweat and had to shower. Sheri found us a cheap motel and I cramped my hamstring so bad stepping into the tub that I thought I might fall. I screamed in pain. I showered as quickly as I could for fear of cramping again and possibly falling over. Once showered, I lay on the bed for the next four hours, cramping every muscle in my legs. I even cramped a neck muscle and my back. Sheri attended to me with drinks, food, and massage, and would help push my foot back to release my cramps. It was extremely unpleasant.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Saturday, June 18, 2022, Day 18:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When I envisioned this trip, I imagined day after day of sunny, calm, 70-degree paradise. How delusional is that? I did bring lots of warm clothing and rain gear, and I’ve used it a lot, but I still haven’t seen a day that hit 70 degrees and stayed below 80.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I saw a Pronghorn antelope on my ride today. That was cool.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Just as I entered Glendive, my directions took me over a very rough railroad crossing. At the last second, I noticed that it was really bad and tried to bumpy hop over most of it. My back tire didn’t make it and immediately flatted. I had a hole in the tire and I patched it after some confusion, having never used plugs before, but couldn’t get the tire to seat with CO2 or my fancy new pump. I’d find out later that I had destroyed my tire by damaging the sidewall. Bummer. Tires are expensive. I’d be on the road bike tomorrow.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri came and picked me up, which was the plan anyway, as the campground was five miles off my route and up a steep hill with lots of gravel. We camped at Makoshika State Park — the biggest state park in Montana, where lots of dinosaur fossils have been found.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I felt fine riding once the headwinds stopped, but as soon as I got off the bike today, I was completely wasted. From what? I thought. I didn’t ride very far. Just 50 miles. But I knew I was a long way from recovering from the previous day’s disaster. I wasn’t out of it yet. Plus, I was sweaty. Unfortunately, our campground didn’t have any showers. Or running water. I rested on my pad for two hours, eating and drinking, and afterward, I could barely do a half-mile hike with Sheri.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was really hot, in the upper 80’s. While Sheri got in some more miles I read in the car with the air conditioning on. It was so nice. At 6:30 p.m. when I started to cook dinner, it was still 84 degrees. And the sun was still 2.5 hours away from setting.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After dinner we read until the light was too dim and retired to the tent.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Sunday, June 19, 2022, Day 19:</b></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b></b><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We slept with the fly off the tent for the first time last night, as the slight breeze made things a bit cooler. It helped a lot but it was quite light out at 4:45 a.m. so I got up. It was still 68 degrees but would get cooler before I started riding.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I read my book and drank a cup of coffee. When Sheri stirred at 5:30, I made her a cup. When I brought it to her, she said, “Happy Father's Day!” I didn’t even know it. I usually like spending Father’s Day with my boys or at least one boy. Last year, also with me not knowing the day, Derek says to me, “So, what are we climbing on Sunday?” It took me a moment, but then I knew that was his gift to me — a day of climbing with him. You can’t top that. Today wasn’t going to be with my boys, but I was thinking about them all day.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri packed up most of the camp while I did nothing besides eat breakfast. I offered to handle it while she did her run/hike, but it was so embedded in her routine that she just did it. Sheri tried to run 5+ miles back down to the visitor center from our camp, but the trails here are not that well defined and it petered out. She backtracked to an alternative and got in six miles.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was waiting and ready to go at the visitor center. Because of my fatigue yesterday, our plan was to just see how things went and possibly make today a very short day. Short, like 35 miles or even less. I took off on the bike and Sheri headed to the grocery store for food and more ice. Stocking the cooler with ice is a never-ending chore that Sheri was on top of…all the time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri met me after I’d ridden 25 miles. I wasn't expecting to see her at this location, but she knew I’d be here, as I had to get on I-94 here. She had a fresh donut waiting for me. Actually, two, but I only had one, saving the other for Beach, North Dakota. We figured we’d stop there for a really short day.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">On our map, Beach was listed as having a population of about 1000 people. And it appeared pretty dead, with no open businesses in the town center (but a few at the highway exit). Sheri didn’t like the look of the motel (she had a good eye for this), so we decided to go further, to Medora, even though the population listed for this town was only 187. Little did we know that Medora is THE tourist town in the entire state of North Dakota. Now that might not be saying that much compared to Yosemite or Times Square, but we’d find out that it was a pretty big deal in this state.</p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri got into town and was shocked by how many people were there. Just parking in town wasn’t trivial (though not that bad). I’d heard this was a cool place from a cyclist I met while waiting for Sheri to finish her run to the visitor center that morning. He was right. There is a really cool 150-mile mountain bike trail that goes through here. It’s called the Mah` Dah Hey (or something like that). It sounds pretty awesome. Non-technical, smooth, fast, rolling single track. There is a bike shop in this town that caters to rentals for this trail and I was able to get my tire fixed there while we had a great lunch at the Boots Tavern.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After picking up the bike and hemming and hawing a bit, we checked into the expensive, but really nice Amercinn hotel. It had everything we wanted: free breakfast, laundry, workout room, wifi, etc. Sheri would use the workout room the next morning and rate it excellent. Why? First, it was freezing (good for working out). Second, it had a big TV and she easily found her morning show with Savannah and Hoda. Third, it had an awesome elliptical machine.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After relaxing, we took a drive into Theodore Roosevelt National Park. It’s so green here still and it was beautiful. We were told that we’d see lots of wildlife. Mostly just saw some prairie dogs. If you’re from the east these critters might be exotic. Being from Boulder, seeing a prairie dog is like seeing a squirrel.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Monday, June 20, 2022, Day 20:</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After another massive hotel breakfast, which I started before Sheri started her workout session and finished after she rejoined me and then left for the room, I finally hoisted my leg (with some help from Sheri) over my bike. I started pedaling in cool temperatures just before 8:30 a.m.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I headed south out of town on a paved, winding road that climbed steeply for a bit and then rolled a bit, before turning to dirt. I rode through semi-badlands. I mean, not full-on badlands, but certainly not good lands. Whatever that means. It was beautiful and surprisingly verdant. I noticed an oil pumper off in the distance and realized that I was riding through an oil field, but not like any I’d seen before.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The road turned back to pavement after ten miles or so and I zigged north and then zagged east onto Old Highway 10, which I’d ridden on a lot already. This is a great road to ride. I get passed by a vehicle about once a mile. I was surprised to see Sheri by the side of the road before I got to Belfield. It’s always such a lift to meet up with her, though I was going great and just enjoying the great riding. I think I’ve dug myself out of the massive dehydration hole that I put myself into on Day 17. I didn’t stop for long and we agreed to meet in Dickinson, at 42 miles into the day.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Riding there went smooth and we headed to Jaycee Park for lunch. We were pleased to discover shaded picnic tables there. While we ate sandwiches and downed a cold Coke, we watched a foursome play frisbee golf. What a curious sport. They noticed us watching and I waved and they waved back. The tallest guy asked about my bike and when I told him what I was doing, he had to interrupt his game and come shake my hand. We chatted for quite a bit, mostly about frisbee golf. He and his wife were on an RV trip around the west.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After lunch, we planned to head to Richardton, where there was a campground and also a motel. We were expecting some serious rain tonight and thinking that we should be in a motel. Once we got there, we were not impressed. The town is nearly a ghost town, with one dumpy motel and no businesses open. Plus, most of their few streets were closed for repairs. They closed all their streets? Why not just one at a time? A group of four tweens was loudly dropping f-bombs and even the n-word, probably because they hoped to get a reaction out of someone. We moved on, 13 miles to the next town: Hebron. This was a GREAT decision and I finished with 80 miles.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri found us a nice motel (only one in town) called the Brick City Motel. Apparently, brick production was big in Hebron at one time. It was a simple motel and we were the only ones checked in. Our room was huge. We could have hosted a pilates class if we did pilates…or knew what pilates was.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The only place in town that served food was the Pizza Pantry, which was open from 5 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. and was highly rated. We walked the half-mile to the shop and ate at the one table outside, on the sidewalk. We didn’t see more than a handful of people downtown. The ladies in the Pantry were super nice and the food was good and quick. Before we could finish eating, though, the skies, as forecasted, grew very dark and the wind picked up. A big pickup truck pulled in and out got a young man, Cade, and his daughter Ella. The young guy looked like Casey from the show Yellowstone. We said hello and chatted a bit before they went inside to order food. Soon the rain hit and we dashed inside as well. We mentioned that we’d walked to dinner and Cade immediately offered to drive us back to our motel. Small town America, in our experience so far, is incredibly nice.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The rain pounded for hours and we felt so good about staying in a motel. We watched the Avalanche get crushed in game three by the Lightning (they still lead the series 2-1) and then went to sleep. It was a great day all around for us.</p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-1273552360495228142022-06-13T20:18:00.000-06:002022-06-13T20:18:28.567-06:00Washington to Washington, Days 12 & 13<h2 style="text-align: left;">Sunday, June 12, 2022, Day 12: Big Ring All Day</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/NMu51zXnu79SBBxV7" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7299194061" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p>It was cold and overcast all day, but it was dry. I got on my road bike for the first time since day three and stayed in the big ring all day, even over the rolling hills. Started off on city streets, then a great bike path, which turned to gravel (of course). Then I rode a quiet street to another nice bike path and at ten miles out, I got on Montana highway 200 and stayed on it the rest of the way. </p><p>Before I got to the highway proper, I rode up on two mountain bikers. I chatted with the back rider for a bit and when I told him what I was doing, he said, “You must be a third of the way there, huh?” “Nope,” I said, “Just a fifth.” Only later did I realize that I was quoting the percentage of the circuitous route that I had planned, not a straight-line distance to the east coast. Still, I wasn’t a third of the way there, but more than a quarter, so he was more right than I was.</p><p>Most of the time I had a great big shoulder to ride on and cars were giving me a wide berth. There were sections towards the end with little shoulder, though. Cars gave me a wide berth when they could, but if ongoing traffic synced with their passing of me, it was tight. This only happened a few times, though.</p><p>Saw Sheri twice on the ride. The second time was way past where we planned to meet. I screwed up and went by the turn we were to meet in. It was off the highway a bit and I was too lazy and thought there might be another entrance to town. When there wasn't I went on. This caused Sheri a lot of stress as neither of us had a connection. She assumed I had gone by and went on, but not far enough to catch me before she assumed I'd had a mechanical and went back for me. Ugh. Bad me. And just when we couldn't communicate. In those situations I *must* stick to the plan. Lesson learned.</p><p>Signing announcing fishing access to the river abound on this section of highway 200 and it’s obvious why. Rivers are everywhere, so far, in Montana. I understand now why they made the River Runs Through It (a movie with Brad Pitt) here in this state.</p><p>I arrived in Lincoln after 83 miles of riding a little after 1 p.m. We killed an hour eating lunch n a folksy restaurant and then checked into the Three Bears Motel. Very quaint and friendly. Glad to finally get a sizable day done. It had been four days since I'd gone over 60 miles.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Monday, June 13, 2022, Day 13: Crossing the Divide!</h2><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/abP9tFkR1JZiLmr59" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7303653328" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> "</span>Blessed be thy holy tailwind, saith thou Lord."</p><p>Ever since I crossed over Snoqualmie Pass, I’ve been in rural areas. These are god-fearing people and they are also conservative, judging from the litany of unabashed Trump signage. So, while I’m not a Trump fan, I am praying to the wind gods.</p><p>I left the hotel at 8:11 a.m. It was 47 degrees out and there was a 50% chance of rain. Why not let the day warm up a bit before starting? Two reasons. First, the forecast was for it to be 43 degrees in Lincoln (where we were) at 10 a.m., so it was just going to get colder. Second, I really wanted to go to the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center in Great Falls and it closes at 5 p.m.</p><p>So, in the 40s and threatening rain here. And 95 degrees at home in Boulder. I wish I’d get some of that heat up here and I’m sure they’d like some of my cool temperatures. I know I’ll eventually get heat and maybe even too much, but not yet.</p><p>I rode on the puddled highway with little traffic. I hadn’t checked the route really at all, except that I would stay on highway 200 for 75 more miles. So, I was a bit surprised to be climbing up a bona fide hill around the 15-mile mark. When I topped out, I found out that I’d just climbed Rogers Pass and was crossing the Continental Divide. Ten miles down the other side, I’d the mountains behind until…the Appalachians! Wow. That will be quite a change for me. I’ve now passed through the Olympics, Cascades, and the Rockies. Flatlands, here I come!</p><p>My Coros watch is set up to beep every five miles. Normally, I don’t pay much attention, but today I was interested. Sheri was planning to meet me at the 30-mile mark, which I thought would be two hours of riding. At the 5-mile beep, my split was 17:30 or so. Cool. To do 30 miles in two hours, I needed to average 15 mph or 20 minutes per beep. I had 2.5 miles in the bank. </p><p>At the 10-mile beep, my split was 16 minutes and change. Nice. Then another 16-minute 5-mile split. 20 mph is a 15-minute split, so I was cruising. I didn’t catch my 20-mile beep, but that included the climb up to Rogers Pass, so I assume it was slow. I was flying down the eastern side at nearly 45 mph. The wet roads and swirling wind had me concerned, though, so I even put on the brakes a bit. Crashing at those speeds would likely end my trip or worse. Still, my next split was 9:37 and the descent was at most three of those five miles. A 10-minute split is an average of 30 mph. My next split was 11:40, so ten miles at nearly a 30 mph average.</p><p>The terrain now rolled with short climbs and fast descents. I was rolling and passed through 40 miles when Sheri caught me. I did over 41 miles in the first two hours. Sheri parked at 42 miles into my morning and I took a nice break to eat and drink. We met again in 25 miles, which I covered in just over an hour. The tailwind was incredible. On one section that looked flat to me, I looked down and saw I was going 30 mph. It was fun to cover so much ground so fast. That was a first for this trip.</p><p>My last leg was only a bit over 20 miles and the last 10 miles were off the highway and zigzagging around backroads outside of Great Falls. The difference between the tailwind and the crosswind was extreme, but it sure beat the heck out of a headwind. </p><p>I was riding by a lot of small farms and rural homes and dogs would frequently bark at me and run along inside their enclosures. Untethered dogs chased me twice before — in Washington and the tricycle lady’s dog Buddy. Both were just barking, though they got very close to my pedals. Anyway, I got around a turn and two dogs in a fenced yard start barking at me and running along their fence, which is long. The first dog gives up early, but the big, shaggy, black dog keeps tearing after me. He’s flying and I’m starting to get concerned that he’s going to hit the end of his fence so hard that he’ll hurt itself when the dog flys over the fence! He’s in hot pursuit, flying down the side of the road. I have the tailwind now and I step on the pedals hard, I’m doing 30 mph and the dog can’t last for more than ten seconds or so before he fades. The dog didn’t seem dangerous and I think it was just chasing me either for fun or to chase me away from his lair. Nevertheless, it did give me ten seconds of excitement. </p><p>Sheri found us a great hotel and we arrived at nearly the same time. Sheri had already made a couple of shopping stops. We relaxed in the hotel for a bit and I took a shower. Then we headed to the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center. It was great and I highly recommend it. We’ve all heard their story before, but it was truly remarkable. It was the first exploratory expedition of the United States. Lewis and Clark were, by all accounts, incredible leaders and their band of men were incredibly tough and resourceful. It’s just an amazing story of discovery. What a time to be alive…</p><p>Sheri then ran/walked seven miles back to the hotel, while I lingered too long on the exhibits and failed to pick her up at the Visitor Center. I’ve now screwed up two days in a row. This is a streak I badly need to break.</p><p>This is our fifth night in Montana and we still have more than 400 miles to go to reach North Dakota. The rest of the way is prairie and grasslands (long and short). May the wind be with me.</p><p>Stats so far:</p><p><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Days on trip: <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>13<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Miles ridden: <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>949<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Average miles per day: <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>69.6<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Percentage done with projected trip:<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>23.5%<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Number of days above 70 degrees:<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>0</p><div><br /></div>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-58651944006940305882022-06-11T18:39:00.002-06:002022-06-11T18:39:24.321-06:00Washington to Washington, Day 9-11: Montana, Baby!<h2 style="text-align: left;">Thursday, June 9, 2022, Day 9</h2><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/oWNxp7UTx4izcX4s8" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7282747916" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p></p><p>I awoke to a soaked rain fly, but it hadn’t rained. It was a heavy dew and it was cold too. My phone said 50 degrees, but it felt colder. I was definitely thankful to be wrapped in my down jacket.</p><p>Yesterday, Sheri bought me a cool pump that has a reservoir that you pump up and then release all at once into your tire. It’s specifically for popping the bead of a tubeless tire onto the rim. Without this pump you need a compressor or need to burn a CO2 cartridge. I needed this pump also because the one I brought sucks and will not pump up higher than about 30 psi. </p><p>I got my REI Co-op ADV 2.3 Gravel bike converted to tubeless before going on this trip and did a single ride to test it out. The day after my test ride, my front tire was flat. I brought it back into REI and they had to re-tape the rim to get it to hold air. I asked them, “Shouldn’t you check the back tire? I’m assuming the same person converted both wheels?” “No, it should be fine,” was the response. Well, my back tire has a slow leak and I’ve been having to burn a CO2 cartridge each morning to get it back to sufficient pressure. It has lasted all day, but it was getting old. Hence, the new pump.</p><p>When I tried out the new pump, I got the tire pressured nicely, but then it lost all the air. The core of the value appeared to be bad, as I couldn’t even tighten the tip to seal it. Ugh. I had to pull the wheel off (this requires a 6mm hex wrench on my bike), pull off the tire, replace the valve (luckily I had one spare), and put in some sealant. Next, I got a chance to try the reservoir on my new pump. It was now dark and I was working by headlamp. My first tries were failures. The tire was on enough to hold any air. I fiddled with it a bit and pumped up my reservoir to 100 psi and voila! I heard two audible pops and the tire seated both beads. Sweet. In the morning, it still held air. I put it back on my bike, lubed it up a bit and rode it around the campground. It seems to be holding. </p><p>The start of my ride, on my newly fixed back tire, was great. Just blissful, easy riding on the last ten miles of the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes. Then things got tougher. I took a paved road to Shoshone Park, riding by the Lucky Friday mine. The Coeur d’Alenes valley is the richest silver mining in the world and still the biggest silver producer in the US.</p><p>At the Fish Hatchery, I got on a dirt road leading 10 miles up to Mullan Pass at over 5200 feet. Judging from all the snowmobile parking signs, this is a real popular area in the winter for that sport. Up high I met Brandon, a bear hunter from Wisconsin out here for a week trying to get a trophy. He was “glassing,” which means he was sitting in a chair looking through his tripod-mounted binoculars trying to find a bear and learn its patterns. I asked, “Once you spot them, do you hike in there and shoot it?” He told me that you can’t just go at the bear, as they have very sensitive noses. If you don’t approach downwind, you won’t get anywhere near the bear. He was wearing an automatic pistol on his hip and I asked what it was for. He said that this was grizzly country and it was to protect him from bears, if he got surprised. I told him I was riding across the country and he asked, “What do you do when you get to the snow?” Say what?</p><p>Brandon assured me that snow blocked the road a mile or two further. Ugh. I asked if he thought I could walk through it. He couldn’t get his truck through it, so he didn’t know how long it lasted, but they walked quite a ways in it. Two miles was nearly to where I thought the summit might be, so I continued.</p><p>Sure enough, I found the snow and had to start pushing my bike. I could see that I was near the elevation of the pass and hoped that the road would stay high for too long. Pushing my bike through the snow, completely alone and isolated, I started to think…this is grizzly country…and I have no firearm. And I’m well aware how delicious I look to a ravenous bear just waking up from a long winter’s nap. I wondered how long I could hold off a bear with my bike. I’m thinking one or two seconds. Then my phone died.</p><p>Bummer, but I had my spare battery and plugged it in. Now the problem was that I didn’t have a cell connection and lost my track in Google Maps. It displayed nothing. That app sucks. When you’re following a route, it should download the map that is needs for that track so that you don’t have to re-start the route every time. I didn’t worry at first. There was only one way to go. Then I got to the pass and there were two ways to go. I chose the one that looked marginally bigger and I chose correctly.</p><p>I continued to push on the way down for a few hundred yards and then I could get back on the bike. I rode for a bit and then pushed a bit. Back and forth. In all, I had to push the bike about two miles through snow, most of that on the way up. I still had no connection and couldn’t tell Sheri about my situation and that I’d be late to our meetup in Saltese. Oh well.</p><p>A mile or so down, I came across a doe and a just-born fawn. The baby could stand, but couldn’t really walk. They were on the road and I needed to pass. I got off my bike and walked it slowly on the far side of the road, but the mama was very nervous and very agitated. I thought it might try to kick me or something, but she eventually ran down the road. The fawn laid down completely flat to the ground. I didn’t approach it any closer than I had to, for fear of making it even more nervous. I hope the mama returned shortly after my passing. I shot some video of our interaction. I hated causing that mother stress.</p><p>I rode down five miles of mud to I-90, but the road just passed under it and I then took a trail parallel to it for four more miles to Saltese. By the time I got there, Sheri had left. She got confused about the time change and thought I was 80 minutes late, when I was more like 20 minutes late. Sheri then got a signal, saw that I was in Saltese and reversed back to me. We had lunch there and made a new plan.</p><p>I’d rode another 27 miles to St. Regis. This was mostly along the Hiawatha/Olympiad Trail, which was another double-track dirt/gravel trail like the previous ones I’d been riding. This trail started out baby smooth and finished similarly, but the core of the riding was rocky and bumpy. It was tiring and I was fading a bit.</p><p>The Hiawatha/Olympiad Trail must allow motorized vehicles. Two ATVs, coming the other way, passed me. And I saw a service truck as well. I haven’t seen the signs saying “No Motor Vehicles” that graced the previous trails I’ve ridden. </p><p>I met Sheri where my trail intersected a paved road in St. Regis. We decided to stop here and I followed Sheri 1.5 miles to the campground, which was really nice. </p><p>We were now in the Mountain time zone, the far western end of it. This meant that the mornings would be darker, but the nights lighter. We were quite surprised to notice that it was past 9 p.m. and we were still reading in daylight. Dim daylight to be sure, but daylight. In the Pacific time zone it was light at 4:30 a.m. I like it light in the morning, but I’d be okay with it being darkish until at least 5 a.m.</p><p>I’d ridden some of the day alongside of I-90. This was a new interstate for me. I was familiar with I-40, across New Mexico and Arizona, I-70 through Colorado, and I-80 through Wyoming, but I was now wondering where was I-50 and I-60? Turns out, they don’t exist because the states in which they would travel already have highways with those numbers and that is not allowed, per US Highway regulations.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Friday, June 10, 2022, Day 10: Rain, Rain, Rain</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/3vbS39iX1KvhCvUAA" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7288340188" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p>We slept late and awoke to the forecasted rain. After doing our morning puzzles (Wordle and Wordscapes), we headed into town for breakfast and a dry place to hang out. I finished my piece for the week on Boulder’s plan to test a guaranteed income program. Summary: bad idea.</p><p>Days like today are tough and make me think about what my goals are for this trip. I stated them at the start of this adventure and they still hold true, but I have a strong aversion to skipping sections. I don’t want to jump in the car. But I also don’t want to be miserable. This is supposed to be fun. Riding in the rain usually isn’t very fun and it can be more dangerous to be on slippery roads. Indecision wracks me.</p><p>I didn’t start riding until 12:30 p.m. and immediately was on a dirt road, which was now mud, though I wasn’t sinking into it. Our initial plan was to just ride 17 miles to the town of Superior. I got there soaked and covered in mud. Sheri wanted to go on and I felt fine and though I was wet, I wasn’t cold, so we headed for Tarkio. I rode all paved roads to there and was feeling great so we decided to go to Wye, still 44 miles away. </p><p>Sheri took off to get us a room and I promptly rode myself into a dead end. After struggling with my phone and reversing back to talk to a local woman, Jody, who was riding a fat-tire tricycle with three dogs, all of which chased me, barking incessantly, and two goats. She told me that where I turned around at the gate is indeed a road, but that all the rain has caused the grass to overgrow it. But she said there was a crazy guy that lived up there, so, yes, it was better to retreat to the freeway. Then she asked me if I’d like to smoke a bowl with her. How nice. I politely declined and pedaled on.</p><p>I rode back to I-90 and got on it. It had a huge shoulder and it didn’t feel dangerous at all. In fact, most cars and trucks passed me in the left lane. I got off at the next exit, which was only two miles or so, and got on the frontage road. That worked fine and I was rolling again. I followed Old Highway 10 until it disappeared into the ground. I had to get on I-90 again. All my troubles had Sheri thinking we should stop early and she got us a motel in Alberton. It was a cozy, quirky place right on the ? Fork River. I mean, right on it. We had a front door and a back door and from our back door an Olympic jumper could have splashed into the river. There were tracks on the other side of the river and trains went by often, one carrying a number of commercial airliner fuselages! The trains were quiet though — no whistle blowing — so it was a fine place to stay.</p><p>We went over to the saloon for dinner and Sheri did a load of laundry, after her walk and her weights workout, of course.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Saturday, June 11, 2022, Day 11: Rain, Mud, Wind, High Prices</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/wBynd9P7K1eN3PMJ7" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7293272655" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p>Sheri and I have agreed on a philosophy for the trip, which is to make progress every day, even if it isn’t very far. Small mileages will eventually add up to big mileages. Plus, at least we are staying in a new place and moving eastward. The exception would be if the weather is truly horrible all day long. Or if the stretch we must cover is large and the weather is bad. So far, we’ve had some bad weather that had me starting later in the day to avoid the worst of the rain, but once I’m out there, it’s been fine. Today was the same, though I haven’t ridden in any rain that is much more than a drizzle.</p><p>Our goal today was just to get to Missoula, which was only 37 miles away. We met up briefly in Frenchtown, at a nice park there. Getting there, I did have to do a 3-mile section of dirt roads, which were a bit muddy and covered my bike and lower extremities in mud. Same ole, Same ole.</p><p>After meeting Sheri I generally rode frontage roads of I-90 and one of them had a nice paved bike path along side it. Once in Missoula and headed toward our first choice hotel, I spied an REI directly to my right. I jumped into the parking lot, through the front door and directly to the bike service shop. I told them my story about buying the bike two months ago and riding across the USA and apologized for the mud-covered bike and then asked them to adjust my shifting. My bike had been making some noise in my second and third lowest gears. They happily obliged and even gave my drivetrain a cleaning and a fresh lube. REI is awesome.</p><p>Sheri and I experience severe sticker shock trying to get a hotel room. Nothing was available for under $200 and when we finally relented to that price we found that everything was booked under $300 and we didn’t try above that. We fell back to getting a tent site at the KOA campground in town. This campground is huge and feels like a small town. It has named roads, a pool, mini-golf, a lounge, stores, many bathrooms, cabins, RV sites, tent sites, a couple of teepees. It was something and so were the prices: $67 for a tent site, but at this point I just wanted to get into some dry clothes, so we took it.</p><p>After putting up the tent and taking a shower, we drove over to the University of Montana. Sheri had scoped out a trail that went past the big “M” on Sentinel Mountain. While she hiked up to the summit, I toured around the campus a bit and then made a grocery run. </p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-34836999359706477542022-06-09T08:12:00.001-06:002022-06-09T08:12:24.037-06:00Washington to Washington: Day 7 & 8<h2 style="text-align: left;">Tuesday, June 7, 2022, Day 7: Idaho, Baby!</h2><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/T64QXEVKp3TrhBru8" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7272885192" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p></p><p>I knew today was going to be another long one because we wanted to get to Plummer, Idaho (new state!), where the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes. This is a 73-mile-long, paved, bike trail. After the misery (okay, misery is a bit strong but unpleasant and sometimes dumb) of the P2C, this sounded like heaven.</p><p>After a decadent breakfast at the hotel, I was off at 7:30 a.m. The first car passed me six miles into my day. The next car passed me 28 miles into my day. In all, maybe ten cars passed me in 100 miles. I was on trails for only 20 of those miles, but often on gravel or paved farm roads — maybe 50/50 of each. I’m amazed by such good roads that seemed to be used very infrequently. I guess the only reason to drive on these roads is if you are a farmer of the adjacent fields or live or work on one of these family farms.</p><p>Speaking of the distance…100 miles! For my second day in a row. I didn’t have a tailwind today and I had some climbing, plus some trail riding, so it was a long day and I’m feeling my knees now. Towards the end, I had to climb up my first mountainous road. It even had a couple of switchbacks. Blessed descending on the other side, all the way to camp on the banks of Lake Coeur d’Alenes. I didn’t arrive until 4:40 p.m. It was my latest arrival so far.</p><p>Normally, it would suck to ride that long alone, but I saw Sheri three times: in Sprague (practically a ghost town, but not quite, as you’ll read), Cheney, and Fairfield. It was so nice to see her son often and to look forward to it. In Cheney, after 52 miles, we had lunch.</p><p>Before that, though, we met in Sprague for a quick drink. I probably only stopped for 20 minutes. When I left the sleepy town, with boarded-up buildings on Main Street and not a single person sighted, a pickup truck passed me. It was only the second car to pass me. I headed to the Columbia Plateau Trail (CPT), got on it, and rode it for 15 miles. It was similar to the P2C, but a little smoother and a lot further from a road. At least I could never see a road adjacent to it. It went by a really nice lake, too. Early on the trail, I caught up to an older guy hiking and slowed to chat with him. He was a retired Air Force dude, who did his last 25 years of service in Arizona. His family in the Sprague area told him that he had no family down there and to move to Washington. He said, “I don’t have any winters here either.” But he did move and lives in Sprague. So at least one person lives there.</p><p>Sheri parked in Cheney, at one of the trailheads for the CPT and rode back towards me. We met six miles from where she had parked and rode back together for lunch. I spent about 45 minutes there and then hopped back on the bike, with 52.5 miles already done. </p><p>I rode mostly gravel roads all the way to Fairfield and had now ridden 75 miles. Sheri had found a good campground, but it was a bit beyond Plummer, and worried it might be too much for me. Peeshaw! I thought it sounds great and recalibrated my mind to ride 26 more miles instead of 17. On the plus side, I said, it would give me two hundred-mile days in a row. </p><p>I rode some gravel and then the paved hill I mentioned earlier. In Plummer, I got on the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes (TCA) and it was all I wished for and more. The more part? It was downhill to the lake. I had to ride 1.5 miles off the trail and along the shore to get to the campsite, but I was feeling strong.</p><p>In camp, I noticed our neighbors had a tandem bike rigged with packs. They had their tent up and I figured they were riding across the country. Heck, I’d already met two people who had done it. Nope. They had just retired and were of similar ages to Sheri and me. They had just got the tandem bike and this was their maiden trip. They started in the middle of the TCA and rode 35 miles to this camp. Tomorrow they will bike back to their car. They hope to do more of this and maybe eventually cross the country on that bike. Cool.</p><p>Of course, Sheri already had the tent up and the car unpacked. She is constantly working for me. Plus, she did three workouts today. She did the elliptical at the hotel, then the bike ride, and hiked a few miles after I arrived.</p><p>We made dinner, took a short walk afterward, and Sheri is reading while I type this report. The forecast for tomorrow has a high of 73 degrees. If so, it would be my first 70+ degree day. I’m looking forward to that.</p><p>Stats so far:<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Days on trip: <span style="white-space: pre;"> <span> </span></span>7<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Miles ridden: <span style="white-space: pre;"> <span> </span></span>573<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Average miles per day: <span style="white-space: pre;"> <span> </span></span>75.6<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Percentage done with projected trip:<span> </span>14.2%<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Number of days above 70 degrees:<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>0</p><p><br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Wednesday, June 8, 2022, Day 7: Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/nBUBnU9LHnBxirhx5" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7277339806" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p>It’s official. I’m fully in retirement mode. I know this because I don’t know what day of the week it is. </p><p>We awoke to rain on the tent. It wasn’t forecasted, but it was light and didn’t last that long. I made pancakes. Sheri and I were riding before 8 a.m. and we enjoyed a nice ride down to Harrison. We went over a super cool cyclist/pedestrian bridge that climbed up to a trestle via a series of little ramps to short flat sections. It was fun to ride up and down this. I was impressed with the structure built just for cyclists (yeah, and walkers). We rode along the coast of Lake Coeur d’Alene until hitting Harrison. We rode off the trail and into town and found an espresso shop for some coffee and a muffin.</p><p>We lingered for half an hour and then parted ways. Sheri rode back towards camp and I headed east to Osborn, 45 miles away, all on the bike path. While Sheri did some errands (food, bike pump) in Coeur d’Alene, the city, I soft-pedaled along the trail. I stopped at each information sign. I even took a 30-minute break at one bench to just enjoy the Coeur d’Alene River. </p><p>Logging first came to this area in the last 1800s and it is still happening here. Back then the river was the main means of transportation. Mining was another draw to this area, with zinc, lead, and silver mines. </p><p>I got to the campground just five minutes ahead of Sheri. That was a first. The host was really nice, even giving us a tablecloth for our picnic table. Sheri’s ride was enough for her, of course. So, she went off for a hike to explore the town (there isn’t much of a town here). </p><p>Each day, after my ride, we both plot the next day’s ride. We aren’t looking that far ahead, but we’ll merge with the Adventure Cycling Northern Route in Great Falls, Montana, so that is our medium-term goal.</p><p>Today was basically a rest day. I only did 56 miles and not even 1000 vertical feet. I’m not even sure how I got that thousand feet. I must have been on a really gradual climb. Both after two long days, I was fine with that. </p><p>Stats so far:<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Days on trip: <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>8<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Miles ridden: <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>629<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Average miles per day: <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>73.2<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Percentage done with projected trip:<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>15.6%<br /><span> </span><span> </span>Number of days above 70 degrees:<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>0</p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-34062218908819440042022-06-09T08:04:00.001-06:002022-06-09T08:04:25.061-06:00Washington to Washington: Day 4-6<h2 style="text-align: left;">Saturday, June 4, 2022, Day 4</h2><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/M1TiLrLeYK18pU7c8" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7256090481" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p></p><p>I had a frustrating start to the day. I kept losing the trails. All this was a user error. I had no trouble getting on the Issaquah-Preston path and that led me directly to the Preston-Snoqualmie path, but then I ran into trouble. First, I went the wrong way in Fall City. I got back on track and on the trail again, but it soon changed character and switchbacked up a very steep hill via a dirt single-track. I should have known this was wrong immediately, but I continued up it until it deadened. I reversed back to the road and then rode on it in Snoqualmie, which is a quaint town with great parks, all lush and green.</p><p>I then visited a waterfall with some paved trails. I searched on my phone for the Snoqualmie Valley Trail and then rode out to where it ends, apparently. But I didn’t know and kept going as it deteriorated to single-track, mud, and logs blocking the path until it also deadened. Ugh. I sent my location to Kraig and asked for help. He saved me, directing me to the Snoqualmie Valley Trail. This could have all been avoided if I had put the route into Google Maps. A dumb mistake by me.</p><p>I rode the Snoqualmie Valley Trail to Rattlesnake Lake (I wonder if they have a Ramble around this thing…). There I picked up the Palouse to Cascade (P2C) Trail, which would take me over Snoqualmie Pass via a 2-mile tunnel. I had four miles to ride on the trail before meeting up with Sheri. I passed one woman riding on the trail, who I would meet later. </p><p>Sheri had brought a chair and lots of good lunch food out to the intersection of the P2C and a feeder trail from the parking lot. I rested there for 45 minutes or so and then moved on. After a while, I caught up with the woman rider again. She immediately recognized me and was curious how I was passing her again. When I stopped for lunch with Sheri we were off the P2C just slightly, so she didn’t see us.</p><p>Shannon was out attempting her first 100-mile ride and closing in on fifty miles — her turnaround point. She was tired but as happy for the companionship as I was. One of the drawbacks of my trip is that I ride alone. I know Sheri doesn’t want to ride the whole way and having her along is essential for me, but it does leave me a bit lonely on the rides. </p><p>Anyway, Shannon used to work as the manager of the bike repair section of a shop, but she quit because of “sex discrimination in the workplace.” She said a co-worker slapped her on the butt and he was not disciplined in any way. In today’s environment, I’m surprised he’s still breathing.</p><p>Shannon turned around and soon thereafter I came across a guy with a fully loaded bike. Clearly, he was in it for the long haul. Merrill, a young guy who just graduated college, was riding across the USA as well, headed for Bar Harbor, Maine. That’s the endpoint of the Northern Tier bicycle route of the Adventure Cycling Association. I’ll be on that route for most of Montana and all of North Dakota. Maybe I’ll see me again.</p><p>As I approached the big tunnel (two miles long), I noticed six guys clustered at a picnic table and pulled over to say hi. A big guy says, “Nice rig!” I hop off and say, “It’s no big deal. Just an REI bike.” Another guy says, “He’s kidding you.” Now I think he’s dissing my bike, but he actually works at REI.</p><p>Chris Mahon, the big guy that first spoke, is chief stenciler at REI corporate headquarters. His gang of bikers and clearly looking for trouble. We exchanged some pleasantries and they noticed I was wearing a Leadville 100 jersey (I’m getting a lot of mileage out of this kit) and asked when I had done it. I couldn’t remember, but we found the date on my sleeve: 2013. One guy looked at me and said, “Clearly you were a lot skinnier then.” I was a bit surprised by that and looked down at my belly to see if it was bulging more than normal. Nope. In fact, it was unnaturally flat because my bibs are really tight and acted like Spanks. I realized that he was just joking and even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t have bothered me. </p><p>Chris warned me that the was cold and that I should put on my jacket. I did as I was told and was very thankful for it. It was freezing in there and pitch dark. I was prepared with my headlamp, though. Once on the other side, I found Sheri again. She was so hot and so sleepy, but I was still cold from the tunnel. I did get warm here. I even felt a touch hot…for about 60 seconds and then a breeze came up.</p><p>I dropped my headlamp with Sheri and continued on. I still had 30+ miles to our campground. Unfortunately, there were more tunnels! One I could barely see the other side and just hoped the terrain was smooth. But one was longer with no end in sight. I decided I had to walk it. I used my phone as a light, but after a bit, I got back on and rode, holding my phone in one hand. It was only enough light to ride about 2 mph, but better than walking.</p><p>The P2C follows the Yakima River here and I crossed over it many times, on cool bridges. I got really tired of riding loose gravel, though. After 83 miles of that, I was ready to stop. Sheri found us a good spot at Eagle Valley campground and once I arrived, I started eating and never stopped.</p><p>This day gave me some serious appreciation of what Anton and Kyle can do on a bike. They ride twice as far in a day, carrying all their own gear on such terrain. That’s amazing, but they are professional athletes, after all.</p><p>This adventure was turning out to be very different from JMT hike we did last summer. Mainly because I ride alone and I’m not much of a loner. Stopping early and sticking to my 60-70 miles per day was the right thing to do. That way I can spend more time with Sheri.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Sunday, June 5, 2022, Day 5</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/9jKxk4GqDqm9qtwE8" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7261492925" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p>It rained all night and temperatures were in the low 50s in the morning. We expected it and packed as much as possible in the car before going to bed, but the tent was soaked.</p><p>I rode back to the P2C and then 23 miles later we met at a very crowded iHop. I ate a ton here and we lingered, charging our devices and having a second cup of coffee. Between last night and this second breakfast, I think I’ll need to ride a hundred miles today to break even, calorie-wise. But I’m not going to do it. </p><p>My goal for the day was the Wanapum State Park Campground on the banks of the Columbia River. </p><p>Riding along the P2C I found that the track on the other side of the loose median always seems to be the smoothest. This reminded me of the idiom that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. And that made me think of my friend Spencer, who loves idioms. On that theme, a hundred years ago, people who tell graduates, “Go west, young man.” I’m not quite doing the opposite of that (“Go east, old lady”), but I’m close.</p><p>I caught up to an older couple on the trail. In fact, and maybe it is the time of the day and the day of the week, a high percentage of the people I see on the trails are…mature. Like me. This couple had just retired too, from work at the university (Central Washington University?). Each Sunday morning they have breakfast on their deck and go for a casual ride. That sounds nice. </p><p>A very nasty-looking storm was just to the north of me and I felt like I was running from it all day. At one point I turned directly toward it for a mile and wondered if that was a good idea. Thankfully, I was able to dodge it all day.</p><p>This trip is a different experience for me. I’ve always ridden my bike for exercise — either training or racing. Or maybe to run an errand. Now, it wasn’t for any of that. Sure, I’m getting exercise, but there are easier ways to get it. This trip is about seeing America and I’ve now set a goal to meet someone new each day.</p><p>I got very frustrated riding the P2C. It was slow and bumpy and paralleled a gravel road. I got off the trail and rode on the road. My views were the same. The riding was more pleasant. And the exact same amount of cars passed me: zero. There are definitely long stretches of the P2C that are just plain dumb. The grade is never more than 2% but the loose gravel makes any coasting impossible. If I stopped pedaling, I’d quickly come to a stop. The trail is very straight, too. Straight and flat is efficient for trains, but it gets boring for cyclists like me.</p><p>A long time ago I read a book called Computing Across America. It was about a guy riding a 300-pound recumbent bike with a fairing, solar panels, and tons of gear. He rigged up his handlebars with four buttons on each side and would write while he rode, but squeezing in the ASCII code of the letter he wanted. Crazy. He claimed to be able to type 40 words per minute. I could never do that and, nowadays, I don’t have to. When a thought comes to me (they do occasionally), I hit the microphone button on the Notes app on my phone. Then I just talk into my phone. Cool.</p><p>My phone is everything to me on these rides. Chiefly, it is my navigation tool, but, nearly as important, it is my communication device. Yes, you can talk to other people with these phones. That said, Sheri and I mostly text each other. I can respond to text messages with the microphone as well. Yes, Siri is pretty terrible at taking dictation while riding a bike with wind noise, but I usually get my point across. My phone is also my entertainment system. I listen to music, podcasts, and audible books. When I went through the tunnels, my phone served as my headlamp. And now, it is my secretary, taking my dictation. What a wonderful device it is. Because I use it so much, I ride with a small battery brick that I keep in my saddlebag. When my phone battery gets low, I wind the cable along my top tube and plug it into my phone, which is mounted on my handlebars (via a Quad Lock — highly recommended).</p><p>The riding is going well for me. My biggest problem is my neck and left shoulder. After 30 miles or so, it even hurts my shoulder when I swallow. That is so strange. I hope it gets better. My other area of discomfort is my butt. I try to move around on the saddle a bunch, to get different positions, and will stand and pedal for more relief. I knew these were going to be my problem areas and maybe in a couple of weeks, they will go away.</p><p>Back to that book. After reading it, I thought it should be retitled, “Bagging Babes Across America,” because he wrote about that a lot. He would ride onto college campuses and be quite the spectacle with a 300-pound bike and it proved a ready conversation starter. Obviously a personable guy, he did alright with the ladies. If bike weight is directly proportional to babe bagging then I’ll be lucky to bag one.</p><p>As I neared the campsite, I had to climb a significant hill. It was covered in windmills and I could see that I had a tailwind. I like climbing on a bike. It is slow, but I know I’m going to be repaid with a descent at some point. Here the payoff was immediate. I had a long, smooth descent where I must have gone five miles without pedaling. I found out that I’m completely spun out on my gravel bike at 37 miles an hour and that it’s quite hard to get any pressure on the pedals even at 30 mph. But, seriously, unless you are in a race, you don’t need to be pedaling faster than 30 mph. I enjoyed the coast.</p><p>Once down, I had just three miles to go. It was a bit uphill and I now fought a crosswind and my speed slipped below 10 mph. No matter. Sheri found us a nice spot that was somewhat sheltered from the wind, which did die down. After relaxing and eating, we walked around the campground and talked to some of our neighbors.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Monday, June 6, 2022, Day 6</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/avnA6Std6Ck5RkxP7" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7266967634" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><p>We met a retired guy in the campground last night. He was making a big loop out west from his home in Whitewater, Colorado (near Grand Junction). He noticed my Denver Broncos pajama bottoms and struck up a conversation. When we heard about our trip he said, “Wow, the planning for my trip was extensive, but I can’t even imagine the planning you must have done.” Sheri and I looked at each other, and she said, “We’re just winging it.”</p><p>I did have a lot of the first week planned, but the rest of the route was super rough and I did no research on where we’d sleep each night. Sheri had been handling this each day and doing a great job finding good campsites and then texting me the directions. The goal for today was to get to Lind, but Sheri couldn’t find any campgrounds there. We hoped to find someplace to throw up our tent. </p><p>I headed out early today — at 7 a.m. — my earliest start of the trip so far. I wanted to give us more options. The planned day was already going to be over 80 miles and then I had to add 6 more miles to get to Beverley, where we were supposed to camp, but there was nothing there either. So, I knew it might be a long day in the saddle.</p><p>On the plus side, this was the first morning where I started off with no armies and no leggings. I rode in shorts and short sleeves all day. And had considerable sunshine today, though plenty of clouds as well. I narrowly avoided my first 70+ degree day, as it got to 68 degrees on the route.</p><p>I started by riding six miles south along the massive Columbia River, passing the Wanapum Dam, which is just 185 feet high, but 8,320 feet wide. It produces 1.2 GW of power. Dams work on potential energy, which is calculated by: mgh, where m is mass, g is the Earth’s gravitational constant, and h is the height. Hence, a dam doesn’t need to be really high to produce a lot of power, provided it has a lot of water going through it. The Columbia River is a lot of water.</p><p>The bridge at Beverley is strictly for bikers and hikers…and horses judging from a couple of piles I noticed. This is a key bridge on the Palouse to Cascade (P2C) trail and it just recently opened, this year. I picked up the P2C on the other side and rode it for five miles or so before I ran into a closure sign and another sign directing me to the detour, which was Lower Crab Creek Road. This road is gravel and is basically a wider, smoother version of the P2C. In fact, I don’t see the point of the P2C here. You’d think, “Duh, Bill, the lack of cars on the trail.” But I didn’t see a single car on this road. In fact, I rode on the left side of the road or the middle, trying to find the smoothest, hardest path. I didn’t get passed by a car for the first 28 miles of my day and only did get passed when I eventually got to a state highway.</p><p>For most of the day, I had a terrific tailwind. If I was out for a normal ride, I’d have to return to where I started and then have to fight the headwinds. But I’m not returning. I’m relentlessly headed east. It’s no wonder people almost always ride cross-country from west to east.</p><p>I met Sheri in Othello. I got their first and laid down in the grass near Burger King. I’d done 48 miles in well under three hours. I had a breakfast sandwich here and refilled my bottles. We looked at the map and Sheri decided to get to Lind early and find a place to sleep. </p><p>I rode some more highway, but with a good shoulder, and then eventually got back on the P2C, but a paved road parallels it. I started riding the trail, but it basically sucks. Rough, loose, slow. What’s the point? Once again, ZERO cars passed me on the road next to the trail. I can’t explain why there are such nice roads out here and no cars on them. I got onto those roads and rolled. </p><p>All-day long I rode past farms. Endless fields of wheat and peas. The last ten miles to Lind were really hilly: up and down. I enjoyed this. Some variety in the angle was a nice change from flat, flat, flat. I found Sheri at a small park, next to some small houses, in Lind. I’d done 87 miles so far. This site would have worked, but it was close to the railroad tracks and these rails were used, regularly. </p><p>I had some more food and drink and we decided to go clear to Ritzville and get a hotel room. I loved this decision and so did Sheri. I arrived at our hotel at 3:45 p.m. after riding just under 108 miles — my longest day so far, by twenty-five miles.</p><p>Before I got there, I passed three guys working on a really wide tiller (or something like that). I stopped to talk to them. All were family farmers and one pointed out his house, a mile away. His farm is 10,000 acres and he works it with four total people. Four? He does this because he does not irrigate his fields, reducing capital and labor…and also yields. Because of that, and the dry climate, he can’t only plant his fields every other year. So, he only actively works 5,000 acres. </p><p>For dinner, we went to the highly-rated Jake’s Diner. The food was good and the service was great. I was enticed by the promise of homemade donuts. Alas, they were out. Our waitress needed to ask a question of the older waitress and tried to get her attention: “Annie, Annie Annie. Mom.” I love family restaurants.</p><p>Back at the hotel, we watched the Colorado Avalanche sweep the Oilers to go to the Stanley Cup Finals. Then we went to the hot tub — might as well take advantage of all the amenities.</p><p>I go on crazy riffs sometimes with Sheri. Sometimes it’s funny and sometimes not. I was rambling on one of these rants when Sheri informed me, “I stopped listening to you awhile ago.” This is why we’ve gotten along so well after nearly 35 years together. </p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-66677330831906039852022-06-03T19:11:00.003-06:002022-06-03T21:40:17.108-06:00 Washington to Washington: Day 2 & 3<h2 style="text-align: left;">Thursday, June 2, 2022: WtW Day 2</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7245131402" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/r16JpjcVyfhASxuw7" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><p>The best aspect of our campground was the clubhouse. In there was a TV, which we didn’t watch, some chairs, tables, a couch, and a full kitchen along with washers and dryers. We cooked and ate dinner there and this morning I even made a pot of coffee!</p><p>I had to backtrack 1.5 miles at the start this morning, but it was worth it, as it got me on the Olympic Discovery Trail (ODT), which I rode the day before. This trail is absolutely awesome. It goes from nearly Port Townsend to Forks, with some road sections. I highly recommend it.</p><p>I road across a cool double-decker bridge with the lower deck only for bikes. Then through some lush forests, but soon I was entering Port Angles and riding along the coast. I passed by a port with a bunch of logs. I assume that was the probable destination for the trucks passing me the day before. There were lots of fishing boats. Well, what do I know? Maybe they were crabbing boats as the Dungeness River empties into the Pacific here and this must be where Dungeness crabs come from.</p><p>It was really foggy and very hard to see any distance out into the ocean. I had hoped to spy some orcas, but no luck. Sheri sent me a text telling me that she was just behind me. She was using “Find My Friends” to locate me. I took a pee break and waited just a moment and there she was, running along the path.</p><p>Back into the woods I went and came across a deer. Deers are funny. When I first came upon this deer it trotted away from me down the path. Of course, I was going in that direction and gaining on the deer, which switched its gait to hopping. What other large, four-legged animal (counting kangaroos as two-legged) hops? It seems inefficient and also slow. Mountain lions should easily be able to catch them.</p><p>I rode past tons of small farms, one after another. It felt very rural.</p><p>At one point I closed on a couple of riders just getting back on their bikes: Steve and Bruce. Steve was in the midst of biking across Washington via the same route as I plan to follow. He’s heading up Snoqualmie Pass on Saturday, just like me and hopefully, I’ll see him. Bruce was just joining Steve for half a day and was soon turning back. Bruce has biked across America via the northern, central, and southern routes — three times! They were super nice guys and I rode with them until running into Sheri for lunch.</p><p>I had Steve and Bruce pull over and say hi to Sheri. Bruce and Steve had both climbed Rainier 16 times with only one failed ascent. Steve had even climbed Liberty Ridge (after his one failed ascent, just like I did). I’m 2 for 4 on Rainier and Sheri is zero for one. We bid them goodbye and I sat down to eat lunch.</p><p>Just as I was finishing my lunch, Jim and James came by! I flagged them down and Sheri fed them cookies. We chatted for a while and since I was ready to go, I rolled out with them and rode with them for an hour or so. They split off to Port Townsend, where they had started and left their car. They did a 4-day trip, out-and-back to Forks, staying in hotels or B&B’s.</p><p>Once I left them I was feeling good and really put some effort. I crested a couple of hills and then road across the Hood Canal floating bridge. Just as I went by the crossing guards in the center of the bridge, they lit up and came down, blocking traffic. This bridge is very cool. Even though it is floating, it can let boats pass by raising up the middle and sliding a span underneath the raised part. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gLfNvZRlYpU" width="320" youtube-src-id="gLfNvZRlYpU"></iframe></div><p>Sheri had already found us a campsite, but I was in time to help her set up camp. Once up, we took a walk down to the “beach”. The beach consisted of barnacle-encrusted rocks and a lot of shells.</p><p><br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Friday, June 3, 2022: WtW Day 3</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7250133983/overview" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/pVzwmTsuGwHjnrDeA" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><p>The theme for today was rain. Or rather drizzle. That’s what it does up here. Seattle gets 37 inches of rain a year, more than double that of Boulder, Colorado (14-18 inches). That doesn’t sound like that much rain, but it drops so slowly here that it rains most days. Supposedly Seattle has 152 sunny days each year (Boulder has 245), but today might classify as a sunny day for them. In Colorado, in general, our rain comes hard. fast, and short. In Seattle, it comes soft, slow, and long. If a drizzle stops you from getting out, then you won’t get out much here. </p><p>My ride started with no rain and I didn’t really ride through anything more than a heavy mist. I loved it. Such a cool vibe. It wasn’t cold, at least I wasn’t cold, but I was heavily dressed. Because I’m a wimp in the cold. I did take things conservative on the descents and especially the curves because I really didn’t want to go down.</p><p>I’ve been using Strava to pick out my route each day (thanks to Danny Gilbert for this suggestion) and it has been working great! The route today was stellar. Almost no traffic until I got on the highway to the ferry, just the last four miles on Bainbridge Island. I rode on backroads and up small, punchy climbs — my favorites. </p><p>I made good time and arrived for the 9:30 ferry. Sheri was already in line and we both got on the same ferry. Getting on with me was another biker, Matt, and he showed me the ropes. Bikers can take the ferry for $1, but cars cost $20. Matt commutes from Bainbridge Island to the Space Needle (he is an attorney at the Hoover Center…or something like that) at least three days a week. It’s 40 minutes of cycling and 35 minutes of ferry riding each way. Cyclists get to board and disembark first. After parking our bikes, Matt and I sat together and Sheri soon joined us. </p><p>Matt has lived out here, on Bainbridge Island, for 25 years, but he came from Boulder, where he was in law school. And he did his undergraduate studies at Stanford. He’s a Mormon, too. He has lots in common with me and with my buddy Mark. Plus, he and his wife rode cross country after college on a tandem! They rode 80-100 miles a day, always taking Sunday off. I’ve heard tandem bikes referred to as “divorce machines.” Matt said they did go through one rough patch and even stayed in different hostels in New Orleans, but they are still together and have five children. We exchanged contact information.</p><p>As the boat neared the Seattle port, a Coast Guard boat pulled up alongside us. A guy was in the bow, dressed in an open-water survival suit and manning a mounted machine gun. Apparently, since 9-11 and now due to a raft of shootings, the ferry always gets an escort into the dock. Matt said that the water here is so cold that you’d only survive 10 minutes if you went overboard (hey, what about that iceman that swims in the arctic? Maybe he’d last an hour, but the rest of us would be dead). Meaning, that if a crazy gunman was onboard picking people off, it would be hard to escape. The Coast Guard drills for that and is adept at coming aboard. </p><p>Once off the ferry, Matt guided me a bit on my way, going the opposite direction of his commute. What a nice guy. I bid him farewell and rode east through the streets of Seattle towards the I-90 bike path. At first, I detected the aromatic emanations of bakeries and it stimulated my hunger, despite being only 10 a.m. Next, I thought I was riding through a ramen kitchen. It smelled so good. Finally, I detected some pizza. What an unexpected smell for a major city. It sure beat exhaust fumes.</p><p>The I-90 bike path was really nice and got me across two bridges — onto and off Mercer Island. There was a confusing detour on Mercer Island and I flailed around before locating it again. Once back on the mainland, I rode on a smooth road with a bike lane. </p><p>I was headed to my sister Brook’s house in Issaquah, which looks to be a really cute town. Unfortunately, Brook had a previously planned trip to Denver and left just 90 minutes before we arrived. His husband Kraig, who works on satellites for Amazon, was at work but left us a key. Greeting us at the door were their dogs, Lola and Bonnie. Bonnier is so cute and so happy and so tiny — about the size of a guinea pig. Lola is small, but still twice the size of Bonnie. She was a bit more nervous about our arrival, but she knows us a bit and soon warmed up.</p><p>I was hungry from all the smells and forty miles of riding, so I immediately ate and drank. We watched some French Open tennis and Sheri did all her exercises while I sat on the couch. Then, as I sat down to write, Sheri went out the door in the rain to do Tiger Mountain — Brook’s Green Mountain equivalent with similar stats. The difference is that she can do this mountain from her front door! That is so sweet. </p><p>Brook’s house is super nice and so clean and orderly and decorated so nicely that it seems like a model home. I told Brook as much and she responded, “It’s because we haven’t lived there long so haven’t crapped it up yet.” They moved up here a few years ago from Longmont. They are excited that Derek will be moving here as well at the beginning of July. Hopefully, I’ll be visiting up here regularly. </p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-13144326518001106132022-06-01T17:09:00.003-06:002022-06-01T17:09:46.310-06:00Washington-to-Washington Days 0 and 1<h2 style="text-align: left;">Tuesday, May 31, 2022: WtW Day 0</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7235215561" target="_blank">Strava</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/RPQLkxvyCrZ3B7yD9" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><p>When I ask retired friends what they are up to, one item seems to be on everyone’s list: caring for aging parents. It’s the same with Sheri and I. Both my parents are alive, but Sheri’s dad has passed on. Both my parents live alone and my Dad had been in the hospital twice in the last year, both after he has fallen and lay on the ground for an extended period of time, once for three days. </p><p>This morning I got a text from Liz, my sister-in-law, that my Dad had fallen again, this time in the shower. Thankful his part-time caregiver, Hilda, was there, downstairs waiting for him to come down for breakfast. When she noticed water leaking from the ceiling she went upstairs to investigate. My dad had been laying in the shower, hot water spraying on him. He fell on the drain, so the water overflowed onto the floor and then through it to the kitchen below. He was taken to the hospital where they feared he’d had another stroke, but they have since ruled that out. After his second fall I got him a fall-alert watch that is to be worn 24-hours a day. The watch comes with two sets of batteries, so that you never take it off, just swap the batteries once a day. He wasn’t wearing the watch. If Hilda wasn’t there, he’d have probably died this time. Wearing a watch isn’t a great inconvenience. He loves wearing his other watch. He’s a big boy, though, and will do what he wants.</p><p>My mom seems to ageless. Or at least, she doesn’t act her age of 85. She skis, plays tennis, walks 18 holes of golf, and swims in the ocean. Her only concession to age seems to be her water aerobics class.</p><p>Sheri’s mom Marilyn recently moved to Oregon, close to her son Mike. She recognized that she was starting to go downhill mentally, so agreed to the move. Since the move things have gone downhill for her. She is now in “memory care” in a nursing home and she recently started using a wheelchair. Recently, she didn’t even want to get out of bed because of such pain, so Mike took her to the emergency room and it turned out she had a broken leg. </p><p>We visited with Marilyn this morning. She seemed to be in good spirits and her mind seemed sharp. It looks like she isn’t going downhill mentally, or at least the rate has slowed considerably. Her vitals are good. Her only real problem now is mobility. And by mobility I just mean the ability to get out of bed and into a wheelchair. To get into and out of the bathroom. Those are the only mobility goals that we have for her. She’ll be moving to a rehab center soon to work on those goals.</p><p>Sheri’s brother Mike, who we stayed with last night, is taking charge of everything for his mom. He has power of attorney and power to make all health decisions. He visits her every day, all day. His love, care, devotion and endurance are beyond anything I’ve seen before. He’s an inspiration to me and I plan to do better by my parents because of his example. We’ve pushed for him to take some time for himself, but he can’t seem to do it. Sheri has visited specifically to help and be with her mom and these visits will become more frequent moving forwards. </p><p>We left the hospital well before noon and headed north, crossing into Washington just north of Portland, headed for Forks, which is just east of La Push. I then found a campground closer to La Push, only six miles away and we camped there. It is the “Twilight” setting. I’ve never watched that show, but I know it is about vampires and that chicks think they are dreamy and not just literally blood-thirsty killers. </p><p>After setting up camp, I couldn’t wait until the next morning to start. I talked Sheri into riding down to La Push with me that evening. We’re closer to the longest day of the year and very far north so it stays light here until well past 9 p.m. It was only Sheri’s second ride on her new bike and at first she was nervous to go too fast, but she settled in nicely.</p><p>There wasn’t much of a shoulder but we had little traffic and rode through a dense forest until breaking out just before the township of La Push, which seems to be mostly a Native American settlement. There is a small marina with a number of fishing boats. I assume fishing boats. They didn’t look like tourist boats. </p><p>We went down to the ocean and I dipped my back tire into the surf. Whatever happens, I at least started from the ocean. Now let’s see how far I get…</p><p>Biking back was way easier than biking to the ocean. We gained more vertical on the way out than on the way back? Isn’t that impossible? We definitely fought a headwind going out, especially once we broke out of the trees. On the way back we must have had a nice tailwind because it seemed to pass quickly.</p><p>Back at camp, I cooked us dinner on our Coleman stove. I’m guessing that it was below Stefan’s standards because I used a few spices less than what Stefan uses. That is, if Stefan uses a few spices. But we are simple folk with simple tastes and it was hot and had calories of fat, protein, and sugar. Sheri did the dishes and I then wrote this, while wearing my down jacket. It wasn’t that cold, but I’m still in search of warmth.</p><p>6 miles down. 4027 miles to go. :-)</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Wednesday, June 1, 2022: WtW Day 1</h2><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7239948657">Strava</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/fSQagy2iyqfQQge26" target="_blank">Photos</a></div><p>I’ve heard (or read?) that the Eskimos Aleuts have forty different words for “snow” because of the various subtleties of their frosty environment. In Washington, they have forty different words for “green”, including “color”, since it the only color present in their foliage. Just different shades of green up here. Well, and blue for the sky, white for the clouds, and brown for the dirt and bark. All other colors are manmade. </p><p>I slept in until 5:50. It only seemed decadent because it was so light out. The temperatures were in the low 50s and overcast, but very still at our campsite. After some coffee and a bit of breakfast, Sheri and I did a short walk. She was warming up for her exercises and I was waiting for the day to get a touch warmer. I had a second breakfast, packed up some stuff, and suited up. I was off a bit before 8 a.m,.</p><p>I wanted to ride the Olympic Discovery Trail, which I was supposed to pick up in Forks, nine miles away. I didn’t see it though and then wasn’t sure where it started. I just rode along highway 101 (two lanes) and it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t horrible. There wasn’t much traffic and there was mostly a good shoulder (except for bridges), but every once in a while a logging truck would come flying by. </p><p>Sheri caught me after I’d ridden 21 miles and I took a short break to eat and talk with her. I wasn’t drinking much and wouldn’t for the rest of the day. The cool temperatures and overcast skies and relaxed pace all worked to diminish my thirst. I will try to do better tomorrow.</p><p>During this stop, I got more information about my Dad from my brother Chris and his daughter Schuyler. It wasn't good news. He is in trouble and is now on a respirator with some organ failure. He's currently heavily sedated for comfort, due to the tube down his throat. They are going to try and take him off this early tomorrow morning. I feel bad about not being there, though there is nothing I could do. I am thankful for my brother being there and my younger sister will be arriving on Friday for a previously scheduled trip. I thought about my dad for the rest of the day. Probably will for the rest of week. The last update had a tiny bit of improvement in his condition, so I'm hopeful.</p><p>I then found the trail, after riding up a dirt road on the wrong side of the highway, I found a sign telling me it was on the other side. Just as I got to the bike path, which parallels the highway but far enough away where you can’t hear or see the traffic, a father-son team of cyclists came by. I was peeing at the time, but I caught up soon and chatted with them. The dad, Jim, an English teacher from Provo was at least my age meaning he definitely looked a lot older. He said he’s had both knees and shoulders replaced. He’s basically a cyborg. Still, he couldn’t keep up with his son James. James lives in Seattle and does something with art-house movies. Apparently, everyone in Seattle doesn’t work for either Microsoft, Amazon, Boeing, or Starbucks. </p><p>ODT crossed over to the other side of the highway and I kept riding with Jim and James. We were going along the north side of Crescent Lake, which is large and beautiful, but I couldn't see it at all as the forest is so dense and we were a ways above it. But we came down right next to the lake for the second half and the views and riding were outstanding. What a fun path to ride: paved, smooth, in the wilderness, and a long ways from any roads. Sheri was on the other side of the lake and I thought she was hiking to a waterfall when I got a text from her saying that she can see me! She was done with her hike on the far shore and could locate me. From at least a mile away, I couldn’t quite find her, though.</p><p>Sheri and I met at what was supposed to be a campsite, but nothing was there. We searched in our phones and found another one three miles away. It cost us $38 for a patch of ground, but it had a clubhouse with chairs and power and a kitchen and it swayed me. After a hot shower (that helped too), I’m sitting in the clubhouse typing this and charging up my phone, watch, headphones, and laptop. And eating some delicious ginger cookies. </p><p>Just as we were checking in, I was pedaling my bike over there, but not clipped in. I got off balance. I then tried to push on my pedal just as I was tipping over and got clipped in by mistake! I couldn’t get my foot out in the split second it took for me to crash into the gravel. Ouch. And embarrassing, as I was hardly moving. On the bright side, my first crash is out of the way and only a few abrasions. I doubt it will be my last, but I hope the next one isn’t much worse.</p><p>It rained as we set up the tent and made me feel better about stopping so early. I was wavering about going on when Sheri encouraged me to take it easy at the start of this trip. That makes sense. I really need to get myself into biking shape. Tomorrow I’ll ride the road bike and maybe move a little faster.</p><div><br /></div>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-83497730796127203562022-05-30T21:54:00.003-06:002022-05-31T21:39:36.783-06:00Bike Across America<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Is3cMMeDrMFqyyswdtUbUFhr4kPdBSKGBe0x4GIoWjcUiM5WB5680kOfMZq3pVRw_2eLA5PkHPZzgedYq4WfXead8Yf_LoJdnowaktrSUy0gqWSlHqrnO_bO093EnXkXU8Dntz2SxeZibg_1j_VrZW_Qy71DvJlIq0iyvo9vgb80Af9zhw/s1976/Screen%20Shot%202022-05-30%20at%208.28.22%20PM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="1976" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Is3cMMeDrMFqyyswdtUbUFhr4kPdBSKGBe0x4GIoWjcUiM5WB5680kOfMZq3pVRw_2eLA5PkHPZzgedYq4WfXead8Yf_LoJdnowaktrSUy0gqWSlHqrnO_bO093EnXkXU8Dntz2SxeZibg_1j_VrZW_Qy71DvJlIq0iyvo9vgb80Af9zhw/w640-h260/Screen%20Shot%202022-05-30%20at%208.28.22%20PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The proposed first section of the ride.<br /><br /><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/y2fZGmfD3LQc8pz37">Photos</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I’ve thought about riding across the US, admittedly very sporadically, since 1984 when a friend of mine did it. I was jealous at the time because I didn’t see how I could do it because it would take so much time. I could have taken a leave of absence, I guess. Or taken a lot of time off between jobs. But I feared being out of work for that long. I wish I had had more confidence back then to live a slightly less conventional life. Alas, I can’t change the past, but I can control my future. </p><p>Due to always working and always saving and because of some past regrets and a bucket list that only grows longer, Sheri and I decided to retire this year — shortly after I turned “forty twenty”. I use that phrase to trick myself into thinking I’m middle-aged and can still keep up with my younger friends. Of course, once we hit the trails that fiction dissipates, but it’s useful to my mindset. It’s somewhat depressing to think that I have maybe ten years left of doing big adventures? Loobster is still going strong at nearly 80, but health isn’t a given. Injuries and diseases happen. Hence, the time to get on with things is now. </p><p>The week I retired, according to Strava, I did 29.7 miles of activity, mostly on foot. Since retirement, my weekly mileage has gone like this: 51.8, 60.2, 116.6, 119.6. The last two weeks reflect the bike riding that I’ve been adding. I’ve done scant few training rides for taking on such an endeavor. You’d think that anyone wanting to ride across America would be so into cycling that they already do it every day. Nope. I’m a fair-weather cyclist and don’t ride in the cold. Or the rain. Or the wind. I hope America doesn’t have any of that in the months of June and July…</p><p>Two months. That’s what I allocated, completely randomly, for this adventure. I know a single person has ridden the breadth of this nation in under eight days, but, one, I’m not that person, and, two, I hope to have a lot more fun than he did. I chose a route across the northern part of the western US because I haven’t spent much time up there. Then my route will take me to states that I’ve never visited. To add a bit more direction to the trip (along with some checkmarks), I plan to hit the state highpoints of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Maryland. I plan to end in Washington, D.C. where I have a nephew. Also, because, embarrassingly, I’ve never been to my nation’s capitol. And, finally, because “Washington to Washington” (WtW) has a nice ring to it. My buddy Mark would appreciate this homage to a good name because the first thing he does after envisioning a trip isn’t the planning or the packing or the training. The first thing he does is to give it a good name. Check!</p><p>This route is over 4000 miles long and has over 80,000 feet of climbing (a remarkably small number for someone that lives in Colorado, as you’ll see). If I allocate 60 days for this and take 10 days for rest and/or weather, I’ll have to average 92 miles a day. Average. That’s 644 miles a week. Every week. I just had my most voluminous week at 119 miles. It reads like a failure waiting to happen. On the other hand, if I can ride every day, it’s more like 70 miles a day and if I ride 7 hours a day — just 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. — I only need to average 10 miles per hour. 10 mph! Now it sounds almost reasonable. </p><p>It’s a big unknown for me. I’ve never tried to ride so many miles every day. I took up bike racing for three years and was really dedicated for one year, which was actually only seven months worth of serious riding. I didn’t approach this kind of mileage. I wasn’t that good either. Maybe I should have ridden more. Will my legs hold up, day after day? Currently, I’m much more worried about my neck and butt. Both have been sore after my training rides. But that’s what makes this an adventure, albeit a tame one: the unknown.</p><p>Tame because I have an ace in the hole: Sheri. She’s game for following me in our Jeep, with all our clothes, food, camping supplies, and even a spare bike. All I need to do it pedal each day without carrying anything more than I would for a long ride from my house. Sheri will run and bike (we have one for her too) whenever it moves her. She’ll break camp, meet me for lunch, and find our next camping spot. Our plan is to camp a few nights and then hit a motel, but we’ll see what works for us. </p><p>In fact, the whole trip will be an exploration of what works for us. The goal is Washington, D.C., but it’s just one of many goals and it isn’t the most important goal. Our prioritized goals are:</p><p><span> 1. </span>Be loving partners to each other.</p><p><span> 2. </span>Have fun.</p><p><span> 3. </span>See new places at a slow pace.</p><p><span> 4. </span>Hit some state highpoints.</p><p><span> 5. </span>Ride as much as I can from Washington to Washington</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Sunday, May 29, 2022</h2><p>Sheri picked our departure date to be the middle of Memorial Day weekend, to hopefully minimize some of the traffic. It should also work out nicely that the WtW ride will start on June 1. To get some exercise before sitting in the car for ten hours, I decided to ride thirty miles to Mead, which is just off I-25 and hence easy for Sheri to pick me up. I did almost all the packing the night before and then finished things off on the morning of departure. </p><p>I was riding before 6:30 a.m. and that made for quiet streets, even on major thoroughfares. Strava found me a nice bike path further north and I had a very pleasant ride, helped by the overall descent and a tailwind. In one neighborhood I saw a fox cross the road with a bunny in its mouth and thought, “We need more foxes in Rock Creek…”</p><p>The pick-up with Sheri went well except that my phone died and when Sheri was a tiny bit late, I wondered if I was in the right spot or not. It was a good lesson. I need to ride with a small power brick and cable so that I can also have a powered phone. Also, I probably should carry my InReach, just in case.</p><p>I loaded my bike onto the open spot on our rack (after fixing the erroneously loaded gravel bike that was already on there) and we were on our way. Our aim was Twin Falls, Idaho for the night, as there was a ride I picked out for the morning. </p><p>Later in the drive, as we crested a rise on I-80, it started snowing. Of course. Everywhere I go this year, it snows. When I told people of my plan to ride across the US in June and July, some people asked, “Won’t it be too hot?” I might regret saying this, but right now I crave heat I’m tired of cold hands and feet. And snow. In Colorado, I can ride in 80-degree temperatures and not feel hot at all (unless the hill is really steep). I know it will be different in the humidity of the east, but riding in the heat is so much easier than running in it. I can carry lots of water and I’ll always have at least a little breeze. </p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Monday, May 30, 2022</h2><p>Everywhere I’ve been this year, it’s been cold. I’m starting to think it must be me. The weekend before I retired, in late April, I drove out to Moab and fought snowstorms over the mountains in both directions. When I retired at the end of April, I immediately climbed Longs Peak. It felt like winter up there and indeed I was in my winter climbing bibs, mountain boots, crampons, ice axe, the full catastrophe. The next day I started towards Yosemite. There I found cold, rain, and even snow. On the return trip home I tried to climb Ibapah in western Utah, but deep snow turned me around thousands of feet below the summit. Shortly after I returned the Boulder area was hit with a big snowstorm that brought down tree branches. I spent a couple of days cutting up the branches in our yard. I hiked up Green in deep snow and froze my feet so badly that I had to come down the road instead of the trail.</p><p>When we arrived in Twin Falls yesterday the weather was 40 degrees, raining steadily, and winds of 30 mph. That’s basically the definition of misery. We drove through some light snow when crossing highpoint on I-80. I’d planned another 30-mile ride for this morning, but the weather was the same. Remember my goals? The one about fun? We loaded the bikes back on the rack and started driving, searching for drier weather in…Oregon? Granted it doesn’t sound like a solid plan, but it was our destination nevertheless. We were headed to the Portland area to visit family and a friend. I need an exorcism to release me from the cold-weather demons rooted deep in my soul.</p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-63364204037291229162022-05-01T05:29:00.007-06:002022-05-29T13:39:01.183-06:00Climbing Mountains In the Grand Canyon<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBKeXitdArnpAasrGEq-oIlJVuimX-gmeZ1g_SxqhbTzYg0B5W8IWb5teECE3Swq4ROq0GKE5lURwrzbA9nreDO4zxBkSqk9BEuYOGTxUYWJmQXcQ-R22mvgzH9VvCGuf5fjVL7pwrE4TcDrXACo5NS5L-rbZqQi6WhHmoL3SQ5eXK4Id0Q/s4032/IMG_9792.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBKeXitdArnpAasrGEq-oIlJVuimX-gmeZ1g_SxqhbTzYg0B5W8IWb5teECE3Swq4ROq0GKE5lURwrzbA9nreDO4zxBkSqk9BEuYOGTxUYWJmQXcQ-R22mvgzH9VvCGuf5fjVL7pwrE4TcDrXACo5NS5L-rbZqQi6WhHmoL3SQ5eXK4Id0Q/w640-h480/IMG_9792.HEIC" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending from Shoshone Point on the approach to Newton Temple</td></tr></tbody></table><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">“The things you think are precious, I can’t understand.”</span></h4><p><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>— Steely Dan, Reelin’ in the Years</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/wy1RxnzJw54kkGZ89" target="_blank">All Photos</a></p><h4 style="text-align: left;">March 25th, 2022: Newton Butte -- <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6882928320" target="_blank">strava track</a></h4><p>The idea of climbing mountains inside of a canyon will put a quizzical look on most people’s faces. It’s understandable. How can there be a mountain inside a canyon? Above a canyon, sure, but inside one? That doesn’t make any sense. Well, that’s mostly true. If the canyon is big enough, I’m talking truly Grand here, then mountains can and do reside within the canyon. In the Grand Canyon, these are called Temples and I’ve been sampling these summits over the last decade or so. </p><p>These are interesting summits. Most of them involve off-trail travel and traveling off-trail in the Grand Canyon is a particularly difficult taste to acquire. I assume some people have acquired it, but it’s still quite bitter for me. Besides sometimes ridiculous amounts of vertical gain, the routes are frequently loose and a bit dangerous. So, we got lots of work to climb crappy routes. It’s not surprising that many of these summits are rarely ascended. So, what’s the appeal? The lure of the summit.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8dBSa37_HzpTFwp0kpdhHyg0U6lHEj4TJlP9PHzNDHWBB6dTaxtulV1Fo58xwqlj4J8gi1AohLdMskAnX_0PLJLXI_2gI9vMp7G7B8JkFI60HQYJ_lxD3h1B-0Mj_YsiTi7m15y3twYjFE03xNnqwGu_YUeNtVHSXIQcD5CzYM6p-a6KXeA/s3290/NewtonButteApproach.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2435" data-original-width="3290" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8dBSa37_HzpTFwp0kpdhHyg0U6lHEj4TJlP9PHzNDHWBB6dTaxtulV1Fo58xwqlj4J8gi1AohLdMskAnX_0PLJLXI_2gI9vMp7G7B8JkFI60HQYJ_lxD3h1B-0Mj_YsiTi7m15y3twYjFE03xNnqwGu_YUeNtVHSXIQcD5CzYM6p-a6KXeA/w640-h474/NewtonButteApproach.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The descent from Shoshone Point</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Mountain climbers look at peaks differently from the rest of the world. It is impossible for a climber to look at a peak and not start tracing out a route to the top; to start wondering how difficult it might be and if it is possible for them. It’s more than the abstract concept of feasibility, though— the draw to be on top is strong and if a climber looks upon a peak often enough, it will be impossible to resist at least attempting it. While the summit is sufficient, the journey provides spectacular 360-degree views the entire time. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3iVE1cGaEV4BvldvYJMd8zVScK-I91SoM2R9J1C8s3FEJC6FQCid5FM0hmiI5VO-kSGWie9BROhfF3sNCN7wvGHHScKGafy14bghgZOGIpgieyCBKhoZ4inCJGRFfUsn7K3JiehnCOUt9fmDYrx7Wtk9hMBq_dNZYZ1-tp7Ds1BeDVAgHA/s4032/IMG_9788.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3iVE1cGaEV4BvldvYJMd8zVScK-I91SoM2R9J1C8s3FEJC6FQCid5FM0hmiI5VO-kSGWie9BROhfF3sNCN7wvGHHScKGafy14bghgZOGIpgieyCBKhoZ4inCJGRFfUsn7K3JiehnCOUt9fmDYrx7Wtk9hMBq_dNZYZ1-tp7Ds1BeDVAgHA/w640-h480/IMG_9788.HEIC" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newton Butte</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The misery factor on these adventures can be quite high. It will likely involve dehydration, cramping, and extreme fatigue. It will definitely involve losing some blood. You will impale yourself on an agave or cactus at some point. The rest of the flora down here is no friendlier. If you dare to wear shorts because of the heat, your legs will look like they were locked inside a burlap bag with a couple of angry cats. There seems to be one plant species in the entire canyon that won’t cut you. We assume it is deadly poisonous.<p></p><p>Our routine for these Spring trips has been to drive halfway after work and then arrive around 11 a.m. on the next day. That leaves time for an “easy” temple. We decided on Newton Butte. This is accessed from Shoshone Point and has no trail whatsoever. I cannot overstate the difference between off-trail and on-trail travel in the Grand Canyon. If you are on a trail in the Grand Canyon, no matter how faint, you are on a paved bike path compared to off-trail travel. Nearly every step we took on this route involved some route-finding. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKVzfxDxNRlvTL52WGJ5-4_VlDMPChSeLSFsvf-hD5q-FmHtIdraAPj1iwSArielXkzRuifCVQuaeCyC2nkvd7Pipa91ncQpEvJBZFi2Qq58FfFEoAJZMV94w93LrmYe3AZXzd2AvAK_RRyN1U6xV4WItxIir8qcwAR4TQ5uU5rBIbITt-A/s4032/IMG_9797.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKVzfxDxNRlvTL52WGJ5-4_VlDMPChSeLSFsvf-hD5q-FmHtIdraAPj1iwSArielXkzRuifCVQuaeCyC2nkvd7Pipa91ncQpEvJBZFi2Qq58FfFEoAJZMV94w93LrmYe3AZXzd2AvAK_RRyN1U6xV4WItxIir8qcwAR4TQ5uU5rBIbITt-A/w640-h480/IMG_9797.HEIC" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the saddle, finally, on the last section of the approach to Newton Butte</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The Grand Canyon is famously composed of numerous layers of rock. Vertical cliffs are interspersed between steep, loose, slopes. We started by descending down one of these steep slopes, trying not to slip and fall, since you’d inevitably put your hand into a prickly pear or a yucca. With so much brush, we had to weave our way down the slope, downclimbing two short steps. We eventually arrived at the top of the sheer 300-foot Coconino cliff. We traversed hard left to a rib that projected out enough and was broken enough to allow us to scramble down it. This is the only way through the Coconino for a mile in either direction. Viewed head-on from the north, it looks ridiculous. But it went with careful route-finding and here we found our first cairns.<p></p><p>The exposure on this descent is real and climbing is probably 4th class with maybe a couple of short sections that were low 5th class. We tested everything, for a single broken handhold could end you. Once down that cliff we got on the relatively friendly, dark red Hermit shale. We quickly descended that to a saddle. Ahead was a significant bump on the ridge. I didn’t want to go directly over it, as it was a significant and non-trivial climb, marked by boulders, brush, and cliffs. I did my best on an unpleasant side-hilling traverse around it, while Derek and Homie went higher. Neither way was great, but on the far side, we were finally able to descend to the saddle below Newton Butte.</p><p>We had come down 1700 feet and had to traverse a half-mile under the south face, until reaching the break in the cliff that ringed the entire butte. We started the traverse low, but then eventually had to make a rising traverse to the base. It was warm when we arrived and the sun beat down upon us. We sought refuge under the huge boulder that marked the start of our route. It was tilted against the wall and we geared up in the shade beneath it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPydDOVd8-GOVuEJYQ0SrA6WCqGP5GoT1T_fQ5D10VkNfM-iu9GQvhskj0cF4I93wZCk5pzJKsar5GzjerkVzCZrypdikfbNoBZQJYZytkwmMCVBDfuMgrebwkRfuSfaQ_1rZa01TaMyJYnP7FvCyjGZp9Jez4LgePmYV_DFXPPmXo52ZwHQ/s4032/IMG_9793.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPydDOVd8-GOVuEJYQ0SrA6WCqGP5GoT1T_fQ5D10VkNfM-iu9GQvhskj0cF4I93wZCk5pzJKsar5GzjerkVzCZrypdikfbNoBZQJYZytkwmMCVBDfuMgrebwkRfuSfaQ_1rZa01TaMyJYnP7FvCyjGZp9Jez4LgePmYV_DFXPPmXo52ZwHQ/w640-h480/IMG_9793.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Derek and I swung leads. I led the first pitch, a very unusual pitch that involved about twenty feet of real climbing and gained about six feet. Yet, it had us fully engaged. A single piton protects moves straight to the left, where the ground falls away quickly. Fifteen feet past the pin, I was able to get in a stopper and a couple of small cams in a tiny, incipient, vertical crack. The rest of the pitch was walking along a flat 3-foot wide ledge. I ran out most of the rope, placing a few pieces of gear, and belayed from a couple of good cams (0.75 and 0.5). Then both Derek and I belayed Homie across this pitch, so that, if he came off, he wouldn’t fall to the ground. Derek then followed and cleaned the gear.</p><p>Derek then led up and right, first on a steep slab and then through a vertical section with a tricky top-out. He followed a right-angling crack above and belayed just above a vibrant agave. I led the next pitch up mostly scrambling terrain to a short, easy steeper section. I belayed on a sandy ramp with the final Supai bulge to go. Derek led this pitch and found some tricky moves in topping out. He had to belay fifty feet back from the edge to find an anchor. When Homie followed he yelled down to me, “This is the hardest climbing yet!” I had just changed out of my climbing shoes and into my approach shoes. I had a toprope, though. Homie couldn’t press out the crux mantle and had to do some deserteering aid finagling, but was quickly over it. I pressed out the two-handed mantle while my shoes scraped for purchase on the smooth sandstone. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDqv2EfyeC5CUmpO9uUbhssPxksf07rpT3TOqAqGhv6WqNUjKjg_bgZlT8RGPXRIBAbdNVgK82VURoPGRCRlQIJuwCPvo2ieJLoCRx6wHwk-BeyJ7JavlEuwD-7nw611kHPTAUsIAxen0RkUaoT7DvhKp717Fy4PjzTRhM1R9GAeoNNGcQZw/s4032/IMG_9801.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDqv2EfyeC5CUmpO9uUbhssPxksf07rpT3TOqAqGhv6WqNUjKjg_bgZlT8RGPXRIBAbdNVgK82VURoPGRCRlQIJuwCPvo2ieJLoCRx6wHwk-BeyJ7JavlEuwD-7nw611kHPTAUsIAxen0RkUaoT7DvhKp717Fy4PjzTRhM1R9GAeoNNGcQZw/w640-h480/IMG_9801.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We found the summit cairn and the signature, brass-box, summit register. We were the first team to climb it since October of last year. The descent proved a challenge, starting with locating the rappel anchor on the south side of the temple. Derek or Homie spotted the red sling from well above. We didn't see an easy way down, so put the rope over a tree and rappelled down. Unfortunately, the rope got stuck pulling it and I had to climb all the way back to the tree to free it from the evil crack in which it had jammed. </p><p>The rappel from the red sling (backed up by Homie) was mostly overhanging and our devices were extremely hot by the time we hit the ground. Pulling the ropes went find this time and soon we were hoofing it 1800 back up the rim. We arrived back at the car just before darkness.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNb1UI0og1Ugmn-Yv57FRfEeGDAM8wQKvNEll6eJ1nDQft0CKEMTik32ScqZhuXuHEaZVQJSst2fKs6xvh4esho55g0ZLkziFPPybZAQV5Xon4FXa1dUzMpkawfECJWCPdj0GDxGaeYwAOz7ZsSpbVkh0s5Js80AO8PfvnYB0LYdQYcKfQw/s4032/IMG_9820.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNb1UI0og1Ugmn-Yv57FRfEeGDAM8wQKvNEll6eJ1nDQft0CKEMTik32ScqZhuXuHEaZVQJSst2fKs6xvh4esho55g0ZLkziFPPybZAQV5Xon4FXa1dUzMpkawfECJWCPdj0GDxGaeYwAOz7ZsSpbVkh0s5Js80AO8PfvnYB0LYdQYcKfQw/w640-h480/IMG_9820.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We drove to Steve’s house, showed, and ate chips for dinner. Well, Derek and I ate chips. Homie had a sandwich. We didn't want to eat our sandwiches for the next day and didn't want to take the time to drive into Tusayan for dinner, preferring to rest and hydrate for the next day's adventure.</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">March 26th, 2022: Dana Butte -- <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6888368175" target="_blank">strava track</a></h4><p>Steve Hawkins is the Imperial Grand Poobah of the Grand Canyon facilities and a good friend to have. His house is a 7-minute walk from the start of the Bright Angel Trail. We were hiking at 6:10, a little after first light.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudmkeL5Sso1-zVYN1taxV7AQfxZHJvX54cGrtAV9QXyqSUVUhsV0of1FnTP-I8N0C4eSMvcPVPxKya5Vpm8t884SNWu41advmNri02Ga1-ICKrndWo5CKz_yYrGrqOB7fwilVGlHIOQEw3iBSiyABEcDFhSu6bY8ldlLfPElH4vyYeQeXEQ/s4032/IMG_9834.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudmkeL5Sso1-zVYN1taxV7AQfxZHJvX54cGrtAV9QXyqSUVUhsV0of1FnTP-I8N0C4eSMvcPVPxKya5Vpm8t884SNWu41advmNri02Ga1-ICKrndWo5CKz_yYrGrqOB7fwilVGlHIOQEw3iBSiyABEcDFhSu6bY8ldlLfPElH4vyYeQeXEQ/w480-h640/IMG_9834.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><br />We hiked down the Bright Angel Trail to Indian Gardens. Here we filled up with water and headed west on the Tonto Trail. 9.5 miles of the easiest walking you can do in the Grand Canyon led us to a dry wash descending from the Dana-Little Dana saddle. We each stashed a liter of water here and then started up the steep, loose slope, headed for weakness in the Red Wall Limestone below the saddle. We beached the thin Muav layer via 10-feet of 3rd-class scrambling and headed hard left to blocky terrain and headed up. The climbing quickly became exposed and Steve, who doesn’t climb much, was feeling the tug of gravity. After I paused working out the crux of the lower wall, Homie and Steve pulled out their harnesses. Derek joined me on the ledge above and we each belayed the other two up.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHn7HBXUawt8YHsCasXkYdM0ofYf689AJ9AOlxZ2msS5YEQd9lOJ5518T1nC9jzpO-IMjJSUtCR2hXaSNYMwWb37ITCIO_DhnhvDXBwIv7NHE9b3Elyby0QrDK_fhiGoFVuc0YXdJAIFcw1DkYi550HVRdc7QYlLufI4TBbT_gQAQ1zHL2A/s4032/IMG_9863.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHn7HBXUawt8YHsCasXkYdM0ofYf689AJ9AOlxZ2msS5YEQd9lOJ5518T1nC9jzpO-IMjJSUtCR2hXaSNYMwWb37ITCIO_DhnhvDXBwIv7NHE9b3Elyby0QrDK_fhiGoFVuc0YXdJAIFcw1DkYi550HVRdc7QYlLufI4TBbT_gQAQ1zHL2A/w640-h480/IMG_9863.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div>Once on the ridge, we could see the daunting, narrow, exposed ridge leading to the crux headwall. The guidebook says that nervous climbers should be short-roped or consider “summit abortion.” We did both. We short-roped Steve across a couple of sections before he tapped out. Physically, it was easy for him, but he was no longer having fun. The strain of the exposure overwhelmed him. He decided to wait where he was, on a flat, relatively wide section of the ridge. I then short-roped Homie up to the base of the headwall, with Derek scrambling along with us.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_c_zuCaKH4_FGiyJ69h5ibiGKf6zZxmyFc0wSmZEvDfmxndVzOvsDoCauVroF1eUJpmB4Rw9tKpFHBVM-KDmJr_vwxw21Lpx7j6DQ-eusBKsLNS5K3Lg_9U2ZVZH6h-i-HmiN-woPrdc_6bB6aKR7v0K4TzKUp-mx8otQXEb3NkXftDdH7A/s4032/IMG_9835.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_c_zuCaKH4_FGiyJ69h5ibiGKf6zZxmyFc0wSmZEvDfmxndVzOvsDoCauVroF1eUJpmB4Rw9tKpFHBVM-KDmJr_vwxw21Lpx7j6DQ-eusBKsLNS5K3Lg_9U2ZVZH6h-i-HmiN-woPrdc_6bB6aKR7v0K4TzKUp-mx8otQXEb3NkXftDdH7A/w640-h480/IMG_9835.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>The headwall is more of a buttress and while rated just 5.4, it starts out very steep and the rock looks suspect. I led the buttress in one long pitch, passing a 2-bolt rappel anchor en route to the summit one-bolt/bush anchor. The rock was a lot better than it looked and frequent big footholds made the climbing very casual. Derek and I just climbed in our running shoes.</p><p>We unroped at the top and walked across the broad summit plateau, aiming for the summit cone. It was a few hundred yards to the top, which was guarded by an overhanging boulder move. This looked daunting, but a key foothold saved the day and we topped out. We were the first ones to climb it since March of 2021 - a year ago. We didn’t linger because we had Steve waiting for us. We reversed back to the buttress and did two single-rope rappels back down to the ridge. I once again short-roped Homie back to Steve, who was happy to see us and even happier to clip into the rope. He’d spent the last hour stressing about the moves he had to reverse to get down. In fact, it wasn’t really a move at all — just a very narrow section of the ridge with fantastic exposure on both sides. Halfway down the ridge he said to me, “I feel a million times better tied into a rope.” Yup. That’s why we use them. I feel the exact same way, though maybe on slightly harder terrain.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrAx69h7spCa6ygM7yH3hpQHXsEMWMoC04TlPfgVnCnLd7J1GqpC2QG-9xNEYJQb5d4kUWGG1zpBlxcuVlG4VaMYBBE-0EkY0ikCku86gNQ8FP-7ChEoD3F6a9ppC3aMXHpHbNMqJ8DC81KUBImxWmw0Il5UNndjS99atd8sRiwRwJhzk9AA/s4032/IMG_9845.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrAx69h7spCa6ygM7yH3hpQHXsEMWMoC04TlPfgVnCnLd7J1GqpC2QG-9xNEYJQb5d4kUWGG1zpBlxcuVlG4VaMYBBE-0EkY0ikCku86gNQ8FP-7ChEoD3F6a9ppC3aMXHpHbNMqJ8DC81KUBImxWmw0Il5UNndjS99atd8sRiwRwJhzk9AA/w640-h480/IMG_9845.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Back at the saddle, I put in a 2-cam anchor and fixed our 8mm 60-meter rope. Derek, Homie, and Steve rappelled down the difficulties. Once down, I dropped the rope to them and downclimbed. </p><p>Descending back to the trail, I was warning my companions to be ultra-careful, as any slip would cause you to put a hand down and that hand would likely land in a bad place. No sooner than these words had left my mouth did I slip and put my arm directly into an agave. I felt no pain and thought that somehow my arm had come across all the plant's spikes. I didn't even pull my arm away for five seconds or more, as I got my feet back under me. How lucky, I thought. Until thirty seconds later when my forearm screamed in pain. It felt like I'd been injected with a toxin. This pain would plague me for the rest of the day. The sharp pain faded quickly and only really hurt if I flexed my forearm. It was many days before my forearm felt normal.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TSJEqfJnCEFhDaU8ZWQGsRmzhTxxk1YELCsjuq0PCNQ7ZxmUOxAlvPmYBXh8TUQzs5RFU-vQN4zQbxlSbAZTV6x-xCk2OY6y0nK7-O0-aAGd5k4nCzSScpHSt2ANxSVoZGu2dGCFCWYal1zr08dfjJ12clnhitiPQPDGakws3D3KnB-sLw/s4032/IMG_9847.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TSJEqfJnCEFhDaU8ZWQGsRmzhTxxk1YELCsjuq0PCNQ7ZxmUOxAlvPmYBXh8TUQzs5RFU-vQN4zQbxlSbAZTV6x-xCk2OY6y0nK7-O0-aAGd5k4nCzSScpHSt2ANxSVoZGu2dGCFCWYal1zr08dfjJ12clnhitiPQPDGakws3D3KnB-sLw/w640-h480/IMG_9847.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Back on the trail, we hiked easily over to Indian Gardens, but just before we got there, Homie decided to peel off and hike out to Plateau Point, a one-mile out-and-back. The rest of us decided that the day was long enough and that we'd just head for the BBQ kabobs Steve had promised us. The climb out of the canyon went smoothly, though I felt each of those 3000 vertical feet.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhlUupZRySGl2FfNJoOaIfiEP-eycFG1iaNwbgoUi-ZJ7F0p6BiZi3Lu75DBj_VrKfm_mbRjoaXUW5bo9ngw-WUdMDaA7PH9y00ECHvjErufqmPrdxkMZiFNIV10QP3B-3_MGqi1LfOoLo_bsotYFsCNGmFU52aR7DrMFQi8ZYiZHlm8nqw/s4032/IMG_9886.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhlUupZRySGl2FfNJoOaIfiEP-eycFG1iaNwbgoUi-ZJ7F0p6BiZi3Lu75DBj_VrKfm_mbRjoaXUW5bo9ngw-WUdMDaA7PH9y00ECHvjErufqmPrdxkMZiFNIV10QP3B-3_MGqi1LfOoLo_bsotYFsCNGmFU52aR7DrMFQi8ZYiZHlm8nqw/w640-h480/IMG_9886.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">March 27th, 2022: Horseshoe Mesa -- <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6893886297" target="_blank">strava track</a></h4><p>Bloodied and battered, we opted for an easier temple on Sunday morning. Steve, ultra-runner extraordinaire, was off for his 21-mile BASK loop and Cathy was down into the Canyon as well. We decided to do Horseshoe Mesa, despite Homie having done it before. This was a significant sacrifice and we vowed to reciprocate with O’Neill Butte on a return trip. This turned out to be the easiest temple I’ve ever done. The route barely involves any off-trail movement and here it was easy. </p><p>We started by descending the very steep and spectacular Grandview trail. We followed this down from 7400 feet to 4800 feet. From there it was just up a relatively easy slope, climbing through a couple of very short (one ten-feet and one 5-feet tall) cliff bands to the final steep wall. The climb is rated 4th class, but it is probably more like 5.5, though not sustained at all. The climbing ascends only about 30 feet with a big ledge halfway up. Derek and I soloed up the climb and dropped a rope to hip-belay Homie to the top. Homie would downclimb using this same method. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9UWGJjR4W_zaRlVNPDnX9CCt-eSYR0JU2MXoqFrQ0nspeHa0zG9nLH4RPmIOwC69ZqpRG6wJKZ0yhFRw1Qcg4syOnFNmDofxaMhlXpm9A0s0plOkxFZoSsM-IPYKgVEoJPn9m0oCt-UFDn80wJq9_EoQz1KyMfuetHDd-ukZoH-GW0RpcWQ/s4032/IMG_9881.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9UWGJjR4W_zaRlVNPDnX9CCt-eSYR0JU2MXoqFrQ0nspeHa0zG9nLH4RPmIOwC69ZqpRG6wJKZ0yhFRw1Qcg4syOnFNmDofxaMhlXpm9A0s0plOkxFZoSsM-IPYKgVEoJPn9m0oCt-UFDn80wJq9_EoQz1KyMfuetHDd-ukZoH-GW0RpcWQ/w640-h480/IMG_9881.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We lingered on top for an hour, just soaking in the views and identifying temples climbed and temples to be climbed. Or at least attempted. Despite seeing quite a few people on our descent down the trail, once on top, we could see no other people. The summit register revealed a summit frequency of once a month. We ate a second breakfast before heading back to rim.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbiPhu38lwDJvN6dKIYtMaxNqru1AfrQKpEXOdxqPIVGcPg8SjgB9sGv2zvNfUkX75fCFcxMV36p9blaf5DjMrr7qDg7EL6Wt8v5v1UE4zU8sSeuN0Z8nj7dYv7NSYxjexfFb8nTGRwVxyEfdN64OvxxI5bqabb2uF4TFBxW66vgcERHofDA/s4032/IMG_9905.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbiPhu38lwDJvN6dKIYtMaxNqru1AfrQKpEXOdxqPIVGcPg8SjgB9sGv2zvNfUkX75fCFcxMV36p9blaf5DjMrr7qDg7EL6Wt8v5v1UE4zU8sSeuN0Z8nj7dYv7NSYxjexfFb8nTGRwVxyEfdN64OvxxI5bqabb2uF4TFBxW66vgcERHofDA/w640-h480/IMG_9905.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Derek was too young to join me on some of the most heinous temples (Buddha, Vishnu) and technical (Zoroaster), so he was scheming how he’d groom a partner to join him. We concluded that Horseshoe Mesa was the most gentle introduction to Temple climbing. It is almost entirely on a trail, involves only 500 feet of off-trail gain, and is solo-able (for confident, experienced scramblers), so minimal gear is required and packs can be light. Plus, it is super fun and offers a great half-day in the Canyon. Anyone doing this still be anxious for more. What’s next, though? You can’t jump right to Buddha, as the shock to the system would kill an average man. Probably O'Neill or Coronado. Then Zoroaster to see if they have what it takes for <i>long</i> day in the Canyon. If all those go well, you're ready to try Vishnu, Isis, or Buddha.</p><p>Back at Steve’s house, we showered and packed up. We decided to head halfway home that day and break up the drive with a climb the next morning.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWJEdnDQgNy82DfRa4WxKjnj8PjQaZ4Mv1lDyczzRSh34l1svVRPPC4ffLO2YPhw7l6soOmoJZPY8hOY5yXBVLPRrR70lO5R3x6EmhXN2rUQlS1jA9yoTgku8T4qmpjBUgA-T6-UKZrrTLlj-MPF4miT_J-QI2SSiQQkivTdhRJMQAiYmOA/s4032/IMG_9911.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWJEdnDQgNy82DfRa4WxKjnj8PjQaZ4Mv1lDyczzRSh34l1svVRPPC4ffLO2YPhw7l6soOmoJZPY8hOY5yXBVLPRrR70lO5R3x6EmhXN2rUQlS1jA9yoTgku8T4qmpjBUgA-T6-UKZrrTLlj-MPF4miT_J-QI2SSiQQkivTdhRJMQAiYmOA/w640-h480/IMG_9911.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">March 28th, 2022: Looking Glass Rock -- <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6898267176" target="_blank">strava track</a></h4><p>Homie, ever the master of finding something to climb, could find summits on the Bonneville Salt Flats. His encyclopedic knowledge of desert summits came in handy. He described this climb as “5.7 with a rappel over an arch.” That sounded like the perfect mini-adventure on the way home. Just a way to ensure that we did something besides sit in the car for ten hours. </p><p>We camped within a mile of the rock. The morning of our climb, while organizing gear, we saw people on the summit. Our rack consisted of a handful of quickdraws, as the climb is completely bolted. We took two 60-meter ropes because the rappel required them, but we climbed on one rope. Derek led us up the climb, which was a low-angle friction climb with two small steeper sections and a crux crack start. The first five feet of climbing are 5.7 and the rest of the climb is 5.easy, especially if you are an experienced scrambler. </p><p>As soon as we topped out we saw two women with large packs doing a mini-rappel that led down to the main draw of the outing: the free-hanging rappel. We wandered around the top for a while, going along the rim and finding various other bolts along the edges, but none sufficient for rappelling down. We returned to the rappel the women were using and found that it was a party of three, at least one of which was very inexperienced since she took quite a while to rappel ten feet. They were all nestled in an alcove with the rappel “hole” below them. They had a mass of tangled ropes at their feet and were still trying to set up the next rappel. None of us wanted to wait for that mess to clear. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1TNNgEXHjivtlra-TgGgMZVEi2PrKlUAwn6W33OlZpk3wThfFubcnZp74B5V2aGIF8DmIHfIpSE0pg9nQ-KPw93rh4FjMz1pJd0DUVEvFszl3kMifDlD6zcvw55J2YVTJjX3k2E_yBvYh1CWCzSXdRd4Ph3vdCUOxPhyJug6eLSUtg2Ojw/s4032/IMG_9915.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1TNNgEXHjivtlra-TgGgMZVEi2PrKlUAwn6W33OlZpk3wThfFubcnZp74B5V2aGIF8DmIHfIpSE0pg9nQ-KPw93rh4FjMz1pJd0DUVEvFszl3kMifDlD6zcvw55J2YVTJjX3k2E_yBvYh1CWCzSXdRd4Ph3vdCUOxPhyJug6eLSUtg2Ojw/w480-h640/IMG_9915.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><p>The leader, a guy, said they would take 35 minutes to do this one rappel and that we could go after them, but before they did “the swing.” This rope swing appears to be the real draw, but I had little interest in swinging on a rope. It reminded me of my early days climbing and people would ask me, “Do you go rappelling?” No, I don’t go rappelling. That’s akin to asking me if I hike down mountains. Technically, yes, I do those things, but only because I haven’t learned how to paraglide or BASE jump…yet.</p><p>We just climbed down the route to the first belay anchor, which was also an ideal rappel anchor. I soloed down and Derek and Homie stayed tied into the rope. We were hiking back to the car fifteen minutes after leaving the summit. The party of three had one person on the ground so far and the second person was just starting to rappel. They had cameras set up to film the swing. We assumed the guy was a guide, but maybe just a more experienced friend.</p><p>Homie told us that people have found so many rattlesnakes at the base of this route, as to make it unclimbable. Now that sounds interesting to me. I wouldn’t mess with those snakes, but it might be fun to see such a collection of snakes. I thought snakes were solitary creatures, unlike the social butterflies of the crocodilians. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAlA0msozIt-aVSXRe60rJWjVgLFkqG3xsjHhqH_KKvZ9K6pcoAAlaxoYDpnxOtAlILJ5jJ8lCu68d424ONxa2dHQpqzCmKeOwPArXNxhX5f40eeBiDKjpxXsem0RaPG9qGU2sWyKEaNK7XupYJ8u322KP-hTA8HmwM4sFyZU6Gh-6v78Fg/s4032/IMG_9910.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAlA0msozIt-aVSXRe60rJWjVgLFkqG3xsjHhqH_KKvZ9K6pcoAAlaxoYDpnxOtAlILJ5jJ8lCu68d424ONxa2dHQpqzCmKeOwPArXNxhX5f40eeBiDKjpxXsem0RaPG9qGU2sWyKEaNK7XupYJ8u322KP-hTA8HmwM4sFyZU6Gh-6v78Fg/w640-h480/IMG_9910.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>This trip was much lower on the misery scale than most of my previous trips. Usually, I need a year for my psychological wounds to heal before I’m ready to contemplate a return. If it wasn’t such a long drive, I’d be back next weekend.</p><div><br /></div>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-44189731658206473952022-01-02T16:56:00.000-07:002022-01-02T16:56:07.981-07:00A Stressful End to 2021<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9Hk07oq8C7eD7_FurAE8hzCuE5JYRUqrTM__wZn1BX7xDSlh59SAh0KHmHaiueAsAye_JcHtwPAYHjfM74CTjtZPzuzc6TKNJ-k-eqQQdeHrhSR_dW31t5uvW2fZrR0sk4DBecOxNCUHkKOT522VfzRzKI3ZTIGwW0LFb4W-fsEbDowFwAA=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9Hk07oq8C7eD7_FurAE8hzCuE5JYRUqrTM__wZn1BX7xDSlh59SAh0KHmHaiueAsAye_JcHtwPAYHjfM74CTjtZPzuzc6TKNJ-k-eqQQdeHrhSR_dW31t5uvW2fZrR0sk4DBecOxNCUHkKOT522VfzRzKI3ZTIGwW0LFb4W-fsEbDowFwAA=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/Yc3m1eJxYWWE9f7YA">Photos</a></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Thursday, December 30th</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At 7 a.m. I noticed that my Alexa device signaled it had a notification. I asked her (it?) what it was and she responded, “There is a high wind warning for Superior from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. today.” Hmmm, I thought, I should get out for my exercise early today. Like now. I did not.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At 8:09 I sent a text to Stefan:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">Headed to Green (Mountain) but could be talked into your circuit (he scrambled the Second Flatiron to the First Flatiron the day before) from yesterday. Pretty windy out.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was a “First Day” for Stefan, meaning a calendar day in which he had not already climbed the First Flatiron. He was close to “gridding” the First Flatiron, which means climbing it all 366 days of the calendar (over many years). Since it was a First Day, he was quite motivated to climb it despite the strong winds. He responded that he was an hour away from getting there so that I should just do my thing.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I selected Green Mountain because the entire loop would be in the trees and hopefully somewhat sheltered. Driving up Baseline to the Gregory Canyon parking lot, not a single traffic signal was working, including the ones at the 36 off-ramp and the Baseline/Broadway junction. I texted Sheri, jokingly, that if I didn’t return in a timely manner, likely a tree fell on me.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I did the loop without incident. It was extremely windy, but I was mostly sheltered and I’m used to high winds. I saw my buddy Big Bad Brad on the summit and we trotted down to the Ranger Trail junction together. He was doing a much bigger loop down Bear Canyon, so we parted ways there and I went down Ranger to Gregory Canyon.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I finished up, hopped in my car, drove home, took a shower, and was reading my book when I got a text from Stefan at 10:37 a.m.:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">trapped by the wind on the down climb. gonna have to wait it out. temps ok.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I didn’t see it right away, but responded at 10:50 a.m.:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">Yikes! Let me know if you need a rescue. Crazy wind out there. I could come up there with a rope and a couple of harnesses.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At 11:43 a.m. Stefan responds:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">shit yes, feet numb, wind worse. dunno how to get here tho</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Me:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">Okay. On my way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Stefan:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">East face was fine. Southwest down climb is nuts. I think u need 2 summit? Downclimb impossible.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Me:</p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">Got you</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Stefan:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">shit, it’s gonna be dangerous man. Wind supposed to decrease in two hours.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The winds would not decrease in two hours or four hours or six hours. Alexa said it was going to be high winds until 5 p.m. When I went to bed that night at 10 p.m. the winds were still howling, but this day was just getting started.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I sent Stefan a text at 11:47</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">Driving now</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">He responded:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">dunno if it is even doable</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">As I crested the high point of Rock Creek Boulevard, I saw the wall of smoke coming from the west on Marshall Road. As I drove through the dense smoke, barely able to see, I called Sheri and told her about the fire. Visibility due to the smoke was limited until I topped the hill on highway 36. I could not see any of the flames, as the fire was south of me and over another hill. I knew the fire was significant, but I had no idea how significant it was and put it mostly out of my mind as I concentrated on Stefan.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">As I drove, Stefan’s wife Sheryl sent me this text message:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">I see your text thread with Stef. THANK YOU for trying to help, but please do so ONLY if you can stay safe! Please let me know how I can help.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This message actually didn’t come through on my phone, so I called Sheryl and asked what she said. She then asked, “Can RMR help?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I responded, “No. It has to be me.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">That was a silly thing to say. RMR is awesome and have rescued me three times. But this was a unique situation. Almost no one, besides Stefan, knows the First Flatiron better than I do. I was already on my way and time was of the essence. Stefan had already been trapped for more than an hour and his feet were already frozen. I knew the best way up was going to be Atalanta — one of the shortest and easiest ways to ascend the East Face, thereby staying out of the wind and getting close to summit before hitting the North Ridge, which indeed might have been impassable. RMR would be much slower than me, as I’d solo up this route. RMR as angels of mercy and the best rescue crew in Colorado, but, as Liam Neeson said in Taken, “I have a unique set of skills.” Plus, also like Neeson’s character trying to save his daughter, I was supremely motivated: I love Stefan. We’ve been friends for decades. He’s an inspiration to me and a mentor. Here was my chance to use my skills and show my love. It looked grim and I might not succeed, but I wasn’t going to sit in my house or in my car. At the very least I was going to be below him on the ground. And maybe we would need more help.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Stefan, 12:02 p.m.:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">too dangerous to summit. I can’t get back up. down climb or waiting in the only way.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Me:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">I’m coming anyway. I’ll hike up there and see what things are like.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Me, 12:10:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">Hiking</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was wore a light long-sleeved shirt and a “garbage bag” wind shell, hat, and light gloves. I put on my harness at the car, put a 60-meter rope on my back, clipped a second harness and a helmet to my harness. Why the helmet when I would be soloing? I thought if the wind knocked me off low enough to the ground, the helmet would increase my chances of surviving. But if that was true why not wear it when I normally scramble? I wasn’t thinking everything through enough. I didn’t bring any slings. I just grabbed stuff and went. I should have taken just a couple more minutes to bring some slings…</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There were other people out hiking in this wind, which didn’t seem too pleasant to me, yet I had done the same earlier. People in Boulder are hardy. I was a bit surprised that no one asked me where I was going with the rope. It was clearly insane to go climbing in this wind.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I hiked the entire way. I thought about how slow I was and how Anton or Kyle would be running to Stefan’s rescue. Despite my earlier hubris, there are better people than me. Most of the Minions are better than me. Fitter and faster. I wished I was stronger.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I kept Stefan updated so that he knew help was coming.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Me, 12:32 p.m.:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">At base of First. Headed to Atalanta</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">He responded:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">I think bad idea to summit. you could get trapped on final notch</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Me, 12:47 p.m.:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">At Atalanta now. Going to try for tree (two thirds of the way up the route). I can rap from trees from there I think (this was to imply that I don’t think I’ll be trapped at the tree or below it). Yes, final notch is an issue.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Stefan:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">ok, good luck</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was just in my Topo running shoes and now lamented why I wasn’t in my best scrambling shoes. More failures of not taking just a minute or two more to think. I’d scrambled a bit in these shoes, though. I was determined to be as solid as possible and I climbed slowly and very carefully upwards on familiar rock. The wind was strong but no real issue. I could hear the roar of the wind above, though. At the ridge it was going to be fierce and maybe impossible for me. I reminded myself of Sheryl’s words. Getting blown off the ridge wouldn’t help Stefan. It would devastate him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Me, 12:57 p.m.:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">I’m at tree. About 150 feet below ridge</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Stefan:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">ok</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I crept upwards, fearfully. I was able to traverse a bit towards the summit below the ridge and delay the inevitable a bit longer. Then I was on the ridge and the wind hit me. Brutal, but I was able to hang on. Then a slight lull. I didn’t hesitate and rushed for the notch. Once there I crawled to the summit and dropped into a hole next to the anchors. The winds here were biblical. I know winds. Believe me or not, but this was sustained 100+ miles per hour.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Despite the text messages telling me he was below the summit, I was surprised he wasn’t there. I was strong on motivation, weak on thought. I texted him.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Me, 1:06 p.m.:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">I’m here. On summit.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Stefan:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">wo[(o(oo| (apparently typing was tough)</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Me:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">Where are you?</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Stefan:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">15’ down, just around corner</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I pulled the rope off my back and dropped it into my hole. I struggled to get it untangled and thread it through the anchor, but eventually succeeded and got myself on rappel. Now I needed to get my rope out of the hole and down to the west. But the wind was blowing 100 mph towards the east. I needed slings to coil the rope and clip it to my harness, but I didn’t have them. I’m no RMR.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After what seemed like forever, especially to Stefan, I was able to wad up the rope in one hand, and rappel with my other hand, telling myself how careful I needed to be not to make a mistake. I inched out of my hole and was immediately battered against the rock by the wind. I clung to the rope with my brake hand and hugged the loose rope to my chest. With no hand to push myself away from the rock, I used my legs to push myself west and down. The ends of the rope that were not secured ripped skyward.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Fifteen feet down I came to Stefan, lying in a sloping slot and trying to reach the rope whipping above him. I came down and lay next to him. I handed him my other harness. No words were spoken, as nothing could be heard anyway. He struggled to get the harness on. It was too small. The buckle couldn’t be undone. This was my Tour race harness and really tight on me. Stefan is a bit larger, more muscular, and couldn’t get it on. All the while I’m getting very cold. I couldn’t imagine Stefan’s state. We had to get out of there. I yelled in his ear: “We have to switch harnesses.” He nodded and I stripped mine off and handed it to him. He handed me the race harness.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We both pulled on the harnesses, while holding and sitting on the rope. If it had gotten out of our grasp, we’d have been trapped. We both knew that. I also couldn’t get the harness on. I must be putting it on wrong, I thought. I took it back down, oriented it, probably identically, and tried again. It was stuck on my fat butt. I lay prone, wriggling and struggling desperately, like a Victorian maiden trying to put on a girdle. I was desperate. There was ZERO chance of pulling up a harness after Stefan descended. I’ve done a Dulphersitz (sp?) before. There was ZERO chance of that working for me. I redoubled my efforts and finally got it up to my hips.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Stefan rappelled first. He had trouble getting west and fought the wind and got over the edge, where gravity could now help him. I fed out rope to him until I had no more to give. I let go, praying it didn’t get stuck anywhere. I laid there for a minute and then had to crawl north in my groove to reach the rappel ropes, now directly west of the summit and north of me. Staying on my ledge I grasped them and pulled them towards me. The fact that I could pull the ropes told me that Stefan was down. I now had to get on rappel. I’d pull in a tiny bit of slack to try to feed my device and the wind would yank the rope back. I tried again. And again. And again. My hands were going numb. I didn’t panic, not yet, but I was getting desperate and shaking didn’t help matters. Finally, I got them through the device and wrestled trying to get the loops into my carabiner. I got one in. I got the second in. I checked. I checked again. I locked the biner. I slid off my ledge and extended my legs and was blown hard to the north, against the rock. I hung on and slid down the rope. Once down ten feet, I was good.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Stefan below held the ropes, as I knew he would. If he had let go of those ropes before I got on rappel, the ropes would have been blown over the top of the Flatiron and I’d have been trapped, just like he was.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Once I hit the ground, Stefan staggered over to me. I immediately saw that he was having trouble moving. The wind on the ground was nearly as bad and he staggered against it. As I pulled the ropes through my device, he hugged me tight. Even if words were possible (they were not), they would have been a poor substitute. I couldn’t imagine the suffering he went through for hours up there. His relief, his gratitude, his love, his thanks, his emotion rushed into me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">A mighty pull on the rope didn’t budge it. My puny arm strength was useless against this wind. I cared almost nothing about this rope, so great was my relief to be back on the ground. I’d abandon it without a second thought, despite it being my primary lead rope. It was due to be replaced anyway. Still, I couldn’t help trying, now that I knew we’d both live. I tied a knot in one end and clipped it to my harness and then hiked downhill, toward the trail. My weight and my leg strength was enough, and the rope slowly came down.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">By the time I hit the trail, the rope pulled through the anchor on top, but it did not fall to the ground. It didn’t get hung up either. Thirty meters of 9mm rope flew like a kite, ramrod straight at a 45-degree angle up into the sky. I pulled down every inch of that rope to my feet. Not once did it drop to the ground.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I had sent Stefan on down the trail. He was in bad shape, clearly, and there was nothing for him to do. The lower he got, the more out of the wind he’d be. I was still getting hammered in the wind. With no chance of coiling the rope, I picked it up in a bundle and staggered down the trail until I could find some relief. I caught Stefan and went by him to get next to a large boulder. I coiled the rope here as Stefan continued. Once I had the rope on my back, I caught Stefan again. We could now talk if our faces were close together. He said, “My feet are numb. Oh, and I have Covid.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">He had a buff up over his mouth and nose, to protect me. I wasn’t worried. Any breath from him was immediately blown to Kansas. He then said, “Today wasn’t my smartest decision.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We continued down the trail, cold, but now fine and on our way to warmth. It wasn’t a quick descent, as Stefan was walking on a couple of clubs. Once out of the trees we could see the smoke rising to the east and my thoughts turned back to the fire.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My buddy Homie called me. He asked, “Are you in Superior?” I said no, that I was in the Flatirons. He told me that Superior was being evacuated because of the fire. What?! I called Sheri. She was still in Superior at the Eldorado K8 school. She had left the house before the evacuation order had gone out just to see the fire that I had told her about. She couldn’t go up Rock Creek Boulevard, as it was grid locked.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I sent Sheri a text at 1:44 p.m. telling her that Stefan and I were down. She responded that they just issued an evacuation order for the entire town of Superior. She watched the fire come over the hill and sent:</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px;">It’s getting close to this townhouses. Shit. Shit.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I called Homie to see where he was and tell him that Sheri was still in Superior. Authorities had come door-to-door to evacuate him and his wife. His daughters had already left, but didn’t get far, due to gridlock. It took people 90 minutes to go 1.5 miles. Sheri reported that she was leaving and in the gridlock, going “an inch a minute,” she said. I was worried for her, but there was nothing I could do. All roads to Superior were closed: highways 36 and 93. Marshall Road. I was trapped in Boulder. Sheri and everyone in Superior was fleeing to the south and east, chased by a fire driven by 80-100 mph winds.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I figured I would wait it out at the Starbucks at Baseline and Broadway and drove down the hill, noticing a 2-foot-diameter spruce tree that snapped off five feet above the ground and blocked a side street. Starbucks was closed due to lack of power. I was parked under a swaying power pole. I moved to the parking lot but was then under a swaying light pole. I moved to the middle of the lot and fielded text messages and phone calls about my safety. Superior was burning to the ground and friends and family wanted to know if I was okay.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My Nissan Leaf only had 15 miles of charge left. I needed to charge it before I could go much of anywhere. Homie told me to go to his church, but I couldn’t find the charger there. I headed to the Nissan dealership, as I knew they had a free, fast charger there. I spent the next two hours there, charging my car and watching, on 9news.com, my neighborhood burn. I felt there was little chance any house was going to survive, including mine.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri made it out. My sister and brother both offered their houses in Denver for her to stay, but she didn’t want to drive too far and got a hotel in Arvada. I was flooded to offers for lodging from Tom, Stefan, Kristen, Holly, Chris Weidner, Chris Archer, Ed, Sarah, Bruno, Brad, Brian, Connor, Davin, Jack, Sue, Charlie, etc. It seemed everyone I knew was calling concerned, desperate to help me. I was and still am overwhelmed with emotion at the love and caring of everyone.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Friday, December 31st</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I didn’t sleep well and awoke early. I watched updates on my fast-dying phone at 4 a.m. and decided to head to Rock Creek to see if my house was still standing at 6 a.m. My buddy Tom joined me. We parked at highway 128 and McCaslin — 3 miles from my house and the closest we could get via car. We donned headlamps and made our way down the hill on a trail, creeping into the neighborhood. We dodged cop cars and fire trucks and weaved our way via trail and bike paths and some roads. Most of what we saw was good. All of Rock Creek south of Coalton Road was completely intact. North was a different story, but nearly as bad as I had feared.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It seemed 90% or 95% of the neighborhood’s houses were untouched. But the houses that were touched, were obliterated. Burned so completely that driveways and walkways ended at nothingness. The first house I saw like this caused some cognizant dissonance. I thought I had made a wrong turn. I didn’t recognize the view in front of me. It look a moment to understand I was looking at a lot the once held a two-story house. It was so completely removed that it looked more like an empty lot than a burned house. To be a burned house, there would have to be a house. There wasn’t one. It was as if it had been vaporized. Everything? Sinks? Stoves? Refrigerators? Nothing remained, at least that’s how it looked. Later I realized that a lot of this stuff must just be in the basement.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Some burned lots had cars on them, whether in the garage or the driveway, they looked the same, as no structure remained. The cars were just empty metal husks. Inside the only remains of any seats were the metal wire springs.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We saw one house that was partially burned and it puzzled us how it could be like that. Why didn’t it burn to the ground? What could have stopped it? Then we found a fire hose on the driveway and the answer was obvious. Heroism stopped this fire. Hundreds of bad-ass, honest-to-goodness fire fighters stopped this fire. They couldn’t save Old Town Superior or the Sagamore neighborhood. These were on the front lines and the fire was fed by 100 mph winds. God himself couldn’t have saved those houses. But in Rock Creek and elsewhere these brave fighters took a stand. They saved hundreds of homes, including mine.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The Marshall Fire was a disaster of epic proportions, burning at least 600 homes (at the time of this writing) and maybe more than a thousand homes. Friends would lose their houses, but I wouldn’t. And my closest friends wouldn’t either. Homie was the first house saved on his street. Every single house on the other side of the street was burnt completely away. Only foundations were left. Danny’s house was in a small saved pocket, surrounded by Armageddon. Dan Vinson’s house, in old town Superior, where 600 homes were lost and I thought everything was burned, was saved.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We walked out and headed south to meet up with Sheri at her hotel. After breakfast and a shower, we headed back to Rock Creek. We parked along the side of highway 128 and took roughly the same route back to the house. A blizzard was coming and we wanted to make sure our pipes wouldn’t freeze. We thought we’d turn off the water, open some taps, we weren’t sure. Once there, we plugged in our three space heaters. Between the three of them, we could maintain the house at 54 degrees. Then the snow hit and temperature dropped.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sheri didn’t want to walk back in the storm, so we decided to stay the night. We had no cable and hardly any phone service, but we had food, electricity and water. We were fine. Sheri wore her down jacket, her warmest, insulated pants, and a hat. We were fine, but I was worried about our cars up on the highway and if they would be a problem for plows. Just then Homie contacted me. I told him I was planning to head back to move my cars and he offered to help. Of course he did.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I walked down to Safeway and he picked me up there. Coalton Road was now open and our plan was to move both cars down to here, which we did. I walked back to our house and Sheri fed me dinner. I’m so pampered.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Saturday, January 1st</b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sitting in my house now, in a still abandoned neighborhood, I have some survivor’s guilt. The night before, I was sure my house was gone. Of all the people in Superior and Louisville, I’ve got to be one of the people who could have survived it the easiest. Yes, all the memories and irreplaceable items would haunt me, and I’d likely have to move out of the area, but I have a circle of such giving friends and such a loving, caring family, that I’d have been taken in. I would have been cared for. In the days, weeks, and months to come, I’ll be looking for ways to help my neighborhoods.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today, I awoke to 8 inches of snow on the ground. Our house had no heat, but we had electricity and three space heaters, so our house was 54 degrees and no water pipe damage. Not knowing what to do, I shoveled my driveway and walk. Then I did my neighbor’s. Then my other neighbor’s. Then his neighbor’s . And her neighbor’s. It wasn’t much. It might be nothing at all by the time my neighbors return, but for me, for just this morning, it was something.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We’ve all faced a lot of obstacles this year, or rather last year, now. I forgot completely that last night was New Year’s Eve. I went to bed in my chilly house at 9:30 p.m. My wife remembered, but didn’t tell me, fearing I’d wake her up at midnight to watch the ball drop. But our cable’s out anyway, so we wouldn’t be watching anything. 2021 was rough. At times. It was good at times, too. I’ll cherish the good, mourn the bad, and strive to make 2022 better. What else can we do?</p><p><br /></p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-39159850427527607422021-10-31T18:04:00.004-06:002021-11-01T21:24:38.222-06:00Right Dovetail with Derek<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzvWJ3a5_Y3XZosLAo0DooH6zVKMuiDvPW2HVQJ12eZA1KihrAt2M9PImdYMPvqoOPQd7gnCTNzrKAq8nhdvAfRlHWoRtxM2EhJayVb40ovaF6YXEcjy-oALgM2S7fmICD0jsf/s4032/IMG_8771.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzvWJ3a5_Y3XZosLAo0DooH6zVKMuiDvPW2HVQJ12eZA1KihrAt2M9PImdYMPvqoOPQd7gnCTNzrKAq8nhdvAfRlHWoRtxM2EhJayVb40ovaF6YXEcjy-oALgM2S7fmICD0jsf/w400-h300/IMG_8771.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6194938699" target="_blank">Strava</a><br /><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/13cXwMXgNngzJg556" target="_blank">Photos</a></p><p>I'm on a quest to get my 100th ascent of Longs Peak next year when I have a decadal birthday. To that end, I had a subgoal of getting to 97 by the end of this year (2021) or six ascents this year. I got off to a late start, but then got four pretty quickly. This late in the year ascents are tougher, but Derek and I want to do more alpine/mixed climbing this season in an effort to boost our skills and experience a bit. To start that work, we chose the Right Dovetail. I'd done it twice before and knew it would be reasonable for us and a good route to see where we were at, fitness and skill-wise. </p><p>We took this route a bit too casually and got a late start. After dropping Sheri at the bus stop at 6 a.m. we headed for the trailhead. In Lyons, we found out about the South St. Vrain highway closure and diverted to Estes Park. Driving around that town in the dark, I almost hit a bull elk, coming within a couple of feet. A heavy mist was hugging the ground and I didn't see him until it was too late to do anything. He stood completely still and I passed by without any damage to either of us.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPafay6_E0JdbbBGdHULY4R6GBFAqZ5qyWqCS5UV8rjaKciHZobNzUeX3XcW4KTExvINs2_ZLRkWL_g0KMPy6VqvcNnBnCwlg2SIlZztyiZNsB8PsoKl-PVEN7v6E9QY9sGlRG/s4032/IMG_8768.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPafay6_E0JdbbBGdHULY4R6GBFAqZ5qyWqCS5UV8rjaKciHZobNzUeX3XcW4KTExvINs2_ZLRkWL_g0KMPy6VqvcNnBnCwlg2SIlZztyiZNsB8PsoKl-PVEN7v6E9QY9sGlRG/w640-h480/IMG_8768.HEIC" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above the clouds at treeline</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We weren't hiking until 7:30 a.m. and took it pretty slow. We carried a small rack of single cams to #2, some stoppers, two ice screws, and even two pitons (just to see if we could figure out how to place them). We started in the mist but climbed above the clouds and at treeline were greeted with sunny skies and no wind. It was surreal, especially at this time of year. It wouldn't last.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSN7DPz_ecgJf3hEwiUy8zgsi3ARmsFuWo0oxd3sU2AzL-DhzrmncStJEyr-ag5gUa6je8Hm9IrPHbibzPGNfdXiLbljgTjvtEnnp9dC-fsvKmBre1pDndoReURVoQ3O4RkGM_/s1258/RightDoveTailRouteOverlay.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1258" height="630" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSN7DPz_ecgJf3hEwiUy8zgsi3ARmsFuWo0oxd3sU2AzL-DhzrmncStJEyr-ag5gUa6je8Hm9IrPHbibzPGNfdXiLbljgTjvtEnnp9dC-fsvKmBre1pDndoReURVoQ3O4RkGM_/w640-h630/RightDoveTailRouteOverlay.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>As we approached the route, it appeared to be in great condition, with solid ice in the first 150-200 feet. Most of this ice is low-angle and appropriate for my meager ice skills. We were in the shade gearing up and that, coupled with not moving, quickly chilled us. By the time we put on our crampons, harnesses, and helmets and geared up, we were cold. So, we both climbed in our shells and down jackets. It made movements a bit more cumbersome, but the warmth was worth it.</p><p>I had planned to use my smaller gloves for this route, but my hands were too cold (I have very wimpy hands when it comes to winter temperatures), so I used my <a href="https://www.blackdiamondequipment.com/en_US/product/absolute-mitts/" target="_blank">BD Absolute Mitts</a>. These babies are pretty awesome. They have a 3-finger inner glove that is waterproof and provides dexterity and a down overmitt with a leather palm. They are much more durable than a pure down mitten. I climbed with both on as much as I could and when I got into the mixed climbing or needed to place gear, I pulled off the outer mitts and had them dangle from my wrists.</p><p>We climbed with two tools and used a <a href="https://www.blackdiamondequipment.com/en_US/product/spinner-leash/" target="_blank">spinner leash</a> to attach them to our harnesses. This leash, coupled with the rack, my dangling mittens, and the rope, made for some challenging movement at times. I was awkward and clumsy. I need more practice. Twice I climbed above my tools and then got them stuck below me. Doh. </p><p>I placed two screws on the first pitch. The first screws I've placed in years, which is why I needed to get out training. We brought just a 40-meter rope and planned to simul-climb a bit. This was a stupid mistake, especially for a Gumby mixed climber like myself. When ice climbing and mixed-choss climbing, there tends to be loose stuff and things tumble down. I had to be super attentive so that I didn't bomb Derek with any projectiles. Never again will I try this. In retrospect, this was dumber than I thought I could be at this point in my climbing life. I mentioned this to Derek at the first belay and he was thinking the same thing. I was glad he didn't chastise me further, I was doing fine myself.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxcKCFzjL3_AIUwBp2Th6nwxaatI7BnepTEZPcla7gAzN_GckQXhSbeaa_MLM6WCDtJmty0_MuHn4SO8Y_WBI4aBUspNbpsUNcwfoHjnZ9apvaVNjR99sC6BtYa3tU0KfMK0i/s4032/IMG_8776.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxcKCFzjL3_AIUwBp2Th6nwxaatI7BnepTEZPcla7gAzN_GckQXhSbeaa_MLM6WCDtJmty0_MuHn4SO8Y_WBI4aBUspNbpsUNcwfoHjnZ9apvaVNjR99sC6BtYa3tU0KfMK0i/w640-h480/IMG_8776.HEIC" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derek topping out our first pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Derek led the next pitch, which started with some easy snow, then a tiny patch of ice, before pure rock climbing. Derek was having fun using his tools on the rock. I did less of that and on the upper part of this pitch and the next pitches, I didn't use my tools at all.</p><p>Derek did a great job on his pitch and set up a belay on a sloping ledge. He wasn't excited about the stance, so I moved off quickly on the third pitch in search of a better ledge. Derek was hoping that was going to be just ten feet higher, but each ledge that I came across either sloped or didn't have sufficient gear. After maybe a hundred feet I got to a good ledge and even sat down to belay Derek up.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1xYLG4DO8BsX3avZVkwFThlOBNphB2vanYC66LSh5yK2Dvubv1hJN1uGO4rIk_qE8V5GblNuJW9ckWL8OzxLu-dMgWBXb_ks2GYzbDwLmekJWePShETE3VdUYVISnJZDrNIt/s4032/IMG_8779.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1xYLG4DO8BsX3avZVkwFThlOBNphB2vanYC66LSh5yK2Dvubv1hJN1uGO4rIk_qE8V5GblNuJW9ckWL8OzxLu-dMgWBXb_ks2GYzbDwLmekJWePShETE3VdUYVISnJZDrNIt/w640-h480/IMG_8779.HEIC" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derek at the crux of our second pitch</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After a brief break to drink and eat, Derek led the last easy pitch to the notch in the Keyhole Ridge. Once through this notch, the wind hit us. It was steady, but not ridiculous. We were so well dressed that we remained warm. We stripped and stowed everything but harnesses here and scrambled to the summit. From here to the top, with no reason to pause, we really felt the effects of the altitude. We hadn't been to altitude in a while and it showed. I had to stop and rest numerous times before arriving at the summit. It took us 7.5 hours to make the top.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hCiwhTXg8GXX7xk_xplf5k0jnY9rQRAFTI6Ja7bOi7ETzUSnPhCGp19iwro0TzKlU85UoY6uHZdY8ns6JaI-l3ycKXtSbfFRpL9DOgPaH_hkNwyxT47mf2dd1FOSdY4WGr0e/s4032/IMG_8782.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hCiwhTXg8GXX7xk_xplf5k0jnY9rQRAFTI6Ja7bOi7ETzUSnPhCGp19iwro0TzKlU85UoY6uHZdY8ns6JaI-l3ycKXtSbfFRpL9DOgPaH_hkNwyxT47mf2dd1FOSdY4WGr0e/w480-h640/IMG_8782.HEIC" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the summit after 7.5 hours</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We rested on top for less than 5 minutes before fast-approaching dark clouds prompted us to move. Minutes into our descent it started to snow and then turned to graupel. With our crampons stowed (the right choice), we carefully made our way down slippery talus to the North Face rappels. I found the upper eye-bolt this time. I should find it every time, but in the summer, it is not needed and in the winter, it is buried in the snow/ice. We simul-rapped (because I only brought a Grigri, which was another mistake) from this eye-bolt to just above the usual first belay. We carefully downclimbed to the next rappel anchor. </p><p>We simul-rapped, but came up short of the next anchor. I stopped higher up and lowered Derek down to the next anchor. He clipped in and put his end of the rope on belay. I tied into this rope and then pulled down the rest of the rope. Belayed by Derek, I carefully downclimbed the small inset using chimney technique. I had to descend twenty feet and I made it fine.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IxaqimYQlJon_DNHQVEkXW3eJ_b7lhLwvXiTXqDDSsxcZaTxQKFQBFricJUpejOt8GKlapZu8KS_Q-zwIgjJ-ui2za1hBBaxAeGbmp_ZGZh0HoxPiRv6qzuGMHShGfHioge2/s4032/IMG_8783.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IxaqimYQlJon_DNHQVEkXW3eJ_b7lhLwvXiTXqDDSsxcZaTxQKFQBFricJUpejOt8GKlapZu8KS_Q-zwIgjJ-ui2za1hBBaxAeGbmp_ZGZh0HoxPiRv6qzuGMHShGfHioge2/w640-h480/IMG_8783.HEIC" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making our third rappel on our now-fixed line</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The storm was raging now and I knew I'd have trickier downclimbing below. We had the Escaper with us, but I didn't want to mess with it in these conditions. The rope we were using was old and had some sheath damage. Earlier in the day, we had already decided to retire the rope, so I did something I've never done before. I tied the rope to the eye-bolt and, after rapping its full length, left it behind. Nice booty for the next party on the Cables route.<p></p><p>Descending from the last rappel down to the Boulder Field Camp was tiring, slippery, and dangerous. All the rocks were coated in ice and snow. The snow patches were evil traps that plunged between shin-bashing stones. It took a lot of mental and physical effort to get down to the trail. It should have been easy going from here on out and it mostly was, but we were fading. Our feet hurt and the winds whipped at any exposed skin. Our goggles were essential. We were hot in all our clothes, yet didn't want to stop to shed a layer as that process would have us being cold again. </p><p>The descent was long and tedious but then we came to a revelation: we had less than an hour of daylight left. Our casual attitude had extended to us not bringing headlamps. Mistake number three? Four? Too many. With all the weight we carried the addition of a headlamp would have been unnoticeable. We picked up the pace and went as fast as we could. I'm not saying that was a fast pace, but it was a lot quicker than what I had been doing. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_EgEmMZDKsgrN2qfZLqVndfjSkkedB-Y0BtyCe50Sv6PRbO9aH3gYXZiQIBMbIeI39IN6KD_73oAGt3PYvMOY0qkjPFjK0k0usZmHJJN4oc_5sa4VlcUsu00xhKiLRDHRzMA/s4032/IMG_8787.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_EgEmMZDKsgrN2qfZLqVndfjSkkedB-Y0BtyCe50Sv6PRbO9aH3gYXZiQIBMbIeI39IN6KD_73oAGt3PYvMOY0qkjPFjK0k0usZmHJJN4oc_5sa4VlcUsu00xhKiLRDHRzMA/w640-h480/IMG_8787.HEIC" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking out in the wind and snow</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Once back below treeline, the wind and blowing snow was no longer an issue, though the snow continued to fall. We had fresh tracks, mostly, to the car and arrived just before we needed to use our phones as a light. The snow cover reflected the meager light remaining just enough for us to see. The roundtrip was just under 11 hours. More than two hours longer than I expected.<p></p><p>In the parking lot, we met another party just finishing up an ascent of Alexander's Chimney. They told us conditions were thin there -- mostly rock climbing. Two guys visiting from New York were in the parking lot as well. They were in a rental car and very low on gas. They also didn't know how to use their defroster. We guided them down into Estes Park, right to a Shell station. They were very thankful and it gave us a nice glow to end our adventure. </p><p>This was my 96th ascent of Longs Peak. My third time up the Right Dovetail (with three different partners). My 87th trip over the North Face (most of these are descents). And at least my fifth October ascent. I've now climbed Longs Peak on at least (I don't have an exact date, just the month, for ten of my climbs) 73 unique calendar days (on 13 days of the calendar, I've climbed Longs twice). The month with the least number of ascents (3) is April. The month with the most ascents (21) is August.</p><div><br /></div>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9908744.post-45152580242972278292021-09-20T13:56:00.001-06:002021-09-20T13:59:14.839-06:00The Wright's Fight<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/RQ4FLT5cvHKNf7kX7" target="_blank">Photos</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5989579995" target="_blank">Strava</a></p><p>Three and half years ago, this article appeared in our local paper, written by my friend Chris Weidner. It's about Adam Stack’s Fab Fifteen linkup. The piece did its job. Which was to inspire. What else is the purpose of such a piece? Just to be amazed by an incredible individual? No, not just that.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1alik0WZjnXPUw94jaArgeostrqXt7Rf9-v6rS1YJcWgFo9hcQMk4qDp-toHR9Xh5YI-KZHSjqLgAcb81mEEjXXLLcYg3W5ZLL9pGBMw26AHzAstw0e9yEuiAAIoElhb6gYF/s4032/IMG_8337.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1alik0WZjnXPUw94jaArgeostrqXt7Rf9-v6rS1YJcWgFo9hcQMk4qDp-toHR9Xh5YI-KZHSjqLgAcb81mEEjXXLLcYg3W5ZLL9pGBMw26AHzAstw0e9yEuiAAIoElhb6gYF/w480-h640/IMG_8337.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><p>Adam’s Fab Fifteen was to do five Eldorado Canyon summits, five Flatiron summits, and the five peaks of the Boulder Skyline. What a cool idea. I immediately wanted to do my own version of it. Why not his version? Because he did 5.12 routes in Eldo and that’s too rich for my blood. So, try 5.11, right? No way. That would take all day just in Eldo. So, I decided on 5.10 and mapped out the routes, put them into a spreadsheet with time estimates, and then realized…nope. 5.10 was too hard as well. I had to drop the technical difficulty way down.</p><p>Last year, Derek and I started to train for this, by breaking up the challenges into separate days. After some adjusting, Derek and I decided on these five routes: Bastille Crack (5.8), Gambit (5.8) on Shirttail Peak, Long John Wall (5.8) on the West Ridge, the Yellow Spur (5.9+) on the Redgarden Wall, and Wind Ridge (5.7) on the Wind Tower. We linked all those one day and even threw in Over the Hill (3 pitches, 10b) and were finished at 12:30 p.m. after more than seven hours of climbing. </p><p>Then we practiced the next ten summits. Since it was before August, three of Adam’s Flatirons (Matron, Devil’s Thumb, Third Flatiron) weren’t open to climbing. Instead we did the Fatiron to the Maiden (part of Fab Fifteen) to Freezeway on the Second Flatiron to the Direct East Face of the First Flatiron (part of Fab Fifteen) and then the Red Rocks summit (3rd class). This turned out to be pretty brutal and took us nearly ten hours. </p><p>We gave it one try, but 30-degree temperatures, a biting wind, and a sketchy simul-climb of Gambit in the dark started us out badly and we never recovered. While we completed the climbing routes, we lost our drive to see it through. I put it on my list of goals for this year, but we couldn't try it until at least August because of the bird closures. </p><p>Though Chris’ article clearly calls Adam’s linkup the Fab Fifteen, I took to calling it the Stack Attack, which was Adam’s nickname back when he was sending 5.14d and freeing El Cap. We wouldn’t be repeating his link-up, but creating our own. I called ours the Wright's Fight. Maybe this will start a trend of climbers selecting their own five Eldo routes and maybe even five unique Flatiron summits. I could see Stefan selecting 5.11 routes into the Griebel Grind. Weidner could select 5.13 routes and form the Chris Quest. </p><p>My spreadsheet schedule had us finishing in the wee hours of the morning after more than 20 hours on the move. Since it is a point-to-point adventure, that presents a logistical issue. If I were Danny, I’d have just made myself close the loop via a 10-mile run back to Eldo. Mercifully, I’m not Danny. We dropped a car the night before. </p><p>We got up at 4 a.m. and were headed to Eldo by 4:20 a.m. In the canyon it was surprisingly warm and not too windy. We called an audible and decided to do the Bastille Crack first, as that route, classic that it is, seems to be perpetually queued up. We could have done any of a number of variations on the Bastille, if that was the case, but each would burn precious energy. Turns out, there is no queue for the Bastille Crack at 4:45 a.m. Who knew?</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">1. Bastille</h2><p>I led it as one pitch, placing three Micros. Climbing in the dark is a bit tricky when footholds are tucked into corners. I went slow and solid and placed nearly the entire double rack that I carried. Our rack consisted of one #3, doubles of #2 through #0.3, and a red/gold offset, 11 slings, and three Micros. It went smoothly and we were hiking towards Shirttail Peak before 5:30 a.m.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">2. Shirttail</h2><p>We hiked up in the dark and Derek's headlamp died. It was my headlamp and my fault for not fully charging it. Lights would become a bigger issue much later on. We swapped helmets, as our headlamps were attached to them, and Derek led off into the dark. By the time I started to climb, I could see well enough. Derek did an expert job leading this route as one pitch. He said he was going to be rusty in Eldo, as he hadn't climbed there in a month or more, but it didn't show.</p><p>We had my usual confusion on the descent, but didn't waste too much. I need to learn Tony and Danny's descent off this peak. Back at the base of the Rincon Wall we found a party of three climbers that had approached via headlamps. They saw Derek's light high on Shirttail and were excited about our quest.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">3. Long John Wall</h2><p>Just as we got to the Long John Wall, we saw two climbers headed up the slope towards us. It was Tom and Kirk, out for some early morning cragging. Kirk, a pistol that knows I like volume, jabs at me, "How many pitches have you done so far?", thinking it was zero. When we told him he laughed, thinking I was joking. Then I explained what we were trying to do and he was taken aback. "Wait, were you serious about those two routes?" </p><p>I led LJW as one pitch with three Micros and it went smoothly. At the top I watched Danny Gilbert climb up to join Anton at the Crow's Nest on the Yellow Spur. I yelled over at them, but I'm not sure they heard me.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">4. Yellow Spur</h2><p>I thought we'd hit a party or two on the Spur, but by the time we got over there it was completely free with no other party in sight. Danny and Anton were gone, not that we had any chance of catching those two. I led again, though Derek was poised to take it. One of us had to lead three of these Eldo routes anyway and I am probably a bit more efficient on this route than most. I led it as one pitch, 3 Micros, and took the Robbins Traverse, which I hadn't done in a long time. All good. We were moving well and ahead of schedule.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">5. Wind Ridge on the Wind Tower</h2><p>We descended the East Slabs to the Wind Ridge, where we found Florence struggling to remove the first cam, just ten feet up the route. It was her first rock climb. After watching her struggle for a while we offered to remove the cam for her and we'd return it as we simul-climbed by. She was really nice and thanked me. She couldn’t turn the 5.8 direct start, which is understandable as I think that is a hard move and it's not my first rock climb. I told her about my alternate start to the right (very runout, but good for a follower) and she swung over and climbed that. She was climbing slowly, though, having trouble with another piece. </p><p>Derek started up and was determined to pull the stuck piece so that when he got to the leader, he would be offering a gift for the passage we'd be requesting. All good, right? Not so. Derek made the mistake of giving the stuck piece to Florence halfway up the pitch, so that when he got to them, well off to the side on a big ledge at the top of the short first pitch, and asked if he could climb through, the guy was a bit tweaked. He said, "There are tons of other routes, why do you have to climb this one? I'm trying to teach my friend how to climb." Derek regretted not emphasizing that he had just retrieved their stuck cam. Also, we didn't even climb that close to them and not only didn't hold them up, but increased their speed by allowing Florence to continue up the route, instead of spending lots more time failing to remove the leader's ill-placed cam. When I came by, I immediately said thanks and was hoping to use my line, "You must be the Machine?" Alas, he didn't respond to me and didn't even look at me. He was busy chiding his partner for not organizing the rack as she climbed the pitch. We didn't let this get us down. It was a rare unpleasant encounter. </p><p>At the summit, we caught another party and showed them the way down. They were cool and excited about their climb. It was a great mood changer.</p><p>We were back at the car a little after 10 a.m. Just after arriving there, up walked Wade and Joe. Joe had just nearly onsighted the Naked Edge. He sure had a good partner up there, as Wade has more than 100 Edge ascents, I'm sure. Later Eric "Fiver" Warren passed by. He was headed for Hairstyles and Attitudes (12c). I only know about this route because I have some hardmen (and women) friends. </p><p>We ate some cold pizza, downed chocolate milk and a root beer, and packed for the next leg. We carried two 30-meter ropes, one for leading and the other to help with the rappelling. We carried five cams, seven slings, and two Micros. We left the parking lot at 10:30 a.m. knowing we had probably 16 hours more to go.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">6. Matron</h2><p>We headed up the Old Mesa Trail out of Eldorado Springs. We hiked up to the Shadow Canyon Trail and then a tiny way up the Matron trail where we dumped our packs and geared up. We were both carrying over three liters of water each and didn't want to haul it up unnecessarily. Derek led the Matron's East Face as one pitch in his TX Guide shoes. He carried his TC Pros, but only to lead Devil's Thumb. I just had my TX3s. The start of the East Ridge is really thin and polished. I barely scratched up this section and was glad Derek had already placed the Micro above the opening roof. </p><p>There were extended sections where we were simul-climbing with no gear between us. Yes, the scrambling was easy, but definitely not ideal. We knew the score, though, and climbed accordingly. Perhaps we should have unroped.</p><p>At the summit, we did two rappels back to the ground and descended back to our cache.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">7. Maiden</h2><p>The long hike around and up to the Maiden was draining, as it was pretty warm, but we got some shade in the trees and then hugged the north side of the Maiden and the shade there. Along the way, we were coordinating with Sheri, who was planning to meet us in Shadow Canyon to bring us more liquids and food, and take our climbing gear. She's a godsend and an integral part of the team. Without her help, I probably couldn't have done this.</p><p>At the base, Derek offered me his TC Pros and I took them. Why not? Well, because, despite being a half size larger than mine, they still hurt my feet. But I was more solid with them, so it was worth it. I led the route as one pitch with one Micro (forgot to place one earlier). Despite only a 30-meter rope, I got tremendous rope drag and thought Derek was just climbing slow. He thought the same of me. When Derek got to the downclimb on the Walton Traverse he had no slack and I couldn't give it to him because of the Micro fifty feet below me. I didn't want to downclimb fifty feet, but I offered. Then I suggested he just swing over. We had the Micro in and I was at a solid stance. At first, I didn't think he liked that idea, but then I heard a whoop from below and he yelled, "King Swing!" </p><p>We did the famous rappel from the summit but didn’t continue to the ground. Instead, we reversed the rib of rock back to the west. Once back at the start of the route, we packed our gear and started the complex thrashing up to the base of Devil’s Thumb. </p><h2 style="text-align: left;">8. Devil’s Thumb</h2><p>We first got to the backside of the Fatiron, and then on up on tricky terrain. I had been up there last year with Homie and Derek had climbed Devil's Thumb earlier this year. Devil's Thumb is a prominent tower, located directly atop the ridge forming the east side of Shadow Canyon. The climb itself is quite short, at least the route we did, but it is fierce. I thought the moves here were the hardest of the day. Derek led it super smooth, but I was desperate and weighted the rope a bit. Derek had me on a super tight toprope, so thankfully I didn't lose any ground.</p><p>We unroped and scrambled the last hundred feet to the summit and then back to the pole (a metal pole sticking two feet out of the rock), where we rappelled. We scrambled down to our gear, packed up, and traversed around the north side to drop into Shadow Canyon. This was different from the descent Homie and I did, when we went down to the south of the tower. I hoped it would allow us to give up less vert. It might have been a mistake. We found a fixed, frayed, knotted line and it allowed us to descend steeply and then downclimb a slot to hiking terrain. Once down that, we traversed talus down and west until we hit the Shadow Canyon Trail. Sheri was already staged above us. While she hiked down, we hiked up, meeting each other within five minutes or so. </p><p>Sheri brought us frappuccinos, espresso drinks, chips, candy, water, etc. In return we gave her our climbing gear. She hiked out with more weight than she brought in! We’d do the rest of the summits without any gear, soloing the First and Third Flatirons. After a thirty-minute break, we packed up and started marching. We had a long way to go before our next climb. We left Sheri at 4:35 p.m.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">9. South Boulder Peak</h2><p>We had most of our technical climbing done but we still had to do the complete Skyline Traverse, plus the two Flatirons, so we knew it was a long way to the finish. Still, we were encouraged to have most of the stressful parts done. We started chatting more. I repeated the elements for Derek and he did the US presidents. Then he told me about quantum computing and q-dits, using ytterbium and calcium ions. </p><p>We dropped packs at the saddle and tagged SBP on the out-and-back. We met some nice people on this section and paused to chat a bit. </p><p>SBP went slowly, but steadily and we hit the summit after 5 p.m.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">10. Bear Peak</h2><p>We trudged up towards Bear and suddenly my left thigh was gripped by an extremely painful cramp. My leg was straight, but it wouldn't release. Derek immediately started massaging my leg. I love that he did this without me asking. He saw I was in pain and he knew he could help. What a great partner. He massaged it out and I moved on for just a bit before it happened again. Derek was on it immediately and got it to release again. Afterward I drank some more and ate as much salty food as I had (pretzels and chips). I didn't cramp again, thankfully.</p><p>We dropped our packs again at the junction with the Green-Bear Trail. We tagged and descended slowly. My feet were on fire, they still hadn't recovered from my fast descent on the last Tour de Flatirons stage. I'd develop blisters on the bottom of both feet before we were done.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">11. Green Mountain</h2><p>The ascent of Green was slow, but I was thankful for the smooth, soft surface. We tagged the top at 7:07 p.m. and descended the Greenman Trail to the First Flatiron climbers’ connector trail. We turned on the headlamps before getting to the connector trail. I wanted to descend the Third Flatiron connector trail, but without Homie as my guide, I didn't think I could find it. So, we descended to the First, and then took the normal connector over to the Third Flatiron.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">12. Third Flatiron</h2><p>The Third Flatiron had a surprising amount of action on it. As we approached the start of the route, three climbers, laden with gear, were ascending as well. When I got to them at the start, I asked if they were also doing a night ascent. Nope. They had just got back down and were just retrieving the gear they left there. They had taken all day on the route and were psyched to be back down. Cool. We moved on by and up the route.</p><p>I tried to stick to my regular route, but I didn't nail it. It didn't matter, though, as nearly every part of this great face is nice, secure scrambling. What a great rock. World-class scrambling, to be sure. Early in our ascent, we were hearing noises from above. Calls of "off belay" and headlamps shining. The closer we got the more stress we heard amongst the climbers. We climbed continuously and found the five climbers near the summit. One was on top belaying a second climber and three more were below. We topped out just as the second climber did, tagged the summit, and started down. Strive and confusion reigned in this team, but they seemed capable of getting down. </p><p>We did the usual Southwest Chimney down climb. It was a bit tricky and stressful in the dark, but we took it slow and solid. We then hiked north to the saddle and took the usual climber’s trail down until it branched off to the Second Flatiron. We followed that trail past the base of the Second Flatiron where we found a group (not sure how many) of naked female hikers/scramblers. Yes, naked. Talk about a pick-me-up! I'm not sure if they were out for a full moon (in both senses of the word) scramble of Freeway or if they were just trying to avoid close contact with us. If the former, they were Gilberting the hell out of the start. They were giggling away and having a great time. I think we can all agree, we need more of that in the Flatirons. </p><h2 style="text-align: left;">13. First Flatiron</h2><p>We hiked to the base of the Direct East Face of the First and took a break to eat, drink and check in with Sheri, who was going to meet us again at Realization Point. This is a familiar climb, but at this point in our day, in the dark, it was a daunting prospect. Derek insisted that I lead the way. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to find the route or that he wanted to be behind me so that he could keep an eye on me. We were both solid and, despite our fatigue, really enjoyed the scrambling. Unlike the Third, the First was deserted.</p><p>We climbed down via the Southwest Face. It felt great to be done with all the climbing. No matter what we did from here on out, we couldn't die. We headed west behind the First, towards the First-Green trail, and took the connecting path over to the Saddlerock Trail. We headed up that to Greenman and then down that to Realization Point, arriving at 11:05 p.m. Sheri was waiting for us with Chicken McNuggets, fries, and drinks of all manner. After another 30-minute break, we started the final section. We had three summits to go.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">14. Flagstaff</h2><p>It was only about ten minutes to the top of Flagstaff and Derek led the way, as he would for the rest of the adventure. We separated a bit on the descent and I thought about listening to something on my phone, but I never did. I just put one foot in front of the other. My feet and knees were bothering me and it helped a lot to go slow, so I did. </p><h2 style="text-align: left;">15. Red Rocks</h2><p>We hiked down to Eben G. Fine Park and then took the tunnel under the road to the park formerly known as Settler's Park. Now called First People's Park or the People's Park. We hiked up the hogsback the base of the Red Rocks spire. Homie turned me on to this small scramble. It's a 5-minute diversion and bags you another summit. Once I added it in, I was committed to always doing it. So we did. I switched to my second of three headlamps here. It was already dim, but by holding it in my hand, down low, I could hike with it.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">16. Sanitas</h2><p>Sanitas is just a horrible trail. It's crazy steep, yes, but super rocky and painful on the feet. While the trail has been significantly improved in recent years, it is still unpleasant. Despite this, it is probably the most crowded trail in the entire OSMP system. It was almost a shock to be all alone on this peak, despite starting up at 1:20 a.m.</p><p>I thought I was going pretty well on this ascent, despite Derek hiking away from me. It was okay to be alone. We were just doing what we could to finish this baby off. It took me 46 minutes to ascend Sanitas and I climbed it continuously. I was surprised by how long it took. I was tired, but I didn't feel completely wasted. Turns out, I was. </p><p>Derek was waiting patiently on the summit and we embraced. Adam Stack called this summit the finish and it really is. Yes, you have to get down and if you care about the car-to-car time (I generally do, but on this unique adventure it isn't meaningful) you'll track the time back to the car, but if you make this summit, you've done it. Up until this point, we could have quit or turned around. Now it was done and we rejoiced.</p><p>I sat down for ten minutes to switch to my third headlamp (much brighter) and drink. Then we plodded, slowly and carefully, back down to the car. What day.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Conclusion</h2><p>We finished in 22 hours and 13 minutes. It was nearly 25 miles, 13,000 vertical feet, and involved 55 guidebook pitches. We did just four rappels total. This is the longest adventure I've done in a very long time. It felt great to see this through to the end when it would have been so easy to quit at Realization Point. I never got sleepy and felt okay most of the day. I didn't bonk. I did get tired and a bit clumsy in the end, but I was still moving steadily. The key was that we stayed on top of food and water and we took frequent breaks. And we paced it right: slow and steady.</p><p>Derek was the perfect partner. So solid and calm and good-natured. He carried the heavier rope and the rack. He always carried more weight than I did, led the hardest pitch, and took the lead in the end, when I just wanted to follow footsteps. I'm extremely excited that he was my partner. I don't know how many more of these big adventures I have in me. I'll keep doing them as long as Derek wants to team up with me.</p><p>Oh, and I can finally clear that article off my desk. I won't be tossing it, though. I'll just file it away under "Inspiration".</p><p><br /></p>Bill Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00707153027441710968noreply@blogger.com10