Day 18 – July 4th

Continuing on this dual wheeled adventure, we started out of O’Neil, Nebraska with our hearts set on Blair, Nebraska 131 miles away. As I worked to warm up during the first few miles, I began to mentally prepare myself for a hard day on the bike. After the last couple of days in the saddle, I fully realized that my legs had been overly taxed and I would have to pay the piper. I was pleasantly surprised to find my legs feeling fresh and begging for a challenge. It was as if the fatigue had melted away, and two fresh pistons remained; I took full advantage of the opportunity. Generally Gary and I switch off pulling (pulling is the guy in the front working harder to break the wind while the guy behind drafts and conserves energy) every mile to mile and a half, but today I was feeling so good that I found myself pulling for 3 to 6 mile stretches. I at first didn’t know what to think about this energy or where it had come from, but soon I discovered my answer. Today was the Fourth of July. I was feeding off the energy that this country emanates on the day of its conception. I’m an econ major, and have a deep respect for what this country has accomplished over the last couple of centuries. It amazes me to no end.

And today is our Independence Day. As I rolled along prairie mile after prairie mile, I could not help but reflect upon what this day all entails to me, and the fact that I am riding across such a beautiful country during its birthday. And this country is beautiful; both in scenery and in opportunity. Wow, what a joy to be able to do such an amazing adventure at such an incredible time; the emotions this realization brought to me as I sat in the saddle was overwhelmingly powerful and caused a rush of energy.

4th of July. What does that really mean though? With hours and over a hundred miles remaining, I had plenty of time to reflect upon this question. Nearly 250 years ago men and women, like you and I, ceased shaking their heads in silent contempt and stepped into the light and in one voice stated “No More.” “No more oppression; no more tyranny. No longer will we accept the injustice and raping of our rights and liberty in silence. Freedom is an absolute; a right all humans are entitled to.’ And they put life and limb on the line for that right.

I feel fortunate to have forefathers whom had the courage to demand their liberty be restored. In signing the Declaration, I feel they had to know that they were ultimately sacrificing their property, fortunes, and lives; yet they still willing signed. I have heard it said that there are evil men in this world, but that an even greater evil resides in good men; good men who fail to act in times of injustice and oppression. The type of injustice that our country refused to accept so many years ago and through that denial America was given the breath of life. Today, of all the days, is the one time I think we as a people can cast aside our petty differences and regardless of creed, race, and political views unite as a nation on our country’s holiday. Today is the day we all can stop to reflect upon that honorable title that has been bestowed upon us: American. A title that our forefathers earned and passed onto us, and the title that so many people continue to honor today in hope to pass onto heirs yet born. People that honor that title through their daily lives and the work they do. The soldiers, merchants, labors and everyone who makes this country what it is today. Independence Day is not just a day to celebrate those of our past, but to celebrate the men and women who keep those two pieces of parchment (the Constitution and Declaration of Independence) alive and breathing today. Men and women like you. I would like to say thank you and happy Independence Day to you all.

Our ride came to an end for the day in Blaire after 131 miles of hard earned pavement. The final seventeen miles were especially difficult with the south head wind that we were forced to contend with. It was worth it though. We now are more than halfway to our goal; we surpassed the 1,800 mile mark on our sojourn of 3,600 miles to the Atlantic.

I would also like to say thank you to Brock. Brock, a very close friend of mine, lives about an hour from Blaire, Nebraska and gave up part of his holiday to drive and hang out with a couple of road weary cyclists and a support driver for a couple of hours. It was great seeing a familiar face; my only regret is that I didn’t have more time to spend with him. But I think he understands, and knows that one of these days we’ll get to a game and have plenty of time to catch up. In the meantime, he can practice his skills on Kart and maybe have a chance against me. Though, he should realize, there is not enough time in the world to give him a real shot at finally conquering me. My aim is just too deadly with those shells, hehe.

Day 17 – July 3rd

Christina and I would like to take this opportunity to send our deepest sympathies to the Friedman family during their time of grief. We want you to know that you are all in our thoughts and prayers, and if there is anything we can do please do not hesitate to ask. We love you guys.

Today’s ride began just 5 miles east of Valentine, Nebraska and ended 138 miles closer to our ultimate goal. The ride yesterday was a treacherous journey through the bowels of Hades, and today a leisurely stroll through the Garden of Eden. The wind occasionally made an appearance, but failed to gather his troops for an all out assault like our previous encounter. I believe my prayers to the cycling God were answered; while the elusive tail-wind has still not appeared, after the battle of July 2nd, I have no room to complain about the mild weather that manifested on this day.

Our goal as we set forth today was to make up for the low, but hard earned, miles of yesterday. Moving at a healthy pace of 18 to 20 mph, we soon found ourselves rolling across greener pastures (both literally and metaphorically). The Nebraskan frontier rolled on for as far as your gaze could carry, populated by knee high fields of lush foliage. 30 miles in, I knew we were pedaling in the heartland of America; cornfields began to propagate. While cornfields are not what most people would call a sight of beauty, when you have grown up surrounded by these dark green maize plants, to behold them again after so many years can warm your soul. It makes me feel like I’m on my way home. Home, that one word says it so much better than I can.

Today was one of our best days on the bike, and resulted in the highest amount of miles accumulated on a single day: 138. After such an exhausting day yesterday, to go out and pedal 138 miles was a well deserved surprise. I once again feel that we are back on course to see that expanse of water that remains a vivid vision in our minds eye, and what I believe to be in our destiny. Time will tell, but I feel up to the challenge.

Aside from the fields, the scenery out here was very repetitive. The wildlife was scarce; aside from cows, rabbits, and the infrequent human waving at you like you were a long lost friend. The only other wildlife we encountered had been called upon to meet the Great Biologist; their rotting carapace was all that remained upon the road. Roadkill, no matter the species (rabbit, prairie dog, deer, antelope, cat etc) all smells the same. A gagging stench that brings to mind a beached and bloated carp carcass. Riding by these frequent organisms of death at bike speed, you can’t help but get a few lung-fulls of the aroma. I guess not everything is better experienced upon the bike.

There was one scene of four legged creatures that we were fortunate enough to stumble upon today that I would like to briefly reflect upon. Coming over a small hill early this morning, I noticed off to my left, less than 75 yards away, a small group of horses. Six full grown equines of a very fair brown, tallow hue slowly grazed their way through open pasture. Scattered amongst these proud creatures, were two young colts; yearlings at the most. All legs, these youngsters were caught up with the energy and excitement of being alive and displaying that joy in youthful bursts to awkwardly gallop amongst their elders. You could not help but laugh at the colts as they played, yet struggled to gain mastery over what would become such massively powerful limbs. While uncouth in their use of muscle, you couldn’t help but feel that they nonetheless had a silent grace hidden just below the surface. You could also see that over the next several months that elegance would emerge for them both. This sight and insight may have been the best part of the day.

We disembarked from our pleasant journey a little before five tonight, and all three of us (Gary, Bob and myself) were overjoyed with the miles completed. It was the second longest ride in both Gary’s and my cycling career, and the longest of the trip so far.

Bob has done an amazing job these last few days, always ready to help boost our bodies and spirits with support. This ride would not be the high caliber adventure it has been to date without him. Thanks for all your hard work Bob. I would also like to thank everyone who has offered us kind words of encouragement and support over these last two and half weeks. Even though we may not have the time, or energy, to always respond promptly, please know that your thoughts and words have been greatly appreciated. Thank you!

Day 16 – July 2nd

This morning our plan was to be on the road by 6 am; but like all great war-plans, as soon as the first shot is fired the hard thought-out plans fall to the wayside. Nebraska was having early morning thunderstorms; with eye piercing lightening. Lighting is the one factor that bikers don’t mess around with; it only takes one bolt to end that gamble. By 8:30 am the lightening had moved on, and we were left with nothing but a light rain and some wind. Gearing up for the weather and cooler temperatures, we set out to get wet and start our daily trek; within minutes the rain was pummeling us. Wherever it discovered exposed skin it attacked; like shards of glass being hurled at you. The worst part was when the pebbles of precip plunged into my lips; which in the last couple days have developed small blisters from over-exposure. The piercing pain was hardly pleasant, as each time it struck I was amazed at the shot of pain it created. This was not the worst part of the early ride however. Soon I found myself on a milled road; construction workers had created diagonal striations in the concrete. Riding over these for 9 miles reminded me of biking on old brick roads; your entire body is shaken, jostled, and thrown in every direction. It was absolute misery riding on this destructive road while still battling the rain, wind, and traffic. Thank the Lord above the road raping ended at mile 16. Unfortunately, compared to what was awaiting us the rest of the day, this was child’s play. For the next 65 miles we fought a headwind blowing at 30 to 35 mph. Gary’s and my pace was beaten down to a miserable 9 to 12 mph. Even when we headed down a hill, the best we could do was 16 mph. The wind was ruthless, relentless, and soul sapping. It just would not give us a break in the slightest; it continued its onslaught all day. Mile after miserable mile, I found my determination and attitude at an all time low, and my frustration was quickly mounting. This was a fight with Old Man Wind that I just could not get the courage to fight. Bowing my head in acceptance, I let him have his way with me as I eked along at snail pace. I simply could not find the audacity to battle this relentless opponent; Mr. Wind

And finally I realized he’d done it. The Gusty General, after all our skirmishes, had finally gotten to me. He wasn’t after my body (that would be a consellation prize) instead he wanted to defeat my mind, crush my spirit, and finally banish my tenacity to pedal onward. And he had finally done it. Limping into Cody, Nebraska for lunch I had lost all my cycling confidence and the little pedaling prowess I possessed. My spirits, poise, and speed were all bottom feeder low. The Windy General had me cowering like a school girl in a corner; one more attack from him and my resolve would dissolve and I would be officially defeated; he would finally conquer me. But Wind, in his arrogance, made the mortal mistake that so many mighty warriors of history have made: when the enemy is down they erroneously believe him defeated and fail to deliver the blow de la fatal. He turned his back upon me when I was at my most vulnerable, and from those ashes I was able to rise. I took the opportunity to regroup, re-plan, and most of all look inward for the fiery resolve that he had so brutally quenched. I was pleasantly surprised to find, though the fire was dead, a single spark remained; it only needed a catalyst to start the combustion. Mounting Trek the Trustworthy after a quick meal, I found that desperately needed catalyst staring silently back at me. No longer were the seeds of doubt, defeat, and fear filling my vision; in their stead stood a single entity: Anger. Pure, unabridged, unaltered, Anger. Alone with its fiery power, it needed but a command to begin its deadly onslaught. My former strategy of pleading for mercy from the Mighty Wind soon disappeared as the hunted was replaced by the hunter. No longer would I be a defensive strategist; now it was I who was on the offensive. I knew my steed didn’t deserve to cower at a lowly 9 to 12 mph; it demanded better as should I. Therefore, at mile 40 I strode into battle to trade blows with the contemptuous Wind. It was not a sword, saber, or sidearm that I fought with; nay it was the power filled strokes of the pedals that would defeat this nemesis. For the next 40 miles it was a hard fought battle, the wind was not about to back down, nor was I; not again, not ever. There were advances made on both sides; but slowly my front pushed onward; and a tiny crack in its defenses appeared. It realized I no longer feared it and thus it could no longer feed upon me; it was therefore weakening. Keeping a constant reign of blows ranging from 18 to 21 mph, the battle lasted hours, but it was one I was destined to win. When Sir Wind had the upper-hand he showed no signs of parley; therefore, he would receive none from me. Contentment could not find its hold in me until I stood over Winds still smoking corpse. In this war there could be but one victor. In the end we both realized the same fact; he no longer held sway over me, and my confidence was being resuscitated. I know that I will face this mighty foe again; but for today I remain victorious. Mr. Wind, you have proven the most able of adversaries, and for that I salute you. But I will not bow to you, just as I will never yield to you again. Until our fates cross once more on the battlefield, I bid you ado.

Day 15 - July 1st

Eat. No. Eat. I can’t. Just eat it. I wont be able to keep it down though. You have to eat it or you’ll hit the wall. I don’t care, bring the wall on. Oh just shut up and eat it.

That was the conversation today between my mind and stomach. I knew I needed to eat due to the fact that I am burning through more than 5,000 calories a day. But eating was monstrously unappealing today, probably because the Nebraska frontier was a cycling crematorium today. Between the heat and my intake of mass amounts of fluids to stifle the process of turning my insides into parchment, I just could not stir up an appetite. Every bite I took in my task to consume those needed calories was a torturous compromise between knowing and feeling; I knew I needed it, but I just didn’t feel like consuming it. I like food, but even before this ride started I often found myself forcing the intake of food; I don’t always enjoy the repetitive motion of downing the various forms of energy our meals come in. There is nothing wrong with it, I just feel like it is often a chore versus a pleasure. And since this ride has begun, eating has gone from an occasional annoyance to outright anguish. But, this too is just another lesson of the road. Sometimes you are forced to ignore the pains in a tight thigh, sore back, irritated knee, or even your own signs of hunger, or lack there of; you just have to shut up and chew.

Today’s ride took us over 118 miles of Nebraskan topsoil. The roads were sketchy during portions of the day; road maintenance out here in no-mans land is done in sections of 10 to 30 foot blocks, and where one block ends and another begins there tends to be a crevice. Typically this crevice is filled with a tar like substance to make the transfer from one portion of the road to the next transparent. Unfortunately, the slabs of cement have a tendency to settle, or the tar to deteriorate, and you are left with a sizable crack between each block of road. This creates a very bumpy ride on a road bike; you and your bike are constantly being poured over a series of bumps that send a series of shocks crashing through your upper torso. Every few seconds my bike and I created another ‘thump’ and the pain of the road pulsated through my hands, wrists, forearms and into my weary shoulders. By the time mile 110 rolled around my left wrist was screaming in agony; pleading for some sort of relief from the grueling beast that highway 20 had become. But, unfortunately for my wrist, the only sanctuary in sight was mile marker 118; until then there was no real choice but to grin and bear it. Well the grinning part may be far fetched, but the bearing part was real enough.

One of the best Kodak moments of the day presented its self early in the ride; about mile 30. Rolling into Bob’s haven on wheels, our guru of support pointed out a site that both Gary and I had missed in our single focused goal of arriving at the slice of heaven that SUV has become. Behind us, standing guard over its vast territory of rolling hills, copses of trees, streams of silver, and the numerous animal denizens, stood an ancient ridge of bluffs. The sheared rock faces, hundreds of feet above its own foothills, were bitterly old, yet presented a feeling of youthfulness innocence to them. These pillars of granite like solidarity were immortalized by Mr. Loch when he captured them with his photographic eye. I believe he even posted a picture of the riders with these youthful ancients silhouetted proudly in the backdrop.

The biggest factor of the ride today was the heat; it soared to 90 degrees by 10:00 am and only managed to climb from there. I believe it topped out at a moisture destroying 95 degrees; not a good day to be in the saddle for 6+ hours. There were portions of the ride, when the ever present wind settled down, in which you could literally feel the heat pilfer your hard earned moisture and leave nothing behind but a continuous patch of salt flaking away on your skin. The heat was not content to come at us just from above either; you could also feel the heat radiating off the scalding road. Thankfully, we were off the bikes by 2:30 and settled into our climate controlled SUV. An ice cold beer has not tasted that good, or that well earned, in a very long time; yesterday perhaps.