Pedaling Pilgrim Blog Home

Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

What a great start to our day. We were out and getting coffee, breakfast burritos and muffin tops across the street before sunrise. We were exiting the Big Sky Motel and out of Superior MT by 7:15. Last night’s pulled pork with huckleberry bbq sauce was a bit more laxative than we would have liked, but we were comfortable enough with our seats in our saddles as we rode away. Clear, clean, crisp… all was more than good.

In the initial 35 miles, we experienced all forms of terrain. We started on desolate 2-lane Old Highway 10; we picked our way through more Forest Service style roads with cobbles and craters; we enjoyed our first dirt/mud road through alpine forest; and, of course, we hit a private road/dead end that forced us onto I-90. 🤦‍♂️

We’ve maintained our 10-minute rotation approach through all terrain. One rider setting the pace at front that moves us along, but keeps us together; on the flats with no wind and cool weather we can do 13-15 mph for long stretches. The leader also needs to point out road obstacles: big rocks, logging scraps, shredded tires, and the occasional wildlife carnage (today I avoided a raven, a bat, and both halves of a raccoon). The rider in the middle is in cruise mode: often coasting and trying to maintain a close spacing to the lead rider by raising and lowering to affect aerodynamic braking; this is a time to try to relax, though passing on communication to the caboose is also helpful, especially if we’re moving quickly. The caboose then is drafting off the second rider, but it’s a little more elastic and road visibility is more obscured. We take 10 minute turns, with the front rider dropping to the back at the end of their pull and the other two moving forward a position.

At the 35-mile mark, our train was effectively cruising on the I-90. In our third go on the Interstate, I’d say we’re now comfortable, though it’s not our preferred route. But, on the Interstate, when completely in synch, we’re fast and we’re efficient. However, the Interstate is always more stressful: you grip the handlebars tighter to keep the direction locked in; you keep your legs in constant tension to avoid even the slightest lean; your eyes are constantly on the lookout in front and behind to avoid obstacles and prepare for the backwash of wind from any passing trucks. Fast, but not fun.

After a wonderful start, at 10:30 in the morning, Geeto got a flat on I-90. We were out of spare Presta tubes. We were unsuccessful in trying to patch one tube, so Geeto started to work with my Leatherman tool to widen the hole in the rim to accommodate the wider Schrader valve. We were 20 minutes into our stop when Jean pulled over in her mini van with a bike rack on the back. She was headed to Missoula and was happy to carry a bike and its rider on to our destination. It meant Geeto having to abandon the remainder of the day, but Jean was a Godsend that we couldn’t ignore. We said our farewells and Lecy and I continued another 5 miles on I-90 with two of us; our unbreakable 3-strand cord was now compromised.

Lecy and I went on. For whatever reason I felt a need for Abbey Road to carry us through the next stretch, which Lecy promptly and proudly put on his Bluetooth speaker. Shortly after we exited I-90, Lecy got a work call from Cathy somewhere around Mean Mr. Mustard and Polythene Pam; shortly after that Lecy called me from behind to declare he had a flat. We were nearly 21 miles from Missoula. We again tried a few patches and it seemed the third time was indeed the charm. 1/2 mile later, it was obvious the tire was still leaking, causing another towel to be thrown in. A local neighborhood 15-year old (Logan) stopped on his bike to ask if we needed help. We told him of our journey, our current situation, our needs… there wasn’t much he could do but ask intelligent questions and express real interest.

After some minutes, Lecy was phoning an Uber to get him and his steed to Missoula, and the Gypsy rider was left to carry Polly the rest of the way alone. The unraveling seemed very quick. Foiled by the shoddy Trek standard issue tires, my partners were dejected and at the hands of strangers to get them to the next day’s ride. If you’re keeping score at home: Lecy 4 flats, Geeto 3, Gypsy Rider 0.

And then there was one. I felt a sort of responsibility to make a good showing for the team. I rode with a purpose as the day grew warmer; it felt more like a Wednesday afternoon ride at home than a 20-mile stretch of a coast-to-coast adventure. I can’t say I preferred being alone, but I didn’t mind it; somehow it seemed normal, or fated. I’m only sorry that my riding partners didn’t get to experience these same miles (though they only constitute 0.5% of our journey).

The guys made it into the excellent care of the guys at Missoula Bicycle Works. All agreed, the Trek standard tires were never going to survive this adventure. 4 new tires, 5 spare tubes, lots of experiential advice from the guys at Bike Works… everyone imbued with confidence going forward.

We all reconvened at the bike shop, then we made a stop by Adventure Cycling America on our way to the hotel. Adventure Cycling is the Mecca for coast-to-coast riders. The organization maintains all forms of information and support for guys like us; due mostly to my stubborn insistence to do my own thing, I didn’t know they existed when I was planning this journey. Now, I would recommend them as a first stop for anyone researching and planning this type of trip. We arrived 30 minutes after closing, but Jeff stuck around to let us in the museum of cross country crossings. He offered us cold drinks and ice cream and was excited to hear about our adventure. I left with increased confidence, somewhat bolstered by the respect that Jeff seemed to imply; and I felt we had a kindred tribe out there previously unknown to us. I don’t know that we’ll see any of them, but I’m encouraged knowing they’re out there. We also learned that several people on this type of journey choose to MAXIMIZE their Interstate travel opportunities. Europeans are especially encouraged by the wide highway shoulders and seem nonplussed by the 40 ton trucks blowing by at the 80 mph speed limit. I told Jeff I was gobsmacked seeing a lonely travel on the I-90 shoulder two weeks ago as I drove the U-Haul west, but I now understand his plight. Thanks Jeff for the words of reassurance and wisdom.

Tomorrow we have 84 miles to travel to Deer Lodge MT. I’m not sharing a Strava map, because the smart bunch (like Jeff) say we should be using ridewithgps. Geeto deleted Strava from his phone; I’ll probably cancel my subscription. But, it will be 84 miles of continuous but gradual uphill; not particularly alarming after what we’ve been through, but who knows anymore when things seem to always go pear shaped at the halfway point.

I didn’t care much for the Gypsy moniker when Lecy first started to throw it out there. Now, I consider it a badge of honor. When I traveled the Mississippi in 120 lbs of two man plastic kayak with pedal propulsion, I experienced several scoffs and disrespect. When I cruised along past the sea kayakers pushed aside by wind and the canoes bogged with excessive drag, I felt validated. Today, I don’t care if I’m carrying 70 pounds of gear and provisions on a 20 pound bike, I’m confident in my choices and capability. And I’ll be glad tomorrow with my partners resumed confidence in their steeds (which are now sleeping in the office of the Missoula DoubleTree). So, my first playlist addition, a Fleetwood Mac classic: Gypsy

And, I have a second, though not the Gilbert O’Sullivan hit as implied by the post title, this from Blues Traveler: Alone