Last Day

Ending odometer: 453.9
Total miles: 229.8

We awake and hear zippers, low voices at 6:30. I look into J’s eyes and we giggle and go back to sleep. Heaven!

We finally wake up for real around 8. We slowly emerge from the tent and are pleased that we don’t have to scramble to get things packed up and get on the road. We see our group getting up as well and formulate a plan for breakfast in the only open restaurant in town. We walk over and wonder how the bikers are feeling on this last, optional ride. I feel such relief to not be riding today. It’s beyond words.

The breakfast is delicious: it’s served to us hot, instead of plating up in line, and the coffee is flowing. We all finally get to talk uninterrupted and get to know each other better. I think this meal lasts 2-3 hours and we are all full and happy. Eddy wisely states that no matter how much we eat, our bodies are still in high gear and we will have burned all those calories by the time we walk back to camp.

The day moves slowly, but soon it’s time to put our bikes on the van and get our gear ready for the bus back to Whitefish. I am looking forward to this simply because we’ll get to see our trip in reverse. After waiting and one more huckleberry ice cream, we finally pile into the bus and our journey home begins. I snap a picture of the two of us and we notice how tired we look. We are still energized, but exhausted. The bus ride back is quiet, with some oohs and aahs as we see places we were, high trails, rolling hills, beautiful from this vantage point and locked into our memories.



We arrive in Whitefish and shuttle people to their hotels. The goodbyes begin, but our group of 7 still isn’t ready to leave. J and I have a 3-hour drive home, but we still need to eat dinner, so we all decide to have one last meal together. We meet downtown and end up in a very loud bar/restaurant where we can watch highlights of the Tour de France for the day. We eat, drink, laugh, tell stories and decide to attempt to ride together again.



Goodbye new friends. You helped make this trip special, certainly more fun.



We arrive home in the quiet that comes after midnight. We still have smiles on our faces as our bodies are shutting down. We unload the truck, giddy and full of great memories. Was this trip more than we expected? Yes, by a mile. Did it kick our butts, yes, at times, but we persevered. I have never slept so well in a tent, never has a shower been so delightful, never has my body been pushed so far in such a short time. There’s one even bigger accomplishment that I’ve gained from this whole experience: I can lift my bike by myself to hang it from its hook in the garage. I have changed: I truly am strong.

Day 6

Starting odometer: 378

Seeley Lake to Lincoln. 67 miles to go. We sleep until 6:15, and then get up in time for breakfast at 6:30. We have this morning packing stuff down and have our bags by the truck before hitting the food line. Some people left before 6, but in spite of the heat warning (we’ll have to ride in it whether we leave early or not), we’re not hurrying. We leave around 7:45 with Eddy, Anna, and Frank, from Colorado. Frank teaches inmates in prison so they can get their GED, a requirement for parole. Sounds like a very challenging job! As usual, Dwayne is the only one behind us.

We ride back up the same road we came into Seeley Lake on, but continue straight instead of turning up towards the falls. It’s very cool and shady during this section going back through the Swan Mountains. We are feeling fresh and happy. We ride uphill, downhill, constantly around bear scat. We arrive at the first water stop and Eddy gets off his bike and starts dancing around like he’s on a horse, whipping it with the reins, singing the theme song to Bonanza!. Almost all of us join in, laughing at our immaturity. Frank insists that there are words that go with the song, so for the rest of the day, we speculate what those words might be. I think they are “over hill, over dale, across the Great Divide, need a shower, need more power, think I’m going to die”. None of us come up with the actual words, however, I looked them up when I got home and we weren’t even close.

So, yes, the day is starting out fantastic! We exit the mountains and enter a flatter, drier section of Montana. So close to the lushness of Seeley, who would have known that just around the bend there’s sagebrush? The ranch fields are filled with horses and grain. We stop to take it all in. Then we begin the push to Ovando on dusty roads. We are still feeling pretty good. J has left me literally in the dust. The guys surge ahead while Anna and I lag behind. What is my story? Why am I so slow? Did the day off throw off my rhythm? I’m not sure; I think I can see the guys up ahead, but they slowly disappear in the distance.


We cross 200 and ride down the side road into town. Well, isn’t Ovando a great town? There are a handful of buildings surrounding a square that’s more like a circle. I can see town meetings and celebrations of years past going on here. We pull up to the café, complete with a hitching post for horses, aptly called the Stray Bullet. It’s full of charm of days gone by, but has a nice bathroom (thank you café) and delicious huckleberry ice cream. We load up on ice cream, and then Todd and Doug join us.They have been at Trixie’s Bar. Trixie was a roper. They also get some ice cream and seem pretty happy about it.



Now, lunch. We mosey down to the river for one of the most delightful lunch spots of the trip. The water is crystal clear and we are in the shade. I take off my shoes and wade in the water for a little refreshment. We really take our time here and finally push off around 1:45. This next section is all about sunshine, washboard roads, and torture. We stop to get our group back together and Anna announces that her cycle computer reads 104 degrees and, and, and, the sun is going down. Frank does not comprehend how this computer can know so much. I’m just glad it’s going down instead of going up.



We ride and ride down the straightest, bumpiest, dustiest road that seems to never end. We are in the middle of a large flat section and I can no longer tell where we will meet the mountains again. Seems like never. We see very little- a UPS truck kicking up some serious dust, a few dried, flattened unfortunate small animals in the road. Then, we see horses with babies. We’re stopping here. I look at my legs and there’s a line of dirt running down my shins. I announce that I am done with washboard roads. Too bad I have no choice but to continue. We see clouds forming in the distance and all agree that they seem like storm clouds. Better start moving again.


There are two free-range mules hanging out by the side of the road. I know a little about mules: mainly that they are smart and can be mean. I watch to see what happens when the boys go by. The mules start to run away, then quickly turn and seem to charge the boys behind the bikes. Figures. I’m currently riding solo, as Anna is pretty far behind me with Todd. Well, I have some experience with animals, I’ll be fine. I cluck my tongue at the mules as I’m passing, making sure to keep an eye on them. They do the same thing to me and I consider stopping to make nice with them, but decide to keep moving. But, worried about the last crew getting bit in the ass (by an ass!), I stop and get out my camera. I should at least get it on film. Anna doesn’t flinch as she goes by, hardly making eye contact, but Todd wants to make friends. The mules do, but then again, they don’t. The final straw comes with a car kicking up dust as it makes its way towards us. Todd gives up and the mules charge off.



Anna stops with me and the car comes up, carrying two women. I wonder if these locals think we’re lost. Seems to be the case. They ask if we know where we’re going. Yes, up Huckleberry Pass. Anna asks them if they’d like to give us a ride. They smile and drive away. I guess that’s a no. We ride on, stopping to cool off in a creek before hitting the mountains. There’s a mini-water stop at the base of the hills and I’m thrilled to hear the roads on the climb are good and there’s not been much traffic. Yay and yay.



We eat nuts, get water, take photos, and prepare for the 8-mile climb. We can see the roads cut in the hill ahead of us. They seem to be exactly the type J and I trained on. I’m happy. This will not be a killer. We start to climb in a line and in not much time our line is formed based on speed- Eddy, John, me, Frank, Anna. I approach a view of the valley where we just rode and am surprised no one ahead of me has stopped. I stop. Frank catches up and says to me- look at that- we are bad asses! I agree. He cannot stop, however, so he continues to climb. I lag, as I’m worried about a woman left in the rear in such a remote area. Cats, bears, freaks, anything could happen. This is pretty much what happens the rest of the 8 miles. I catch up to J, who agrees with me about Anna, and we ride closer together. Frank goes on and J said that Eddy took off and he hasn’t seen him in ages.


The storm is definitely building ahead of us and it looks like we are going to get wet. Boy, am I glad J talked me out of taking out my rain jacket this morning! We finally arrive at the last water stop, at the top of the hill, at 5:00. Anna arrives and announces that she’s never been through childbirth, but she’s pretty sure it couldn’t be more painful than that. We all laugh and I ponder her statement. Dinner’s supposed to be at 6, but because we’re so slow, they have moved it to 6:30. I do the math, we still have 16 miles to go, and, as usual, it’s not just downhill from here. We had better get going. J is very anxious and he tells me we are not going to be able to wait for everyone.

We start downhill as it begins to rain. Frank pulls over to put on his rain gear. We press on and go as fast as we can. I am a little put out. Our 8-mile climb was all climbing, no flat, no downhill of any kind. This downhill contains an awful lot of uphill. I feel cheated. We are going as fast as we can go and my neck is starting to cramp up. I can hardly turn it to see if anyone is behind us. This downhill quickly turns into flat washboard and we are giving it our all to get it done. I have now overdosed on bumpy. It has become a torture ride and I cannot get my neck in a comfortable position. There are cattle on the road. I send out warm thoughts to them and hope they don’t freak out and run towards me or into the path of my bike. I’m not about to slow down now. I play chicken with a car, as it seems to think that it doesn’t matter if I’m in the cattle guard gate first, they will keep their speed and I zip through before meeting the grill of their Geo.

We turn onto Highway 200 for our last stretch into Lincoln. I have no idea how many miles (or portion of a mile) we rode, but I was done. Done, done, done. I almost start to cry from the pain in my neck (I think it’s more fatigue, in retrospect), but buck up for that last push. I don’t look at Lincoln at all. I feel like a machine, on autopilot. And then I smell steak. The thought that popped in my head will make those of you that have known me as a vegetarian for so long laugh. “Steak! I hope that’s our dinner!” I cruise into the dinner pavilion on steak fumes and suddenly, my neck pain is gone. I’m grubby, smell horrible, am parched, probably cross-eyed, but nothing will get in my way of dinner. I throw down all of my gear as we join the end of the buffet line. I heap my plate full of heavenly delights. Steak! And it’s delicious! I go back for seconds.

Next, map meeting. This is for the *optional* day. I hear all I need to hear in the first line: the first 10 miles in on washboard roads, and it’s a loop, so you’ll ride that section up and back. Ha. 20 miles of washboard road? No thanks. I look at J and shake my head. I’m out! I tell him he can do it if he wants, but there’s no way I’m going.

We have awards and thank the staff for their excellent work, and then it’s back to camp for a shower and bed. The word on the street is that there’s no hot water at the school. Yipee! I’m so disgusting that it’s really not an option to just go without one. I suck it up and have a bit of lukewarm water before it turns icy. Not only is it cold, but also the heads are built for kids, so I have to bend over to put my hair under the stream. Not my finest cleaning, but it will do. J bites the bullet and does the same, then we talk outside the tents, planning breakfast until night falls.



This was my most rewarding day. I feel as if I have done it all. Most importantly, I survived!

Day 5- Day of Rest

Seeley Lake: J and I wake up late, very late. I continue to stay in bed and read as J wakes up later than I do on most days. My body is wondering what's up with all of this inactivity. It's starting to get sore. We take our time, having asked for the latest possible checkout time: noon. We watch some tv, repack our gear in the backpacks, putting the stinky laundry at the very bottom. We have one more big day of riding, one optional day and we're done.

We leave our gear at the front desk and ride our bikes back to camp. There's only a handful of people there and everyone left is reading/snoozing in the shade. This looks like my sort of day. I book a massage for after dinner and it's a slow, sweet afternoon. People arrive back at camp around 1, having spent the morning at Morrell Falls. I have a pang of regret that we didn't join them, but then I remember sleeping in and that regret goes away. We hit a local hot dog/ice cream stand for lunch with Eddy and Anna. I have a huckleberry shake and it's pretty divine.

The rest of the day is much like the morning- we sit in the shade at camp, in a circle swapping stories and talking for the first time to people we have not seen all trip. They are all basically cool people, all coming from different areas with different lives, but we have things in common and enjoy our group time. Especially Ron, from Durango, CO, telling us stories of trying to get rid of pocket gophers. He must have used Caddyshack as a reference. Hilarious!

J and I head out to the lake in the late afternoon for a swim. It's nice to be back out on our bikes to stretch our legs. Then it's time for dinner. Yes, you've guessed it. This has been our day of rest. We did nothing. It was heaven.

Speaking of heaven, dinner was divine! This was one of my favorite meals of the trip. Yum! Then, massage. I have had a lot of massages in my day, but I don't think I've ever been when my muscles were sore. My shoulders take a lot of the brunt of my daily tension and the more tired I get, the more I lean on them on my handlebars. So, they are all sorts of knotted. Every massage therapist spends a lot of time working on my shoulders. In this particular massage, I almost asked her to stop working on them. It hurt so bad I could hardly stand it. But, for the rest of my body it was pretty darn nice. Afterwards, I was a limp noodle. I was groggy and ready for bed.

This night is one of the coolest we've had, as well as being quiet. The tent is starting to feel like home and we are cozy in it.

Day 4

Starting odometer: 335

My journal for this day starts out saying "fun, fun, fun". The morning begins very cool. As it rained overnight, our tent is drenched, but we start packing up and getting ready as soon as daylight reaches the cracks of our eyes. We are sore today, still tired as well, but we were warned that there was little shade to look forward to today, so the earlier the better. Again, we're one of the last people packing up. We already see people hitting the road. Dwayne emerges from his tent and realizing everyone is packed shakes his head and claims, "it's just wrong!" I'm with you Dwayne!

We eat a big breakfast and gab with Eddy and Anna. Eddy points out that we are, in fact the last group in the room that will be riding today. All the other people are staff and a random couple from England we acquired the night before who were heading North on the Great Divide trail, having started at the border of Mexico. They are carrying their gear and I should bow down to them. I have always respected those folks, but now, after 2 days of riding, I think they are crazy/amazing.

Anyway, we're on the road in front of only Eddy, Anna, and Dwayne. Some things never change. The first six miles are once again on the highway and I'm thankful that not many people are out at 7:30 bombing down the road at 80 mph. J is feeling sick and at one point I thought he was going to puke from his bike. These first few miles warm my muscles up and some of the soreness from yesterday is disappearing. We turn onto Holland Lake Rd. and after a short stint on it, turn off and begin to climb. This section is manageable. It's overcast, which is prolonging the cool, thank you, thank you, thank you. J is hanging on by a thread. I'm worried that he won't make it through the day. Eddy and Anna catch us and the boys take the lead, Eddy talking as he rides. This is just the distraction J needs. Either he'll fall apart or will forget for a moment how bad he feels and join Eddy's animation. I think he's doing the latter.

We reach the first water stop and we're a large group for a few minutes. We laugh, swapping quotes from such quality movies as Dude, Where's My Car (What does my tattoo say? Sweet! What about mine? Dude! What does mine say? etc.) and Road Trip. We have exquisite taste. J is just sitting on the ground, so he still doesn't feel the best. From this stop, we continue on a path that was once a road, but is now gated. It's semi-overgrown, but doesn't look dusty, and for this I am thankful. This is my favorite section of the entire ride. It's mainly flat and beautiful. We're pretty closed in on either side, but you can look up and see the mountain tops over the trees. It's like heaven. We stop many, many times. Sometimes to take pictures, sometimes to eat huckleberries, sometimes just because. It's wonderful.

We arrive back on logging roads again and it's starting to warm up. The real climbing begins and we start in a group of 5, but Dwayne must be tired of dealing with our stops and leaves our group. At one point, I'm looking at the side of the road for berries when I spot the mother lode bush. I can't pass it up. J says he'll ride slowly and I can catch up. I'm wolfing down berries with both hands, shoveling in 2-3 at a time. Love that bush (it's probably in flames now).

As it was supposed to be very hot today they have an additional water stopped planned in the middle of the climbing. We have quite a ways to go and everyone gets into their climbing groove. Anna puts on her I-Pod and I ask her what music she listens to while riding. She says it's Eddy's and there's everything from Blondie to Jack Johnson to Queen. Boom. From then on, tackling this hill, I'm singing "Killer Queen". It's also a perfect rhythm for my pedal strokes, so I'm feeling pretty great. J is not. He's quickly lost back behind me around the curves. I see Eddy in front of me and that makes me feel pretty good as Eddy is bad ass. I climb alone for a while, enjoying the stunning view across Grizzly Basin of the glacial wall in the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

I start to get lonely and I'm a little worried about J, so I stop in a nice sized patch of shade. Eddy disappeared around the corner in front of me and J, Anna, and Ed are behind me. Ed is determined to take his time today. He's going at his own pace and does not care how long it takes him. I respect his attitude. I wait for quite a while, then Anna pulls up, looking very thankful to see me stopped. J is not far behind. We talk about the views, then Ed catches up to us and stops as well. We get into a conversation about how working for yourself is the way to go and we learn about Ed's shady past of living on the streets as an alcoholic when he was in his 20's. Now I'm really in awe of him. Here he is 64 and rockin out on a bike. The doctors tell him he shouldn't even be alive. We must have been there for about 1/2 hour when Ed says, I have got to keep moving. We all realize that we also need to keep going and the climb continues.

It gets a little more hot and the climb has lost some of it's charm. Eddy leaves two packs of Gu for Anna in the road on a fallen limb to make sure she sees it. I chuckle at this gesture as I pass it. I keep listening for the sound of laughter as I climb up and around turn after turn. It's still beautiful to the left, but I'd like a snack and a break. I finally get to the water stop and everyone else is not far behind. We take a nice break before tackling a more steep climb. More steep? I'm not liking how this sounds. But, we leave as a group (Carol, Ed, Eddy, Anna, J, and me) and reach a point where we can look out over the Swan Valley towards Seeley Lake. There's smoke across the valley and suddenly we see flames shooting up as well. I had forgotten how the first time you see this it's very disturbing. We take pictures and gawk at the fire for a while.

Things get great: we turn onto a single-track steep uphill lined with beautiful fireweed overlooking Grizzly Basin. The climbing is not hard anymore. We are in awe of the beauty surrounding us. We take our time up this slope and our spirits are refreshed. This is why we came. This is one of those amazing moments in our lives that we will never forget. Mmm. Delicious!

Then the single-track downhill begins. We are still in our group of 6 and J takes the lead, hopping over trees and showing his downhill skills. His discomfort is gone and I can tell he's psyched. I lead the women down and it's a little scary in spots as the drop off to the left is very severe, but we all take our time and I feel confidence in my riding that I have not yet felt. It is so fun! Well, we are being beaten by small pine trees that line the trail. They leave spots of blood on our arms, but we are immune to the pain. We are like giggling school girls, giddy from the rush when we reach the end at the lunch stop. It's 3:30. Is that still considered lunch?

We have smiles on our faces for the rest of the ride (until they are erased by the washboard roads at the bottom) and, yes, we are the last ones to make it to camp, but we ride in as a group and we are on fire! Pleasure radiates from each of us. We can't stop smiling and chattering about the day. I hope everyone else had a similar day or else they are truly missing out.

Tomorrow is a rest day (yay!), so tonight J suggested we get a hotel room. (double yay!) We eat dinner with the group and the van takes us and our gear the 2 miles to heaven. We both get a real shower and hit the grocery store next door for snacks. When we exit the store we see the most amazing sky- a different story in each direction. Different clouds, colors, feel. I wish I could have bottled that beauty.

We snuggle up in a real bed and instantly fall asleep.

Day 3 (Part 2)

So, not only was the river cleansing, but I also felt that it was refreshing, I was feeling grimy, tired, and my spirit had been dampened. Because of the time, J was anxious to get moving (still 8 miles to camp) so we would be there in time for dinner. My enthusiasm lasted until we reached Highway 83, where we would ride on the "shoulder" for about 6 miles. I could see a rider in the distance in front of us and I longed to see them turn off, signaling the end of our ride. Not only were the cars zipping by us at 70+ mph speeds, but a scorching headwind was almost preventing us from moving forward. Are the elements against us? As J knows, I die in a headwind. I think it's all in my noggin, but nonetheless, my energy is sapped and I drag. This is the longest, most torturous portion of the day. I keep thinking: "pie".

We were informed last night that there's a cafe that has delightful pie in Condon. They usually close at 3, but were persuaded to stay open until 6, just for us. This is just the motivation I need. We ride on. Then, my body really starts to lose it. Each rotation is a struggle. I try to distract myself, but we're going so slowly that it's almost impossible to keep looking at the trees, the fields, the mountains that creep by, unending. Finally, a mile from camp, J asks if I'd like to stop. Oh thank god, that means he does too. There's a little pull-out on the side and we coast to a stop, each with a look of torture filling our eyes. I reach into my pack for the most disgusting, melted, twisted mess of a power bar. I rip it open and shove a huge bite into my mouth. Heaven. It's the best thing I think I've ever eaten. I offer some to J. He looks at it with a grimace on his face for a minute, then tears a hunk off. He agrees that this nasty, yogurt and honey bar is like the nectar of the gods. We sip our water and gather our strength to continue.

We see the bright Penske catering truck in the distance and focus all of our attention on it for that last push. And here's where everything is a blur. I recall putting our bikes down, getting our helmets and gloves off. Someone says something about pie across the street, but you better hurry because they stop serving at 6 and it's 5:30 already. J mumbles something about needing a beer. Beer? I think I'd fall into a coma if I have a beer now. Nope, it's pie for me. I stumble over and this I remember: the pies. It's a beautiful glass cabinet filled with 12 different types of pie. Apple, berry, blueberry, cherry, the list goes on and on. I settle with 2 pieces- a blueberry and a 5 berry. One of the waitresses asks me if I want one piece to go. To go? No, I want to eat them both here. But you're too small to eat 2 pieces of pie in one sitting. Oh yea? Watch me. Bring on the challenge. This is the sweetest reward I could have, besides someone booking me a hotel room complete with AC, a real mattress, an endless hot shower with a dry bathmat, and someone to feed me. Well, I'll take what I can get. Brutal day.

When I get back to camp J tells me that dinner is ready in 5 mintues. Yum. I'm ready. Somewhere in here our tent gets pitched (did I help with that?). We make it to dinner and I can't recall what was on the menu, but I do remember going back for seconds. I remember drinking a lot of strawberry lemonade. I remember seeing strawberry shortcake for dessert, but not having any room for it. Maybe later. We are informed that we have a 20 minute break before the bear expert gives us a lecture on grizzly bears. J, as he's faster, gets to take a shower. I continue to sit in my wet chamois shorts reeking of BO and covered with salt. I'm so gross.

The bear dude: Greg Smith, ex Glacier park ranger. I really can't remember any details, but here's everything in a nutshell:
It is not easy to be a grizzly bear.
He said this about 50 times during his talk, so I actually retained that little tidbit. If today hadn't been grueling, and it was based on the faces all around me in the room, we would have been more enthusiastic about his talk. But, as it was, we all felt like we were going to die. The room (we had a dinner hall for a change) was stuffy and hot. People were actually falling asleep at their table. As fascinating as he was, he went 35 minutes over the promised 30 minute speech. For this, I cannot forgive him.

When he finished, we all bolted out into the cooler (but not really) evening air. It was well after nine and I was still wet and gross. That swim wasn't seeming like a good idea now. But, I practically ran to the cabin for the women's shower and did a little dance for being the first one there. Hot shower for me! Ok, it's because everyone else was in camp hours before us and had already seen the inside of the shower, but hey, I needed something to celebrate. Eddy was in the same situation, but luckily he used the men's shower so he didn't have to wait for me.

I may have written in my journal, I may have read a little, but I retained nothing, I was pooped. And that night it rained, cooling off the air. I slept like a baby.

Day 3 (Part 1)

Starting odometer: 272.3

Today is the big challenge. 62 miles and plenty of climbing. We are more eager to get going this morning as we have been warned the heat will be brutal and we will be exposed to the sun. We are jittery and more efficient in the morning packing and eating. Things start out as the rest of the day will go. We are again 2nd to last to leave camp, followed only by Dwayne (Chicago). There are paved roads to begin with and I discover that my seat is slowly sinking as I pedal. We stop to raise it, but have to stop again to get out a tool to tighten it up. I feel as if I'm riding a kids bike, my knees coming up so high and my legs never straightening out. J is anxious to keep going, I can sense his tension. We get back on the trail quickly.

Soon the road turns to dirt and we approach a couple who had a flat and were lucky enough to have Don, the mechanic, show up seconds later. They are on their way in no time. We are climbing at this point as we were expecting. This is exactly the type of forest service/logging roads that John and I spent endless hours riding during our training. This gives me confidence. We jockey with a group of others up the hill. I'm feeling pretty good and J is staying right with me. It's hot already and we're sweating, but still groovin. We take a short stop on a hill because one of the riders has lost her chain and we wanted to make sure she was back in action. This was Anna, from Greenwich, CT. She was good to go and we all started the last push up the hill. Her boyfriend, Eddy, comes screaming down the hill telling us that the water stop is getting close. Boy, he sure has a lot of energy to go back down and climb up again. I think I'd just wait until J caught up to me. No double climbing for me!


The first water stop is at the top and our group was a big one reloading. I discover a hole in the bladder of my hydration pack as I was refilling it that caused a nice drip down my back. Luckily, I have a smaller one in my gear on the truck for the rest of the week. And it's so hot, I don't mind getting a little wet. Don is there too and he offers to show us the "superman" trick on his bike: you hold on to the handlebars and put your stomach on the seat and start rolling, lifting your legs out behind the bike straight back. I don't get a picture of this, but as you can imagine, it's funny and we all joke around.

Then we lose every single inch of climbing we had gained in a wonderful twisty downhill race. We were all in a line at the start, but skill and outright guts allow some riders to pass others: Ed, 64 from California, who went screaming past me looking like he was on a leisurely ride. I, as usual, am on high alert to loose gravel and possible crash and burn situations. But, the wind feels fantastic and I find other riders who are even slower than I am, so I make my move as well. After 10 minutes of joy, we're climbing again. Carol, from California and biking partner of Ed, loses her chain and J helps her out. We are now in a pack of about 10. We ride more or less together, we are pretty fast climbers and pass people, but I'm always getting beat downhill.

The lunch stop is by a natural target range and we all discuss the possibilities of finding joy shooting signs. Never has lunch tasted so good. Someone shares his find of huckleberries and the water holes they have explored. Then we are on the road again for more climbing. Seems like a long day, no? Oh yea, and we're only halfway there. Bear with me because I have a great story at the end.

Next up: the hill of death. We go through some cool land with some shade and flat surfaces. We feel like we're cruising along, no problem. There's some private land in the middle of all of this nothing where someone must have spent a fortune on a nice fence. For what?, we wonder. It's all a mystery. But, so far, so good, until *the hill of death*. This starts out innocently enough. However, it just keeps going and going. We see a bend in the road up ahead. Surely that is the end of the hill. Oh no! This happens to us about a million times during this stretch. It's hot. We lose our comfy shade. At times the air seems to stand still and we are blasted in an oven. Just keep going, I tell myself. After this climb it's all downhill, right? J sighs with each new section of up. Brutal. There's really no other word. And just as we were at the end of our rope, it gets steeper and the terrain becomes more ungroomed. There are gullies, loose gravel, big rocks. Why? I ask myself. Why did this sound like a fun way to spend my vacation? What the hell am I doing out here? Luckily, I think J is having the same thoughts. I tell him, "I don't think I'd say this trip is fun. I'm not even sure it's pretty. I think the best that I'll have to say is that it is rewarding. That is, if I make it." The look in his eye tells me that he's thinking the same thing.

We stop on the steepest part of the hill of death for a breather and some courage. J takes out his map. Um, I think that the water stop is literally around that bend. I've heard this one before, so I ask, how many miles away is it? He says 1/10 of a mile. We think we can make it. Eddy (of and Anna) and Doug (Seattle, WA) are chugging up towards us. As the hill is steep, I try to dissuade them from stopping by telling them the water stop is literally right there. They dismiss my claim and stop anyway, sharing our complaints of a brutal climb. We all decide to go for it and kill it up the hill. And....yep. The water stop was just a few feet away, but just around the bend could be another 3 miles and those head games sure do put a damper on your ride. We get to the top.

Oh. My. God. I can hardly stand and almost fall over trying to unclip (story of my life) twice as the luggage guy winces watching me. I may look like a fool, but at this point, if I had the energy, I could throw my bike off a cliff. I stagger over to food and water. I am unsure I can continue. I voice this and I think people are taking me seriously. But just wait- everyone else coming up the hill looks even more sick than me. Really. Actually Not Looking Good. Several people walk up, lacking the energy to ride and I secretly wish I had walked as well. Todd (Seattle, WA) says that the words he used while coming up the hill would have cost him a buck with his kid, and it rhymes with buck too. Anna arrives looking seriously beat and claims: I'd rather be eaten by a grizzly bear because it would be less painful. Ok. I have to laugh. At least we are all miserable together. By the way, this is mile 45 of 62. Yes, I still have almost 20 miles of misery to go. Oh, those head games.

J looks at me. Can I make it? The rest is downhill, right? Jim looks at me honestly (and I appreciate that): no, there's still some climbing, but it's sort of roller coaster. Nothing like this hill. I chew on that while I cool off. J looks at me and I can tell he's ready to keep going. I dig deep, oh so very deep and decide that I may not be able to walk tomorrow, may not be able to pitch the tent tonight, may not be able to feed myself, but I will try to push through it. I know that there will be a van coming behind us if we need it. Ok. I'll go. Meanwhile, the crew working this trip is worried, trying to figure out how to get so many people off the hill. They are not equipped for so many to sag. We find out later that only 2 people actually sag, the rest ride it out.

Ok. From here on out it's pretty much just J and I. There are some nice downhill sections. I hardly touch my brakes, more out of exhaustion than confidence. I don't think road rash will hurt more than that hill did either. I try to keep my speed up as much as possible so I have to pedal as little as I can up sections. But, we do keep climbing. The van passes us and kicks up some nice grit for our teeth. Oh, it's just like whipped cream on top, isn't it? I hope no animals charge out into the road because I will plow them down. All of my caution is gone and I think we're both a little delirious.

We stop in the shade for a break and a van coming uphill stops to tell us that there's a great swimming hole up ahead: only 2 miles. This I can make. But first, I need to pee. I've been drinking and drinking without needing to go, but now that I'm off my bike, gravity has put it's weight on me. I'm too tired to climb down the embankment by the road. We haven't seen anyone in hours (so it feels), so I tell J to look for bikers and drop trow right there at the edge. J, well, he's a man, instead of looking up the road for a bike, he's looking at me. Instantly I realize my mistake. Right then, J announces panicky, bike, bike, BIKE! The floodgates have opened. It's the Hoover Dam being released. There's no stopping now. My crazed mind races. I see who's coming. This guy will probably wreck and die of embarrassment when he sees not only my bare ass hanging on the side of the road, but also the lake I'm producing. I panic. I jump off the ledge and into the brush below, water spraying everywhere, soaking my underwear, my chamois, my shorts. Oh man. Biker dude yells out "are you ok" as he flies by us. J says yea, very calmly.

When I resurface J and I look at each other. A minute passes. We start laughing hysterically. Classic moment there. And, as gross as it might be, my wet shorts were delightfully cooling in the breeze my bike produced. I think it may have been one of the best sections I'd ridden all day. I took off my shoes and socks at the swimming hole and jumped into the river, glad for a good excuse for wet pants.

Garth, the Kiwi, in his speedo (yes, 71 and still had a body for a speedo) took our picture together in the river. I can't wait to see that one. I'm framing it. It's the day I wet my pants and enjoyed it.