I'm in Baker City, Oregon, baby!

Sweet! Thanks for all the comments. A little intro to the blog and some notes on Interesting Things:

I want you, as the reader, to get only the most interesting, most titillating bits of this trip. Because I see a lot of nothing even though I see everything. Telling the most interesting stuff makes my trip feel more substantial and hopefully will make me seem like a better writer. With that said:

I'm currently wanting to get away from the computer and stop setting up my blog because I have a date with the gas station. I am literally going to sit at any Chevron or Shell gas station next to my bike until someone talks to me. Then, I'm going to see if I can get a place to stay.

I rode through a thunderstorm today. It hailed for almost 20 miles, most of which thankfully were downhill. That also meant, though, that the rain hit me much harder than it would have normally. I remember thinking to myself: "Ow."

I shouldn't have rode through it, though. I should have stopped the second I saw lightning crack a couple miles to my right. No, I should have stopped when I saw all those bruised and angry clouds from the safety of Sumpter, Oregon's laundromat, where (ironically enough) I was washing my clothes.

Digression: I saved four butterflies at that laundromat earlier that day. They were flapping into the window and clawing at the glass. Some had given up and were just sitting there, barely moving their wings. It must be a really hard concept for an animal to grasp. Windows I mean.

But back to the storm. I always forget one thing. It doesn't matter what I'm doing, there's always one item that I neglect to bring, wash or pack. Today, I forgot to take out my gloves for the storm. My gloves live in my handlebar bag, which was tightly wrapped in a plastic turkey bag so that it wouldn't get wet. In other words, it was completely inaccessible if you're lazy and hope that the storm will let up in the next mile or so. The reason why this is significant: I've had a lot of weird hand/elbow/wrist pains in the last two weeks, but never have I lost the ability to move my fingers. After the rain/hail/wind of today, I could barely make a fist. It was really, really scary.

Other weird hand thing to note: I think I've pinched a nerve in my right hand because I go in and out of being able to feel my pinky and my ring finger. I'm worried that the damage will be permanent, considering the fact that I only have four hand positions on my handlebars and those four hand positions will never become eight or twenty. I tend to get paranoid about this kind of stuff. For a while I was convinced I had testicular cancer. Instead, it was epididymitis, which is not serious at all.

Stupidest thing I did today: Nearing my destination but still in the thick of the storm, I came across a truck weighing station. Every single truck weighing station I've come across so far has been closed and so was this one. But the thing is: the weighing device still works even if the station is closed. So, despite having seen a lightning strike less than a mile from the station, I turned around, got up onto it and weighed myself. The bike and I came out to 308 pounds. It was worth it.

I'm a little dizzy and feel like I've just woken up because I've been staring at this screen for so long. I'll make an effort post regularly. Thanks for reading.

The Bicycle Diaries

Seriously, it's really nice to hear from you guys in the comments. All the encouragement/funny blurbs are nice to read. I'll probably be able to update weekly, so here's a fun statistic to start off this week's update:

Number of times I've bawled my eyes out while riding: 2

The Oregon Roadkill Count (ORC) hit 103 the other day. To celebrate, I lit a candle, ran it over and threw a beer can at it.

I see an incredible amount of roadkill as you can probably imagine. Every day I am treated to a freakshow on the side of the road greeting me as I ride by:

Mangled deer: "Good luck, Will!"
Me: "Thanks."

I entertained the idea that maybe the staggering amount of roadkill was not murder, but suicide. But after seeing a disturbing number of animals right on the yellow line, though, I got the sense that was not the case.

Sometimes, I see some very strange roadkill. Like the other day when I saw a lizard and a raccoon killed side by side in the middle of the road. Something about them looked very peaceful-- almost as if they had been holding hands. Grisly, but peaceful.

Another time, I rode by a deer lying in a ditch that had bulging eyes and its tongue screwed up outside of its mouth. I looked over at a driveway and saw a guy with the exact same expression on his face. I didn't quite know what to make of that.

But the roadkill is seriously everywhere. And you know, with all this good fur and viscera lying on the side of the road gathering dust, I wonder to myself why they don't do something with it. I mean, there are miles and miles worth of intestines between all those furry creatures, just festoon them over the highway, or tie a knot that would let the bodies hang like Christmas decorations. Spell things with them: "Welcome to Fuckville" in skunks, snakes and turtles. Make some cheap costumes for the county fair. Just imagine all those happy tree creatures strapped to the miles of fence post greeting you as you roll into town.

They'd also make for great practical jokes:
"Hey Jeff Takai (a former housemate of mine), I made you some pancakes."
"Thanks Will! These are delicious. And I thought you hated me."
"I do."

Seriously! The possibilities are endless.

But I digress. One particular day, things were really bad. It seemed as though someone had gone over the highway with a giant crop mower and razed every animal in their path. I saw skunks ripped in half, foxes with intestines snaking out of their bellies and possums that seemed to have spontaneously combusted.

Then, as I approached one particularly steep and winding ascent outside of Richland, something caught my eye. When I looked, I saw a tiny creature flailing its arms and legs near the side of the road. It was an infant kangaroo rat or deer mouse, no bigger than two inches. Immediately I stopped my bike, staring at it with my mouth half-open. Then something hit me. I realized I might have to put this animal out of its misery. I was going to have to kill a two-inch baby rodent.

I threw my bike on the shoulder and ran over to see how hurt it was. It seemed fine, besides the fact of course that it was in the middle of the road and acting as if it were in a lot of pain. So instead of crushing its tiny skull, I scooped it up in my hand, ER style, and rushed it over to my bottle of water. I loosened the cap but when I went to give it a drop, it had already died. It had died between the time I picked it up and grabbed my water bottle.

I stood there, my bike gear strewn everywhere and my helmet still on, alone on a long stretch of highway staring at this tiny creature in my hand. I think it was around then I burst into tears. I couldn't handle it. I mean, I've seen a lot of road kill, but I've never had anything die in my hands before, ever. Sobbing uncontrollably, I built it a tiny grave out of rocks. After that, I did the only thing I could do. I got back on my bike and started riding again. I don't know if you've ever tried to ride a bike while sobbing uncontrollably, but it's really hard. Especially when there are semis rolling right by you, one after the other.

Shortly after I buried it, I had to pee. I imagined a hillbilly coming up and yelling at me for crying and pissing on his property. Thankfully that didn't happen.

Anyway, that's the end of my story.

Most people probably want to know other stuff about the trip besides roadkill counts. Here are some Significant Things that have happened:

1. I crossed the Oregon border at the Snake River into Idaho. What a great feeling!

2. Results from the gas station: I sat there for maybe 10 minutes before 3 cool dudes named Vince, John and Mike offered to take me out to dinner. I didn't get housing, but I did get some great company and a meal at an expensive pasta bar. Sweet!

3. I'm currently in Cambridge, Idaho at a public library. Every time I update my blog, it will show where I am in the upper lefthand corner, below my picture. Does anyone know of a better way to do a cool tracking system? Maybe with Google maps or something?

4. I met an awesome family in Halfway, Oregon, that I will mention later (Thanks Chip, Donna, Don & Leone, if you're reading!).

5. Pictures should be up here: http://picasaweb.google.com/will.blank
I haven't gone through and tagged anything, and so far I've been bad about taking photos, but there should be hope for the future. Don't fret.

6. Yes, my butt does hurt. And my fingers are still numb. Jesus, does that sound bad. Hope to hear from you all soon. Thanks for reading.

Welcome to Missoula, Where the Players Play

This is going to be a long, long entry but I have to get some of this stuff down before I forget it.

Thanks for all the writing compliments! I’ll keep trying to make it entertaining. And Sasha, at least the bibimbap (whatever that is) is being put to good use!

Amount of money spent on bike clothing: $470

So, you’ve probably noticed from the pictures that I’m not exactly wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt while riding cross country. There’s a whole world of bike clothing out there, all specifically designed to make you look foolish. I decided I’d start this entry by giving you the inside scoop on what my wardrobe has been like for the past three weeks. Fascinating, I know.

For my lower half, I wear skin-tight chamois bike shorts that cost $90 apiece. I own three pairs of them. For my top, I wear a skin-tight jersey that shows off every peak and valley of my rippling muscles. I own three of those, too. I have two pairs of wool socks that never, ever seem to get wet. I wear each outfit for three days and do laundry around every seven or eight days. I do my laundry in Laundromats or if I’m lucky in some kind, gentle person’s home. I’ve come to realize that with these skin-tight, neon outfits I either look like I’m from the future, about to go to ballet class or a gymnast, none of which bode well for me in rural America.

For instance: I decided to get dinner one night at this place called The Outpost in John Day, Oregon. I ate, paid my bill and got up to leave. As I was walking out of the restaurant, I noticed there were at least eight tables filled with truckers. All of them were staring at me. I’m a little leery of truckers as it is, not to mention when dressed in neon spandex, so I hurried on my way. But when I reached the door, a couple named Troy and Mel quickly spotted me as a fellow Transamerica rider. We got to talking and I ended up sitting down with them while they ate, right in the middle of all the truckers. So, you know, that was fine, I could deal with that. There was safety in numbers. But when I looked to my left, I saw an old, crooked toothed man staring directly at me. He had a big grin on his face and so did some of his friends. There was something seriously off about how they were eyeing me. To calm myself down, I continued talking to Troy and Mel who were really fun, dynamic people. They told me all about their trip and gave me some helpful advice for the road. It was great.

Then I decided to make an off-hand comment about the truckers. Mel informed me that those weren’t truckers; they were inmates. And they were blatantly checking me out.

Suddenly I didn’t want to move from my seat. My butt was a shining beacon. I thought: “Holy shit.”

I drink a lot of water on this trip and it always seems like I have to pee at the most inopportune times. And of course, this was one of those times. I excused myself and ran like a little girl to the men’s room. When I got there, it felt like I stepped onto the set of OZ. There were inmates everywhere. Like bees. Big, hairy, convicted felon bees. I stepped up to the urinal, aware that my supple and exposed butt cheeks might tense at any moment during the pee and incite a riot. Nothing happened, but that didn’t stop me from not washing my hands and basically running back to our booth. Phew.

Everything was fine after that— we finished our drinks and left— but big yellow buses have had their meaning altered for me forever.

Digression: prisons should really consider converting to liquid soap. Wouldn’t that solve a lot of problems? But maybe I’m missing the point.

In any case, that’s the end of that story.

I realized I need to start dedicating a section of my blog to the awesome people that I meet. So I did. It’s called “Interesting People and Amazing Hospitality”. By no means can I get them all in one entry, so consider this the first installment of many.

Some Interesting People and Amazing Hospitality:

Glenn Breeding:
Glenn Breeding is a man who has been walking the same stretch of land every day for 20 years. He always carries a bag with him and picks up trash on the side of the road. He is short, cherubic and old. He caught my eye while I was riding up Ochoco Pass. He was a neat guy.

Angel:
Angel let me stay at her place when I was passing through Kooskia, Idaho. I met her in a restaurant where she was serving food. Somewhere in our banter she slipped in that her baby’s daddy had been missing for months and had recently been found dead near Humboldt, California. This was a little shocking to hear. I asked her to explain exactly what happened. Apparently, her boyfriend of many, many years turned into a druggie and started pawning off all of her and her son’s belongings to sustain a habit/pay off debts. She ended up leaving him and going on the run. He pursued her for months before she finally agreed to let him see their son for one last time. They set a date and decided to meet in Iowa. He never showed. Then the police found him buried in someone’s backyard.

It’s a pretty shocking, disturbing story, especially when you consider how bubbly and friendly Angel is.

Later on, she showed me an atlas with all of the states and cities she had lived in. There was a circle in every state. Aside from all that, she had a cool new boyfriend that liked good music and sold his own brand of Barbecue sauce. I hung out with them and the sister of the infamous ex-boyfriend that night. I noticed that everything was an ash tray for those people.

There is a photo of Angel and her new boyfriend, John, in the Idaho album.

Side note: one of the bars we went to used to be an old Speakeasy. The bartender showed us the old gambling rooms and caves where they hid alcohol. How cool is that?

Another side note: right before I met Angel, a woman selling vegetables from her garden gave me a free cucumber. Her name was Sarah Johnson. It’s interesting how some people give you their full names when you meet them. And then hand you a cucumber.

Unnamed Biker Guy:
I met unnamed biker guy at Lolo Pass coming out of a restroom. During his stint in the Air Force he had been to over 36 countries across the seven continents and had been in a number of horrible crashes. He was about to get his second knee completely replaced. I wish I could have talked to him longer but I get burned out meeting people all the time and decided to leave.

The Prineville Firefighters:
These were some of the coolest dudes and dudettes that I’ve met so far. I remember rolling into Prineville and not having any contacts, scared that I wasn’t going to find a place to sleep that night. I had recently decided to stop paying for lodging (which I’ll explain at some point) and had heard that Fire Stations were generally pretty friendly to bikers. I worked up some courage and rode up to the station. I saw firefighters doing firefighter things, like rolling hoses and talking beside big red trucks. When I got closer, I noticed a patch of grass near the back of the station that looked perfect for camping. I expected to get turned down, but instead was met with a very warm reception. Far from simply letting me pitch a tent on the grass, they offered me a bed in their dorm and basically made me an honorary firefighter for a night. They let me hang out with them, share their dinner and watch TV on their sweet LA-Z-Boys. Also like a firefighter, I: learned how to clean fire hoses, mopped all the linoleum in the building and saved a baby from a raging fire. Their names were Wayne, Tim, Jeremy, Alicia, Andy and James and they were awesome people. There are a couple pictures of them in the Oregon photo album. Check it out.

There is so much stuff happening that I seriously can’t get all of it down. I’m exhausted. Here are some highlights:

1. I made it to Montana and I'm a week ahead of schedule!

2. More pictures! And they’re tagged! Here’s the link again: http://picasaweb.google.com/will.blank

3. I ran out of water while riding up an extremely long and desolate pass called White Bird in Idaho. I stuck my thumb out as a last resort and got picked up by Allie, Duncan and Duncan’s parents, Jean and Dan. They ended up letting me stay with them in Missoula for a couple days. Very cool folks. That kind of awesomeness is not easily forgotten.

4. I rode 84 miles in one day, all uphill, which is the longest I’ve done yet. Sweet!

5. I met a guy named Kevin in Council, Idaho and we ended up riding with each other up Lolo Pass. I just got back from hanging out with him in downtown Missoula and we may end up getting some breakfast before he heads to Canada. He brought a bag of cookies with him tonight and we used that to barter and get into all of the bars for free.

6. I think I’ve lost 10 pounds.

Anyway, hope to keep hearing from you guys. Thanks for reading.

Wasn't Yogi from Yellowstone?

Hey all,

I'd like to start this entry off not with a statistic, but with a haiku poem. I would like to dedicate it to a man named Dave Maletsky, the bike guru who generously dedicated his Sundays to making my trip more legitimate. Here it goes:

You taught me so much
But failed to warn me about
All of the bird poop.

That's right. I got pooped on.

Anyway. Much has happened since the last entry but I am short on time for today. Hopefully you will enjoy this story from the road:

Before I left I bought a flashy jersey that features the California flag on the front and back. I fell in love with it when I saw it because I thought it'd be a great idea to "represent" as I made my way across the states. I mean, who doesn't love California, right?

Every time I wore this wonderful jersey, though, I would get asked: "Have you seen the movie Easy Rider?"

I haven't, and I'd say I knew it was about cocaine and drugs, but they'd just chuckle to themselves. I always thought this was kind of strange.

Then one day a car pulled up next to me while I was sitting outside a cafe. He asked: "Where are you from?"
I said: "California," as if my jersey didn't say it loud enough.
Laughing, he said: "You got a lot of balls, my friend."

I asked him why and then he told me about Easy Rider. Apparently at the end of the movie, Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda ride down a highway outside California and hillbillies blow them to smithereens. The lesson being: California isn't well liked outside of California. It turns out the California yuppies with their California yuppy money have been moving into small town America and changing the economies of these once rural towns, making it more difficult for locals to get jobs. So, walking around with a blazing California jersey is like walking around asking to get your face blown off. I thanked him for the tip and went on my way.

Later that day I rode through some of the most beautiful country I have seen yet. There were rivers, trees for miles and animals that hadn't permanently bedded on the side of the road. This was where I took those beautiful pictures of the eagles flying into the sunset.

Then I came across a large quarry. There were big rusty pickup trucks and ATVs parked everywhere. When I looked closer I saw people standing around in half circles drinking beer. I slowed down to see what they were doing.

Then I heard gunshots. Seriously. Multiple gunshots. I put my foot on those pedals and I biked and biked and biked until everything became one big green blur. Once I reached Kooskia, I scrambled for safety into the yuppiest possible cafe I could find. I think I managed to avoid the Easy Rider curse. For now at least.

Ready for the next installment of Some Interesting People and Amazing Hospitality? Here it is, with a twist.

Some Interesting People and Amazing Hospitality: Xtreme Sports Edition

Jason Eson
Jason Eson changed my trip more than anyone I've met. We met at a public library in Sisters, Oregon and he introduced me to the ultra-hobo style of cross country biking. This guy was pretty amazing. He had designed his own route from Boston to Oregon, ate Top Ramen and seaweed nightly and never once paid for housing in the nine weeks it took him to cross the states. I think he had only budgeted somewhere around $500 for his entire trip. Mine is around $2200.

In any case, we were eating dinner together at a mexican restaurant when three people who had been listening to our conversation made a comment on a dessert he ordered. Jason started playing up his hardcore, hobo sob-story and basically got us a place to stay for the night. I'd never seen anything like it. Only hours later we were sleeping in one of the most beautiful mansions in Oregon. Pretty sweet deal. I try to practice his teachings daily.

Leo & Annette
I met this couple from Holland outside of Wisdom, Montana. They are currently biking from Anchorage, Alaska to the bottom tip of South America. That's right. From the top of North America to the very bottom tip of South America. Their estimated time of arrival? 2008. They've biked through Southeast Asia, New Zealand and Europe and chose to do this ride because it is the longest possible length that anyone can bike in the entire world. Have they planted seeds in my head? Maybe. Here is a link to their blog... if you can read Dutch, I'm sure you will find it very entertaining: http://www.globefietsers.nl

Jeff & Dave
I met Jeff & Dave at a restaurant in Ennis, Montana. They were fly fishing with Jeff's family and let me sleep on the floor of their sweet lodge. Dave ended up telling me about his days as an Adventure Racer. Adventure Racing is basically the most intense athletic triathalon you can participate in. You run, bike, climb and swim your way across miles of extreme weather conditions and terrain. People die in these races. Dave has competed twice, once in Brazil (4th place) and once in the Raid Gauloise in Vietnam (19th place). He told me that one time, to keep warm, he ate a stick of butter wrapped in a tortilla. You can find out more here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adventure_racing

Lonely Guy in Kansas
Well, I didn't actually meet him, but I heard a story about a cross country biker who got so lonely in Kansas that he thought he was dying. He called the state troopers and they picked him up and kept him company. How well does this bode for me?

Some Significant Things:

1. Tomorrow I cross into Wyoming!

2. Yesterday I rode through 30 mph headwinds. I went 13 miles in three hours. Terrible.

3. Today I uploaded more photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/will.blank

4. I rode over my highest pass yet when I hit Montana's Chief Joseph Pass (7241 ft!).

5. I'm getting an odometer installed on my bike so I will be able to give you statistics on my average speeds and exact mileage. Cool!

Gotta run. If there are specific things you want to know about, let me know in the comments. Thanks for reading.

The Cowboy's Soliloquy

Yogi was from Jellystone. How could I forget! Thanks Jarod.

Again, it's great to hear from you guys in the comments. Keeps me going. Here's this week's statistic.

Number of people that I've met on the trip so far: 129

So, yesterday I rode 95 miles. 95 miles on my bike.

The day before that I rode over a 9658 ft pass.

Wow! I mean, seriously, I've never done anything like that in my entire life. I felt like a super hero pulling two incredible days like that.

Of course, I took that to mean I was ready for another level of biking. This was the dawn of a new 80-90 mile-a-day era. A new Will Blank. A revolution. So the next day I got up before the birds sang, packed my stuff, did push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups and dips and even had time to stop at the store for supplies. I was optimistic that I could hit another 90 mile day like it was nothing. Like it was butter.

But that just didn't happen. Around mile 30 all systems failed. I started to get a sharp pain in my right knee. The urge to sleep took over. I had to stop.

This type of situation presents the cross country biker with an interesting moral dilemma. Do you cheat and try to get a ride... or do you go as far as you can, despite the pain?

Both options kind of suck. On the one, you miss out on a whole day of riding. To some extremists, you might even lose the right to say that you rode across the country because your wheel didn't touch every square inch of the trail. Which, in a way, is kind of true. Once you cross the vehicular threshold and hop in the back of that pickup, it's over. Every time you tell someone you rode your bike across the country, you'll be lying, even if it's just a little bit.

The other option is to get behind schedule. This means you have to divide the mileage you didn't do that day over the days to come, which can be particularly oppressive if you already have long days planned out. It's also frustrating if you like to make sure that you end your days in a town or city as opposed to a county campground. Some of us like to have a shower at the end of the day.

So, having to choose between disgrace and inconvenience, I chose disgrace. I stuck my thumb out and waited.

Not too long after a man named JD pulled over on the shoulder. He had a thick Southern accent and a big black suburban. He was a character. One time, to demonstrate how close he was to a dangerous stunt in Vegas, he put his palm on the tip of my nose.

So, there I am in some stranger's car, hearing his story. What's interesting about this trip is that I'm put in a lot of situations where I'm forced to listen, whether I'm hitchhiking, being put up by a stranger, or simply walking down the street. Sometimes people tell me pretty personal stuff, too. JD let me in on some of the drama surrounding his adopted son, Shane.

Shane fits 18 of the 24 criteria that define a full-blown sociopath. As you can probably imagine, this made Shane an extremely difficult child to raise. If you told him not to touch a stove he would touch it until his hands bled. But that is really a side note.

The real story is with Shane's half brother, Tim. Tim was a beautiful young man, the kind of guy who was so silver-tongued he could convince anyone to do anything. When Tim and Shane finally met, it didn't take long for Tim to wrap Shane around his finger.

Tim would frequently show up at JD's house in a new car, always with a new uncle he had borrowed it from. One night, Tim tried to convince Shane to leave home and come with him to California. Shane declined. Tim was later arrested in Los Angeles on suspicion of driving with a stolen vehicle. It turned out to be his 25th stolen vehicle on record.

Needless to say, JD didn't like Tim very much. He fought for years to protect Shane from Tim's influence, not to mention from his own self-destructive tendencies. Shane consistently defended Tim, though, and even convinced JD to sponsor him when he was put in a halfway house. Tim ended up abusing the sponsorship and disappeared for over a year.

Then one day JD got a phone call from Shane. Tim had been found dead. The hospital said he died of "heat stroke."

Heat stroke is extremely rare to non-existent in healthy, 28 year old males.

Tim was a regular coke user. Apparently cocaine tampers with the processes of the hypothalamus, a part of the brain that regulates body temperature (among other things). In some cases this can lead to what is classified by hospitals, perhaps to maintain patient dignity or simply to avoid legal intervention, as "heat stroke." Supposedly that explains why there is an unusual number of young people that have been treated for what is typically an elderly person's affliction.

So, Tim died and Shane was still difficult to raise. The family fought their whole lives to keep Shane in some kind of structured existence, but his sociopathic tendencies always broke down whatever they tried to build. I can't imagine what the past 40 years have been like for JD and his family.

The good news is that most sociopaths snap out of their craziness later in life. It's as though one day a synapse fires and they become relatively normal people. Despite having a failed marriage and a child of his own, supposedly Shane is a pretty wonderful guy now.

So the story ends happy.

This kind of stuff just blows me away. If I hadn't stopped to put my thumb out I wouldn't be telling you all this right now-- I'd be complaining about being behind schedule and having a bum knee.

Interesting People and Amazing Hospitality:

Rick, Kim, James and David Hunt
I stayed with these wonderful people just outside of Jackson, Wyoming. They are truly an impressive bunch. Rick works as an excavator and moonlights as a long distance biker, trailblazer, paraglider, hiker and all around sports enthusiast. He's broken more bones than he can count and even survived a moose attack. That's right, he was trampled by a moose. Kim is a marathon runner and PE teacher at the local elementary school. James and David both are avid bikers, skiiers and soccer players. And they're tough, too. A birthday party rarely goes by where David doesn't break a bone. They have a beautiful home in Wilson and are very warm, welcoming people. Hunt family, if you're reading, thank you!

I'd also like to thank Ellen Paisal, the woman who hooked me up with the Hunts and found me a place to stay. Thanks, Ellen!

Beverly and Gary
I met Beverly and Gary at a campground my second or third day out on the road. We had a nice conversation before parting ways. I didn't expect to see them again.

Then two days later I was riding down the 126 in Oregon and saw a man standing next to giant RV on the side of the road. It was Gary. He and Beverly offered to split a campsite with me at the heavenly Belknap Springs before my first big climb up McKenzie pass. When I got there, they fed me a delicious dinner, made me coffee and kept me company. They own a restaurant in Coos Bay, Oregon called the Pancake Mill which is supposedly a pretty great place.

Beverly is also genealogist and small business lecturer. It turns out Gary and Beverly's ancestors fought each other in the Civil War and that I lived on the same street (Channing street in Berkeley) that Beverly's great aunt lived on in the 1800s. Crazy.

They were great folks and pretty much the first people to show me some Amazing Hopitality. Thanks, Gary and Beverly, and I hope you're doing well!

Dave the Hillbilly Hitchhiker
This guy scared the shit out of me. I met him in Mitchell, Oregon, the day after all the Westbound bikers I met went on to finish the trail. He rolled into town alone, at night, with nothing on but a military backpack and some ragged clothes. He sat down at a table near my tent. Instead of being scared, though, I went right up to him and shook his hand. He turned out to be one of the weirdest, most interesting guys I've met yet. Here it goes.

Dave takes four months out of the year to hitchhike around the US. He takes nothing with him but a blanket and the clothes on his back. He has leathery skin and a receding hairline. He also has a warrant for his arrest in Kansas.

He told me that he met his wife hitchhiking. One day, while he was bumming for a ride in Michigan, she stopped her car and let him in. They got to talking. She proposed to him a few days later. Now they are married.

Dave used to live in New Orleans. He told me that once, during Mardi Gras, he held a port-o-potty upright so that his friend could have sex without fear of it tipping over. Besides that, he told me he used to drop a lot of acid. New Orleans was a great place, he told me.

To fund his hitchhiking adventures, Dave does odd jobs. He's worked in halfway houses, on Missions and on farms. One time he said he worked for a guy named John Stanko. Stanko was a white supremacist who apparently had written a book and had a fairly decent following. Everyone in the community hated Stanko, though, because he extorted and took advantage of other farmers. Dave stuck by him because he was one of the only people that showed him any kind of hospitality.

He told me that if I wanted to make real money in LA, I should install alarm systems in people's homes. Now I have an alternate career path if film fails me.

Dave has been spit on and had bottles thrown at him. He says he hitchhikes because he likes to wander.

I had a nightmare that I'd wake up and find him standing in my tent with a rusty pocket knife. I'd say: "How are you standing in my four foot tall tent?" Then he'd stab me.

Before I forget, here's the latest Roadkill Update:
Idaho: 41
Montana: 68
and Wyoming: 44

Ready for some Significant Things?

1. Colorado. Today. Baby.

2. It's getting cold. I keep finding ice on the outside of my tent.

3. I hung out with seven Navajo Indians the other night and a guy that looked and sang like Willie Nelson. We drank beer and sang songs on their porch. It was awesome.

4. AND they let me sleep on the floor of their motel room. I didn't have to camp! Sweet!

5. Jake started a blog. It's about trying to survive in LA: http://smashgrabpro.blogspot.com/. Check back in a week or so and he'll have some updates.

6. New section! It's called "This Week's Statistics"

This Week's Statistics
Total distance traveled: 364.7 miles
Average distance per day: 60.78 miles
Average speed: 10.54 mph
Max. speed: 39 mph

I have an update for you about Yellowstone coming up. Hope you're all doing well. Thanks for reading.

Into the Woods

Good to hear from you, Carolann and Corey! I miss you guys. And no problem about the postcard, Rick! And thank you for the answered questions/feedback, Jerry.

Welcome to this week's entry.

One day a man named David Kirwan visited Yellowstone with his dog, Moosie. They stopped at the Fountain Paint Pot springs, famous for crystal clear thermal pools and gurgling mud pits. These pools, which look deceptively inviting to the summer tourist, can reach temperatures in excess of 200 degrees Fahrenheit.

These pools, in short, can boil you alive.

This was David's first visit to the park. He was from California enjoying time off in the world's first and oldest national park. Moosie was in heaven. He was the kind of dog that loved a good romp in the forest, especially when it involved rivers, streams and mud.

On that particular day, the waters of the thermal pools were as blue as the pacific ocean. The closer they got to the springs, the more Moosie's excitement grew, the bluer those springs became. But before David could even open his door, Moosie flew out of the truck and plunged directly into the boiling, 202 degree inferno.

People watched in horror as the dog fought for its life. When David realized what had happened, he rushed to the edge of the springs and began removing articles of clothing. People warned him about the heat but David refused to listen. He dove headfirst into the thermal pool.

Once David's bare skin touched the water he howled in pain. With what strength and consciousness he had left he struggled for the edge of the boardwalk. Other tourists helped pull him out of the water but his skin slid off his body and his eyes had gone completely white. David died at the hospital only hours after he had been saved.

If that's not horrible enough for you, the oils from the dog's body made the hot springs have small eruptions later that day.

Good times.

I remember hearing that story and dropping the spoon I was holding. Could something that horrible have happened only miles from where I was sitting, waiting for Old Faithful to erupt?

Yes, yes it could. That and many other horrible things, all chronicled in a little nugget of literary gold called "Death in Yellowstone: Accidents and Foolhardiness in the First National Park". That's right. Someone wrote a book about 250 of the most gruesome, avoidable and downright depressing deaths in Yellowstone's 134 year history. And it is fascinating.

People have placed their children on bison for photo opportunities. Others have basted their baby's cheek with honey in the hopes that a bear might give a sweet little kiss for the camera. Children have stumbled into hot springs and men have fallen off cliffs. Women have been kicked by elk and hikers have been lost and never found.

One woman brought her dog to the park to let it run around in the fields. A ranger warned her that it'd be best to keep the dog on a leash. The woman angrily retorted: "Doesn't my dog deserve a little freedom?"

Seconds later the dog took off after a grizzly bear and her cub. The grizzly slapped the dog in the face and instantly broke its neck. Furious, the woman demanded why none of the bears were in cages.

The list goes on and on. As a tourist myself, I see history aching to repeat itself each time an old man shuffles down to the edges of a thermal pool or a tourist tries to get all buddy buddy with a giant moose. It all becomes a little hard to comprehend and I've stood shaking my head in disapproval on more than one occasion.

I mean, it's dangerous and unpredictable out there. You can get hurt and you can die a horrible, ignominious death. The second you step off the trail, and even while you're on it, you're at the mercy of nature. What are they thinking?

Then I realize I'm the guy biking cross country. By myself.

Am I sidling up to a giant moose?

Fuck.

Anyhoo. You'll have to wait for an installment of Interesting People and Amazing Hospitality until next week. For now, though, there are some Significant Things to note:

1. More photos are up: http://picasaweb.google.com/will.blank/

2. A few days ago I stayed in the hotel where The Shining remake was shot. I met four awesome folks trapped in corporate retreat hell named Colleen, Dana, Art and Tom. They let me sleep in one of their rooms for free and treated me to a delicious dinner. More than that, though, they were great company. Thanks guys!

Side notes about the Stanley hotel: On channel 60 they play The Shining on repeat 24 hours a day. We watched a good chunk of it in room 216 (which to Shining remake enthusiasts has meaning). I also noticed they brew a "The Shining" brand of beer at the hotel. Interesting.

3. Now I'm in Denver staying with Jon Kaplan, a former teacher of mine, with his wife, Shari and their two hilarious kids. I will talk about them later, but if they're reading this: thank you, thank you, thank you!!

4. I rode over a 12,000 ft pass two or three days ago. It was hard.

5. Here is the link to that Yellowstone book I was talking about: http://www.amazon.com/Death-Yellowstone-Accidents-Foolhardiness-National/dp/1570980217

Stats:
Total distance traveled: 311 miles
Average distance per day: 51.83 miles
Average speed: 9.98 mph
Max. speed: 45 mph

That's all for this week. Thanks for reading!

This Is How We Do

The average cross country biker burns up to 6000 calories a day.

Amazing, huh? The human body requires buckets of salt, fat and carbohydrates in order to sustain that kind of intense physical exercise. Not only does that mean you’re losing weight like nobody’s business, but it also means you have earned a Golden Ticket to eat anything you want.

I eat potato chips, ding-dongs, candy bars and frozen burritos. I eat corn dogs, cheeseburgers, fries and large milkshakes. I eat full 12 inch all-meat pizzas to myself. Sometimes, I just eat because I can.

Sounds pretty sweet, right? Well, there’s only one problem.

All of it makes me fart.

I have become a walking anal symphony. I can trumpet. I can play percussion. If I want to, I can even whistle. Yes, my bottom has a full Ska band just waiting to play for you.

But, as we all know, with great power comes great responsibility. So through diligent practice and the application of Certain Principles I have learned to control my powers.

In short, though I am farting constantly, I have made it so you will never know.

This has potentially devastating consequences to those reading who I’ve met on the trip so far. You might be asking yourself: “Has he done it in front of me?” And the answer is yes, I’ve done it in front of you. I’ve done it right underneath your nose. But before your feelings of betrayal take over and you hate me forever, I hope that you recognize it was nothing personal. We’ll talk later.

Anyway: I fart when I’m riding and I fart when I’m eating. I fart when I’m thinking and I fart while I’m sleeping. In case you’re not getting the point, I fart. A lot.

So one evening I'm sitting in a restaurant, getting my usual cheeseburger, fries and large milkshake when suddenly I'm hit with the natural, intestinal urge we’ve been discussing this whole entry. Unfortunately the restaurant is particularly busy that night and a degree of discretion was required. So, like a ninja choosing the right weapon of stealth, I engage a classic technique: the Slow Release. I pull it off expertly, true to form, a small smile curling on my lips.

Then a small child pops up in the booth in front of me. I stare at him, and he stares at me.

He asks, point blank:

“Did you fart?”

My eyes widen. I may be a stealth farter, but I’m no liar. I open my mouth to respond, my conscience and all the silent victims of my crimes prying my jaws open wide.

Then, like the hand of god, his parents snatch him up and apologize for his behavior. Saved! I give them a frumpy smile and an eyebrow nod, as though I didn’t have time for such childish absurdity, and go back to my meal.

Around here is where I look at the camera, my eyes go bright yellow, and Vincent Price laughs maniacally.

If I get some time this week I’ll add other stuff. For now, please enjoy This Week’s Statistics:

Total distance traveled: 338.67 miles
Average distance per day: 67.73 miles
Average speed: 11.54 mph
Max. speed: 46 mph

Thanks for reading! I love you all!

Slogan Contest!

I want to make a sign for the back of my bike. I'm not quite sure what it should say, though. Can I get some suggestions from people? Here are the top two slogans that Dave the Adventure Racer and I came up with for those charming individuals who like to blare their horns at me as they pass:

Honk If You Love Me, Baby

and

Honk If You Want A Peace

Any suggestions?

***UPDATE***
I had an epiphany the other day. What do you all think of "Baby On Board"?

It's brilliant. Who would hit a guy with a baby on his bike? I could even make a cardboard child seat and place a doll inside of it.

How fucking weird would that be?

Interlude

Imagine this:

You’re riding on a beautiful country road. There are tall, green trees at your sides and miles of smooth pavement ahead of you. The sky is a slice of blueberry pie a la mode, your favorite dessert, and the wind is kissing you all over. You stop for a moment and you smile. You are at peace.

Then you feel the ground tremble. Vultures fly overhead and the clouds bruise and swell. The squirrel you were hand feeding, lacking the proper facial muscles to express fear, abruptly darts off into the forest. Your smile melts into a frown. You are alone.

“What is going on?” You wonder.

Then 22 tons of metal, exhaust and extraneous tire scream past you, knocking you to the ground. Your vertebrae still in tact, you look up from the pavement just in time to watch “…Call 1-800-EAT-SHIT” fade off into the distance.

But I guess some part of you must like it, because you get back on the bike and you ride.

Update

You might have noticed that I haven't been updating recently. Four simple words:

I am almost there.

The End is in Sight

I've got four days left.

Four days before I reach Yorktown, Virginia. Four days to end three months of riding my bicycle.

And I'm kind of crackling. I can feel something fueling me that goes beyond the raw power of trail mix and Pringles.

My pedal came off the other day and I put it back on. My tire went flat and I patched it. The temperature hit 27 degrees and I rode anyway. I am, quite simply, unstoppable.

I want to thank everyone who has read this blog and supported me throughout the past three months. I am an extremely emotional, sensitive human being and this has been hard on me. Your support has meant a lot. It has. Every little message and every little comment.

So I want you to know there is a reason why I announced this trip to you and sent you an email about this blog: it's because I really, really like you.

Wish me luck on my last few days. If you haven't given me your address already, you better do it now.

The Finish Line