Monthly Archives: November 2022

Days 12-19: Missoula, MT -> Rapid City, SD. 1638 total miles and 42,887 ft of total elevation.

Day 12: Missoula, Montana Our first rest day was over and our clutch of riders was anxious and eager to get going. So much so that the guides released us early. On tap for the next 8 days: five days of 100+ miles plus two in the 90’s and an easier day of 73. The sound of so many cycling shoes clicking into pedals was a welcome musical note as we lit out for Helena, 117 miles and 5000 feet of elevation away. If there was a collective thought bubble it looked like this, “The rest day was fun but I’m ready to get back on the road.”

Route 12 was today’s highlight with its open ribbon byways with gigantic rock formations looming. The latter had me wishing I’d paid more attention in geology class at Princeton. The Little Blackfoot River meandered nearby and Silk’s osprey count was high.

We did a bit of climbing but the real climb came at mile 100 (Show Time at mile 100, can you believe?) when we started climbing up and over Mullan Pass. It was 4 miles of climbing though not as steep as Lolo Pass last week and with a gangbusters tailwind to boot. Our treat was to find Rae and her irrepressible smile at the top with an array of rest-stop yummies. Each guide has their own rest stop and lunching style. Rae’s whiteboards are smile-inducing.

The cross-wind whipping whirlwind 10 mile descent to the flats leading to Helena had me in a tight tuck and grinning all the way down to the flats leading into Helena. Approaching Helena we saw a cloud of windblown smoke and six helicopters choppering the skies ferrying water to a nearby wildfire.

Day 14: Bozeman, Montana This early morning found us at the Lark Hotel prepping for departure in the crisp nippy air. The sun hadn’t found us yet so our morning logistics and tasks were undertaken with quicker steps combined with short stops at the outdoor fire pit to warm hands and backsides. We were riding to breakfast at the Feed Cafe this morning and then launching into the day from there.

Blake had told us we would quickly become a well organized beehive and he was right. By now we were all on the dot each morning with no wasted steps or motion. Our tasks: donning cycling kit, putting everything back in bags that had been taken out the night before, figuring out what layers were right for the cold start and the later intense sun, getting bikes out of rooms, installing charged fore and aft bike lights, filling water bottles, making sure our labeled and packed string bags are in either the picnic or rest stop vans, snapping a pic of the white board, stuffing snacks into jersey pockets, carrying luggage to the luggage trailer, confirming room is clean, leaving a tip for the cleaning staff, triple-checking nothing has been left behind and then hopping on bikes for the mile ride to breakfast.

Bozeman to Columbus was our third century plus day and with 2700 feet of elevation it promised to be a less taxing day. We moved on out of town and in just a short while found ourselves on Bozeman Hill Road. A stunner of a serpentine road with views that would not quit. Storybook fields, meadows, and mountain views were ours along with red tail hawks soaring for good measure. One of the distinct pleasures of this adventure: a new route to be discovered every single day.

The B’s were grinning ear to ear as we swooped, exclaimed, stopped for photos and reveled in this perfection cycling in a drop dead gorgeous place. A few of us stopped to stare at the array of mountains in front of us when I happened to look behind us for an equally jaw-dropping view.

We crossed the Yellowstone River with its glacial flour milky flow. It and the surrounding expanses of fields and mountains felt timeless. I never tired of letting my eyes wander over these peaks and spaces. As the day slipped by the visuals entranced. Ian even caught a glimpse of a sleek antelope. The heat steadily ticked up and the guides added an extra rest stop at mile 100 which was more than welcome.

We pulled into the Columbus Super 8 happy to get out of the sun. Traveling in a group and in sub-groups means there are recurring themes that serve as punchlines and organizing principals. A main one? Laundry. The doing of it, the finding of machines, the sharing of soap pods, coins and intel meant it was a “takes a village” approach for smooth group execution. Before even a few days had gone by there were a subset who were sharing loads. It was also abundantly clear that Mike, with his totemic Ironman tattoo on his powerful right calf, was the Laundry Titan. Without fail he was first to find the machine(s) and relay reliable information about where, what and how. A blink of an eye too late and your bag of laundry was fifth in an orderly line on the floor awaiting its turn. This time in Columbus, Mark monitored the lone machine to then text the next person in line that their bag was up for processing.

Day 15: Lovell, Wyoming This 90 mile day distinguished itself with it’s particular stint of afternoon miles in seething heat. Looking for a sliver of shade was a fool’s errand and it took teamwork, mental fortitude and the guide’s uncanny sense of when and where to place vans for the rest stops. The remarkable landscape of MT changed as we neared the more hardscrabble border with WY. The sagebrush was more prevalent, the winds relentless.

The post-lunch 22 mile stretch was a nose to the ground push. No shade, fearsome headwinds, less treed landscape, and the road stretching out forever in front of us. It would have been a lonesome scenario were I not surrounded by the buoyancy of Sandy and Silk. Guide Blake showed up a few miles in and got in front which was fortuitous because only minutes later Sandy called out, “Jennings! Is my rear flat?” I focused in and sure enough, she had a puncture. I called ahead to Blake who wheeled around and came to help her and we pressed on knowing they’d catch back up.

Rae soon joined Silk, Sandy and me and for the next 90 minutes we traded leads and rode with heads down, legs and brains dialed in. I didn’t let my thoughts wander too much because I wanted to hold my place in our line. Preserving mental energy for moving the bike forward was paramount. If hell is other people that is not the case on this trip. Riding with others who are well-matched makes the miles slip by with even more flair. My Garmin told me later that we were facing off with 15 mph head winds. Upon arrival in Lovell my eyes were red and dried out.

Today we were completely dependent on the guides and their van stops every 13 miles after lunch and all the way to mile 90. Knowing a guide is ahead with sustenance, abundant ice and cold water plus a dose of good cheer kept us on task. We finally pulled into our oasis the Horseshoe Bend Motel. It looked humble as a barn stall and happily it was a wonderful respite complete with outdoor meals on a shady grassy parklet. We would be up and out very early in the morning for the 100 mile haul over to Sheridan. Our route? Up and over Big Horn Pass which will test mightily.

Day 16: Sheridan, Wyoming How do the guides keep track of 21 cyclists on the open road? There is no imperative that anyone ride with anyone else, there is no requirement that any particular pace or rhythm be adhered to. There’s no rule that one can’t stop at a local watering hole en route just because it’s there…just kidding.

Our ages range from 55 – 72 and the great equalizer is that we all trained steadfastly and with huge motivation for this peerless trip. Individual strengths come into play each day, every ride, mile after mile. It was athletic eye candy all day long and hugely motivating to see our group rising mightily and together to meet the daily challenges. Finding motivation in the most interesting and unexpected ways is possible with eyes and mind wide open.

The guides configure each day’s rest stops and lunch so they are synched with the overall day, suitable locations on the day’s route (is there shade?) as well as allowing for the pace differences that exist among 21 cyclists. So that the 21 of us more or less convene for lunch at the same time the guides perform a magic trick. They send us off in the morning with intervals of 15 to 30 minutes between groups. Their motto is always, “Start with your group, ride as you wish.” How is all this communicated? Both with What’s App and Ride With GPS on our phones. This way the guides can update how our day is to be organized with ease and no fuss.

By the time we had Missoula in the rear view, it was clear that Ron, Doyle, and Lynn wanted to leave as early as possible every morning so they could accomplish their day with no time worries and also be able to share lunchtime camaraderie. Blake was on board with this idea and the trio were dubbed by Doyle: the Early Birds.

For the rest of the trip, these three indomitable, upbeat, patient and persistently buoyant cyclists became the touchstone for the rest of us. Their conversations and every-mile shared experience was a model for how to combine forces and strengths. As Ron says, “It seemed like Lynn, being the strongest, would always find a way to let me lead our pace line on a downhill section!”

As the days began to pile up and the miles and elevation mounting precipitously, the Early Birds stood as testament to the rest of us, “If they are doing it, I can too.”

With the Big Horn Pass on tap for our day the 21 member string of us stretched over many many miles. It was a 100 mile, 7800 feet day. With Guides Megan and Brent on bikes, Blake, Brian and Rae had their hands full keeping the rest of us watered, fed, buoyed and on track. The task of getting up and over Big Horn Pass alternately loomed and motivated. The white board said it all: look at all those rest stops!

Our pre-dawn start lent a sense of otherworldliness to this day’s endeavor. One by one we each pedaled every single mile of this 20 mile climb. Climbing is so often a solitary endeavor with each of us bent to the task. Seeing the guides along the way either on bike or at van stops chirks us up every time. The 20 mile climb was both a challenge and a joy. I noted that akin to my experience in the Himalaya in Nepal that as the elevation goes up so does the cost of taking a sip of water. For every sip, that’s a breath not taken. Thus after the sip, breathing is on the double to catch back up.

Day 17: Gillette, Wyoming How is it to face down 109 miles after having ridden 101 miles all while tomorrow’s 111 are looming? There’s an optimism that infuses all of us on the morning starts and that bright-eyed bushy-tailed demeanor gets slowly extinguished over the course of 8+ hours out in the sun, wind and hills. No matter what ride it is and how incredibly appealing it all is, the last 10 – 15 miles are a struggle. For every single person.

I was on my way to the pool after pulling into Gillette to the Hampton Inn and I met Greg getting his luggage. He’d just finished. He looked at me with towel and board shorts and said, “Why is the last 15 miles so dang hard? Is it the heat?” He was right, it was 90 degrees as we traversed the mind numbing ugliness of the outskirts of Gillette. I said, “No matter what ride it has been the last miles are almost unbearable, aren’t they?” He smiled and said, “Just got to keep pedaling to get it done.” He was so right.

By rote I took a photo of the day’s whiteboard. I will confess to the dulling effect of all these numbers. Most mornings I snap this pic not paying one whit of attention to what is actually on the board. Sandy will come over and tell me, as she did this morning, “18. 40, 62.” Which refers to rest stop, rest stop and lunching.

I’ll say it to myself a few times, silently get astride the bike, start pedaling in the sunshine flowing like honey early morning and promptly forget the numbers.

The road out of Gillette was winding, long, quiet, with views forever and legs that were still remembering yesterday’s 7000+ climb over Big Horn Pass. Seven of us grouped together: 5 gents and 2 power women. The headwinds were relentless but not ferocious. So we took turns leading and the leader would pull for 2 miles or so before moving left, so the next rider in rotation would be up front for their chance to pull. We were seamless like that to 18, 40 and again to lunch at 62.

Today our guides showed me once again that how they do anything is how they do everything. At lunch there was not an inch of shade to be found. The guides arranged the vans so we would have a slice of shade and, like small animals at feeding time, we would each snag a small camp chair and quietly take in the needed calories. We all know the respite is short and we must soon get back on the bikes.

Not long after lunch we stopped in Spotted Horse at the biker bar and Blake lead us inside the watering hole and we emerged with ice cream bar treats. Thank you Trek Travel! Sandy and I rocked in the wooden porch chair, the bikers and their Harleys and our group with our Domanes peaceably shared this one of a kind oasis.

Maura provided the nature moment of the day when she spied the free-running herd of antelope. Check out that ungulate’s perfect middle-distance running form. Swoooon!

Day 18: Spearfish, South Dakota Our last day in WY with SD beckoning. Theme for today in this order: headwinds, crossing headwinds, crossing tailwinds, tailwinds.

Happily we scored some tailwinds on the huge uphills that has us leaving WY and heading to the Black Hills and SD. But the morning started with 25 miles on a long straight road with persistent headwinds. Sandy, Silk and I took turns pulling and taking the brunt of it. For safety’s sake (and for drafting) cyclists are usually single file. Today, the crossing winds were so strong that being single file did nothing to alleviate being slammed by the gusts. So we figured out real quick on this desolate road that the bowling pin configuration was the way to go. Silk would lead, Sandy would be to his rear and left and with her front wheel about mid-point on Silk’s bike. I was fanned out behind Sandy to her left with my front wheel halfway down the length of her bike. We had a superb rhythm going of sharing the lead and it lasted that way until the first rest stop at mile 18.

Today’s highlight was Rae’s dance in the sprinkler fountain in Sundance, WY in cycling cleats! Megan’s Sundance power lunch was four star. She always stands at the table to explain and point out what her creations are. Always delicious, always arresting.

Day 19: Rapid City, South Dakota Wish I could report that all spirits were high on this the 8th consecutive day of cycling as we departed Spearfish on Sunday morning from the somber Holiday Inn which resembled a brutalist Russian fortress on the inside.

This was the first morning I found it tough to get out of the sack being sound asleep at 5 am when the alarm went off. From colleagues who I’d not ever heard anything negative or whingey I heard, “I don’t really need today” and “I just want this ride to be over with.” It’s true that the mileage (75 miles) was do-able. It was the prospect of another 5000 foot day in the intense heat that gave pause.

My attitude: I will pedal this bike until I arrive in Rapid City. I will negotiate every hill that comes my way. I will stick with Silk and Sandy and make the day happen with full attention paid. If Ron, Doyle and Lynn can do it, I can do it, too.

As we headed directly onto the Spearfish Canyon Scenic Byway, the winding roads, the shade, the peaceful combination of huge trees, the limestone outcroppings and the sparkling rushing Spearfish Creek made it all appealing. Sandy, Silk and I started out with the idea of letting the miles unfold as they came to us. Sometimes we were near each other, other times farther apart but always mindful of re-grouping as needed and wanted. When the hills started coming I was going gangbusters. Then came a hill when I waved them on and said, “See you at the top.” My breath was getting hard and fast with the heat building.

I ate a handful of peanuts at lunch at our 45 mile mark idyllic pond-side location. It was too hot with still too much elevation to accomplish to consider a belly of food on top of the work to come. Grim determination over-ruled stuffing my pie hole.

The very last hill of the day I was far behind S and S as they started up that interminable appearing ascent. I’d been told at the last rest stop this hill was our “last uptick.” I told myself it was time to get moving and as I looked up I realized Silk was about five long white-line rumble strips ahead of me.

There were short intervals of smooth pavement between the rumble strips. Methodically I inserted a bit of rumble strip fartlek and near to when I was running out of real estate I caught up to him. My legs were stripped. I got up to the top as Silk yelled, “Yeah Jennings!!” Putting my head down, chest heaving, heart wild I told myself I’m done as I coasted for a few meters waiting for my breathing to settle down. The heat seemed a dome around my body and head. I squirted water onto my sun sleeves and poured more down the back of my neck.

The rest of the way was downhill deliciously earned. Then 4 more miles avoiding the traffic of Rapid City on a blazing hot with no shade bike trail. It was 97 wind-whipping degrees as we found our way to the beautiful Hotel Alex Johnson.

Rest day 2 is tomorrow. Done and done.

Rest Day: Rapid City, South Dakota

The state of our collective state? There were a few walking wounded in our midst. So to say the Rapid City rest day was welcome is an understatement. Even those of us who are sturdy, standing tall and coping well were relieved to know we were soon to have a day to be still. Being outdoors all day in molten heat and winds with so many many miles to travel takes the shine off each of us in just enough ways to make this, our second rest day, uber appealing. The guides are busier than a summer hive of bees all day long supporting us. On rest days we leave. them. alone.

This endeavor requires strict attention to one’s body and state of mind every day. Self-care matters deeply. Dave Edwards, our favorite Trek Travel Ride Camp guide in Greenville told us, “Everyone has a breaking point on Portland to Portland so be ready for a day that just doesn’t go your way.” So far so good.

Days 1-10: Astoria, OR -> Missoula, MT. 801 miles and 42,887 ft of elevation.

Admit it. You’ve perused the many enticing Trek Travel trips for ages. There’s one trip you’ve glanced at. Perhaps you even loitered enough to absorb the nitty gritty details. Then you’ve looked at that map with the blue dotted line stretching from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic and thought, “Could I? Would I want to? How would I train for such a thing? How does it all work?” Portland to Portland tugged at my cycling partner’s heart for quite some time. When Silk told me in January 2021 that he wanted to sign up I was cautious. Knowing what it is to train hard and long for a specific thing is searingly familiar. He forged ahead. I followed soon thereafter despite my trepidation about returning to training for something specific.

For many years now I’ve happily trained daily for the pure pleasure of it: Running, cycling, gym work, ergometer rowing, hot power yoga and so on. Sure I trained for a few sculling races here and there but this was going to be an 8-month training task. Been there and done that. I wondered if I still had the physical and inner resources to train for this thing. What if I crash on my bike? What if I get sick? What if after all the training something happens and I have to cancel? Once I worked through those machinations I realized this was no different than what I’d spent a lifetime doing. Embracing the unknowable and forging forward regardless.

I read somewhere that nobody is brave, generally. We can only be brave, specifically. I realized that we would both have to be brave to commit to this audacious, mysterious, unknowable task and then be even braver to go do it. It would be so much easier to lounge on a beach somewhere taking selfies or to go wherever the latest destination is to see things. I think that might be Iceland. Instead we were going to be embarking on a grand land voyage propelled by our legs, hearts, lungs and brains all on two wheels. I decided I wasn’t afraid of failure or of the unknown. I believed I was capable of doing this challenging thing. It was out there waiting for us. Without having a clue about who we’d be doing this with, I sensed the poetry of the trip would be supplied by the other unknown 19 cyclists and the guides who would make this trip happen for us.

On 1/4/21 we put down our deposits. On 3/18/21 we were officially booked. As far off as it was, the trip loomed. Once in awhile I’d catch myself and think, “What have we done?” and I’d quickly shove the thought aside. Official training started on on 12/1/21. For a few months I was all about hot power yoga, running, the rowing ergometer, gym work, and Zwift as the snow piled up outdoors. As the months went by we transitioned to outdoor riding including a week in Greenville at the TT Ride Camp. We started accumulating ridiculous amounts of hours in the saddle, focusing on accumulating back to back centuries and as many hills as possible. It was all about building two-wheeled strength, endurance and hours.

Along with the cycling, I’d be ripping off intervals on the erg, getting runs in, putting in time in my old-school gym. Silk faithfully ran during the week and went to core yoga. Once in awhile he’d ask me, “How many centuries have we done now?” There was always a hopeful tone in his question as if he was wondering maybe I would declare ourselves ready. Before we knew it the clock had run out. It was time to go find out our story.

Day 1: Astoria, Oregon Can you imagine a moving village of 21 cyclists, 5 guides, 21 Trek Domane bicycles and three vans two of which are pulling trailers? There was a first day of school feel going on with lots of excitement and “Can you believe we’re here?” That’s what was going on here. Day 1 had its moments. It also had a lot of logistical knowledge passed from the guides to us. All in all it was a road trip from Portland to Astoria, a meet and greet, bike-fitting, picnic lunching, GPS lesson, safety lesson, and cycling 30 miles kinda day.

Guides Megan, Rae, Blake, Brian and Brent were tasked with every single logistical detail needed to move us including our luggage, food and bikes safely from coast to coast. It was abundantly clear they knew exactly what they were doing and that if we followed their lead it would all work out. How little we knew then about what these over the top superbly detail-oriented guides would be doing for us. Or how much we would come to admire their commitment to our dream of pedaling across the United States. On top of their daily tasks, two of the five guides would be on bikes each day sharing the miles with us.

We were going to be a 26 person team with the attendant inherent challenges and gifts therein. We were 8 women and 13 men from all over the USA. I was struck immediately by the pure confidence and happiness emanating from these folks who had done exactly what Silk and I had done to be ready. That camaraderie coupled with the enormity of what was in front of us produced waves of lightheartedness tinged with focus.

A sparkly day of sunshine with ocean breezes wrapped around us in Astoria. The mighty Columbia River was at our elbows with cormorants flying and ginormous container ships easing past (one carrying windmill blades which looked like elephant tusks writ large). We found our bikes, listened to Blake explain the logistics that soon enough would be second nature, enjoyed Megan and Rae’s first picnic lunch and exchanged introductions. Blake let us know that the myriad tasks each morning and evening would soon become second nature and we’d be a well-oiled operation in and around the actual cycling.

My inaugural ride? I was lighthearted. Marveling at the wonder of training my body. Trusting it now to carry me to Maine. A feeling so large and expansive it stunned me to realize, “This is it. It’s happening now. Don’t let a single hour slip past now without feeling grateful for this experience.”

Day 2: Portland, Oregon We went from goosebumps breezy Astoria right into the frying pan on day 1 after breakfast at the Pig ’n Pancake. 100 miles to Portland with 4800 feet of elevation. First ritual of each day: snap a pic of the whiteboard on the lunch trailer. The daily numbers were all right there: the day’s miles, rest stop mile markers, lunch mile marker, any other details the guides thought critical. I realized hours later that I had no idea what I’d read on the whiteboard.

Our many many miles on Route 202 had us on serpentine woodsy roads deep into what felt like mysterious rain forests. Criss-crossing several rivers many times (Nehalem River I’m talking to you) and riding alongside the sparkling, burbling, coursing water I could hear and see kingfishers. More than several of them. We had a couple of challenging climbs today and the cooler crisp air gave way to thicker hotter and more intense heat as we were closing in on Portland.

Day 3: Hood River, Oregon For most of the morning the cloud cover was welcome and we delighted in being completely away from cars. The Vera Katz Esplanade in Portland to the Springwater Corridor trail took us to Gresham and then soon enough we were at rest stop 1 and starting out on the Historic Columbia River Highway. (HCRH) We climbed and climbed and soon found ourselves passing waterfall after waterfall.

Day 4: Condon, Oregon Given the snippets of conversation that floated around the breakfast room, it seemed more than a few cyclists had trepidation about the big day ahead. Lead guide Blake was honest as he stood at the white board this morning, “Today is a tough ride.”

Not only was it long, it was going to be a day where the heat built as the hours ticked by. Then there was the reality of 8000 feet of climbing. Some climbing in the morning but the bulk of it later in the day. I am not a “dial in on the route map with all details of where and when the hills are” kinda girl. Silk is a “know all the details of the route” kinda chap. Between the two of us we get the job done and today was a perfect example of how we operate.

Today’s takeaway: it doesn’t matter to me when the hills come or how hot it is. This endeavor has me “inhale (ing) great draughts of space” (Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road) with alacrity. I like where my feet are.

Day 5: Hermston, Oregon Today was another 90+ mile day. I track our elapsed time in my training log along with our moving time because it matters. Covering the miles is one thing and the all day affair of this dog and pony show is another thing entirely. Just another reason we make the effort not to dally at rest stops or lunch unless it’s necessary. One of my diversions today was to move a barn owl off the road and thank her for letting me have a few of her wing feathers. She was beautiful. Took me quite awhile to catch back up to Silk who didn’t realize I’d stopped.

Silk and I rode and rode. The miles slipped past and we discussed how it is that little towns like Condon end up the way they do after more prosperous years. We tossed around the concept that we will be doing this for 41 more days. That lead to several miles of silence with both of us contemplating the reality of what it is we are doing.

As Silk says on just about every ride after we are done, “It’s SO good to be out of the saddle.” He’s not kidding. Another reason we had trouble sleeping last night: both of us are nursing chapped fannies. As I told my friends Tracy and Dave in Calgary who we met in Greenville at the TT ride camp in April, “Fanny management is job 1 on this trip.” We have our elixirs and we are on top of it!

Tomorrow we are bound for Walla Walla. Goodbye Oregon. I miss you already.

Day 6: Walla Walla, Washington A much better night’s sleep and our organization of our bags the night before meant Silk and I were operating on all cylinders this morning. We started out with a group of 8 and soon it was just Silk and me in our own rhythm with Sandy nearby. There’s a trick to being compatible endurance companions. Silence is often the most comforting as we move but then conversations can be just the right thing, too. Sandy has it down.

It was a day for open roads, few cars, and the sun emerging from cloud cover. It was a non-demanding day knowing how few miles were on tap. I enjoyed the freedom of not having to gut out those ubiquitous last tough 20 miles on 100 mile days. A picnic day for this justagirl cyclist. I know full well what’s in store for the rest of the week.

Riding with Sandy has been a happy discovery. She’s zesty, smart, outgoing and completely aware of the beauty all around. She calls out, “Jennings! Look at that light!,” “Look at those clouds!” “I love this!” I ride alone at home or with Silk and it was a treat to discover such a compatible riding partner to share the miles with. She and Silk often broke out into song together. While cycling. Too funny.

Day 9: Kamiah, Idaho 117 miles dawned clear and crisp as the rolling herd gathered in the parking lot of the of the Kamiah Clearwater Motel at 6:45 am. The Clearwater River was streaming by and I could hear kingfishers chitter chitter chittering from where I was slathering sunscreen, filling my water bottles and making sure the little bento box on my ride had a few packages of fig cookies.

My task: to get up and over Lolo Pass on this 117 mile day knowing the climbing was going to kick up at mile 103 with near to five miles having to haul my carcass uphill. Pretty late in the game for the Big Show if you ask me.

The guides masterfully assisted us in chunking the miles so we could negotiate our way with as much buoyancy as possible. Though we were every minute of the ride today with the sparkling Clearwater River off our right shoulders and continuous spectacular high scenery all around, it was a day-long continuously relentlessly sneaky climb. All while knowing the big climb was still ahead. The Bitterroots were deep, mysterious and provided visual serenity all day.

As the climb got going I was passed by two of our group (boys) and decided I would try to hang onto the wheel of Bruce the latter of the two. Tall, lean, a super strong rider and a recently retired anesthesiologist from CO with triplet children I knew he’d be strong as the climb wore on. I rode behind him and then decided to vault past. He stuck with me (I could see his shadow on the road off to my side). Hmmm. Ok, time for a little fartlek. I rode 15 pedal strokes hard and 10 easy and repeated that three times and I didn’t see his shadow any more. I didn’t look at the Garmin. I kept my gaze affixed to the road in front of me and kept on pedaling. Finally I felt the breezes, looked up and saw the van .25 mile away. Yeah! Montana sign! Yeah!

Day 10: Missoula, MT We passed log cabin homesteads, ragtag machinery sheds, the first wild purple asters of the season and ponies. Lots of ponies. Many with appaloosa fur jackets — grazing ponies, galloping away at the sight of us ponies and a few strings of pack ponies with big mounds of hay for munching. They all looked as if they were waiting for a cowgirl to come out with a saddle over her shoulder.

Silk and I cruised into Missoula riding with a pack and we all were in love with the final 8 miles into Missoula — a separated bike path. I was swooning over the chicory that was everywhere. Spirits were beyond high. The various wish list doings had been articulated at breakfast: ice cream, laundry, swimming in the Clark Fork River, massages, chill out time galore. One aspect of the trip had became obvious: there was very little down time each day particularly at the close of the day.

6pm saw us gathering for a social with everyone clean and holding some kind of libation. The waves of chatter and laughter were heartening and satisfying. Clearly the group has gelled. Kaye offered up her leadership for a yoga class on Saturday morning. Various spouses and family members made the trip to come visit and/or ride with us from Missoula to Helena.

Jacque’s young adult children came, too. Her daughter Brook rows at the University of Tennessee and she and I had a meeting of the minds talk about the purity of the sculling stroke, seeing the oar blade puddles moving away from the stern of one’s sleek sliver of a boat. Sandy and Pat were sleuthing which ice cream shops to go to, laundry outings were being planned, our shared cycling exploits were re-capped and celebrated.

I looked around at all of us, triumphant in our miles ridden. The architectural structures of our proficient bodies so different from each other. Long sinuous legs. Powerful legs. Short bodies. Tall drink of water bodies. All of us capable, trained and willing. The knowledge that strong mile after mile cycling is the only way to get where we want to go. It’s our steadfast will that is the same. We all believe we can do it and we are getting it done.

Part 1: In October, our group of cross country riders reached the coast of the Atlantic and completed an incredible 3,784-mile journey by bike. Among them was one of the most accomplished women’s long-distance runners in U.S. history, Lynn Jennings. The three-time Olympian and world cross-country champion took on a new challenge this fall and embarked on a 47-day journey from Portland, Oregon to Portland, Maine. Get to know Lynn firsthand as she writes about her experiences on the open road across America and stay tuned for more entries soon.

For as long as I can remember I have been happiest moving outdoors with birds, forests, flowers and any kind of water. For years I moved through the world on two feet testing my limits and my willingness to endure the training to be the best runner in the world. Being a world-class runner is not for the faint of heart and somehow I came through it all intact and still kicking and with my love of the outdoors all the stronger.

When I discovered serious cycling in my forties, I found an even better way to move through the world — so many places to cycle, so much time to be on a bike. I fully embraced, as Henry James wrote, “Try to be one on whom nothing is lost.” The very notion of traveling the world on two wheels means moving through one environment after another with eyes, heart and mind wide open.

Portland to Portland 2022 was the ultimate expression of so much of what I hold dear. Being brave enough to try something new and challenging. Being willing to train hard and strong for 8 months to prepare for it. I was ready for anything to happen. I had this sense that I would thrive no matter how challenging it all was, that beautiful days and tough days would combine to create an unforgettable adventure. Improbable as it seems, I was certain I would be in my element every single day.

Sharing my experience on Portland to Portland 2022 will, I hope, show how we are always capable of more than we think, we are always more resilient than we think. I was the best version of myself every day on this trip and I can think of nothing better than inspiring someone else to give it a go.