6/17/10

Today was one of the best experiences I have ever had on a bike. Ever! We ate well and headed out into a cold overcast day. It was 40 degrees, maybe 35, with the windchill.

We rode 13 miles and began to climb. On my right was a lake supporting mist the sun had yet to burn. It fronted a mountain filled with fog topped with late season snow. The setting was so stunning it was a challenge to ride. We climbed through mist which turned to rain, rain to sleet, and sleet to snow. At the top of Lolo pass we stopped at a snow covered ranger station, drank hot chocolate, and headed back out for a thrilling 47 miles of downhill into Montana.

Once in Montana, it seemed odd to ride for so long at 17 miles per hour with such little effort. We passed fields of cattle running to feed through yellow fields. Rain pelted my face and teeth as I smiled a smile of freedom, of life! I experienced the outdoors today. I felt its diversity. Not long ago my reality was the sterile environment of the hospital. It was an honor to experience this day!

6/16/10

We rode from Lowell to Powell today. The river was beautiful as we followed it, like yesterday, for the remainder of the day. The higher we climbed the more rapid it began to flow. The pine trees disappeared as the mountains rose so sharp left and right that cloud cover capped and enclosed my world. There was a steady 1-2 degree grade for 61 miles that added steady pressure to my legs. Cold, rain, and flat tires were the norm for the day.

I'm simply amazed how things work out. Today was filled with cold, rain, and struggle. Yet, it ended with a bed, a log cabin, and a central wood burning stove. I couldn't feel my feet the entire day. My hands were in the same state. My body is now warm. A warmth enhanced from recently knowing cold. Suddenly, my only concern is the number of logs in the stove.

6/15/10

Well, another day. The morning was rough!!!!! We left White Bird, Idaho (pop.106). Talk about depressing. The mountains were so close, so all encompassing, and the clouds so dark and heavy, I couldn't wait to leave. In order to do so, we climbed, and climbed, and climbed up a 12 mile 8 degree grade. My right thigh was tight and the back of my left knee hurt. But, my pace was steady, morning aches wore off, and, as usual, it turned to another beautiful day.

As we crested the peak leaving White Byrd, a Subaru apparently missed a corner and slammed into the corner of the cliff. There was steam and fluids flowing from the engine. As we helped the driver out of the car, others stopped and offered assistance. Knowing she was in good hands, we rolled on. The accident reminded me, once again, of the fragility of life. A fragility, at least for a while, I was able to forget.

The rest of the day we rode along the Snake River. Pleasant, exceptionally smooth and pleasant riding, marked the remainder of the day. I write from the porch of a rafting lodge just feet from the rushing Snake River. I can't help but watch its timeless movement, hear its fury, and feel the deep rumble of power. My life is feeling simple. I wake, I ride, I eat. Like the river, my days are both natural and timeless. I never thought I'd find such peace sleeping on the porch of a cabin.

6/14/10

We left Council, Idaho today. It was a beautiful day with warm winds and clear skies. We road up hill, again, for a while but the road soon leveled out. We covered 91 miles in an effort to regain what we lost yesterday.

The day was a long, tough, day in the saddle. Fatigue forced me to put additional effort into each pedal stroke. I felt like I was going to bonk this morning and initially thought I just needed to eat a big lunch. Actually, eating frequently rather than a lot proved beneficial. Hopefully my body is adapting rather than breaking down.

I watched as the landscape changed from pine trees and wind swept valleys back to mountain passes. I was struck by the wind washed land and the hardiness of both the people and the vegetation. Oregon seemed much more lush and easier on its people.

6/13/10

We rode into Pacific time last night. It was pretty cool to ride your bike far enough to gain an hour. We camped in a little town called Oxbow. It's amazing how the steady flow of a river makes a person sleep well.

Even after a good nights sleep I didn't feel like riding this morning. I was both lethargic and unmotivated. It took a while to get my motor going especially with the initial climb. After a couple of hours I felt good. We rounded a corner with a river on the left and sheer cliffs on the right which hid the sun which dropped the temperature 10 degrees. Movement forced me to look up at the overhanging cliffs as I spotted four mountain goats looking down. As we continued into Idaho the climate changed to hot, dry, and windy. Gearing was tough as the terrain turned to rolling climb after rolling climb.

A volunteer fireman was nice enough to offer a lift to the local corner store. Later, I slept by a park bench after a killer dinner of a heated burrito, milk, Gatorade, frozen snickers, and Corona. Yes, my gut rumbled pretty good that night!

Another good day.

6/12/2010

What I've learned so far:

1) Move forward. Find a way. There's no point in whining about anything.
2) No matter what, you can!
3) Remain in the moment, plan for the future.
4) Don't live in the future.
it's not here yet.
it probably won't turn out how you hoped anyway.
even if things don't turn out as planned, the joy is in the process.

I was glad to leave Baker City. It was concrete, motels, junk yards and unhappy folks at dinners. There was minor climbing and the land soon leveled out. We slow pedaled across land that was harsh and dry, but not so much so to eliminate greenery. We passed ranches, cattle, cabins, rivers and canyons. We passed horses grazing in windswept grass being fed by the steady mist of irrigation.

We rolled downhill, following a river gorge, stopping to look at the vast, open land. Appearing hills soon altered the landscape once again thus limiting the view. With the town of Oxbow ahead, Idaho is near. From what I've been told, if I can handle the mountains so far, I should be O.K. One day at a time is all I can handle. The rest is too overwhelming.

Rock on!

6/10/10

We woke in Baker City to more cold and rain. Immediately out of town we began an 8 mile, 2700 foot climb. The fog, yet untouched by sun, layered the earth with an ominous tone. The climbing was slow and rhythmic which lent for time to hear rain clicking on my helmet. My breathing was slow, healthy and alive. It felt so good to once again live so well, so healthy, so deeply! I rode with gratitude and heart felt joy.

The fog soon gave way to the suns rays shining across the valley floor. I descended hills with stinging sleet. A Blue Herring flew from the surrounding pines, silently gliding above. I saw a fox chased by dogs. I watched a cow leap a ditch and stand hillside protecting her calves. I witnessed deer and elk running across the valley floor, cutting through grass with such athletic grace you couldn't help but get off the bike and watch in stunned amazement.

The day was filled with the spectacular.

6/6/10

It rained today, all day. Heavy rain and light rain. We rode from Coburg, around Eugene, to McKenzie Pass.

Initially I thought I'd write about the riding. As I sit and think, my thoughts are led to the people I have seen along the way. I got a glimpse of America today. A good America. An America that I am beginning for the first time to truly love. The waitress at the dinner this morning had a tooth ache, she kept working. A truck driver across from us had a recently shaved head. A scar along the side of his skull, I'm assuming, was from a recent surgery. He got in his truck and drove. He went to work! I'm beginning to see an America that does have standards. It's an America based on being an individual, working when you don't want to work, and striving for a good life.

It rained today, all day. Heavy rain and light rain. Yet, I look back and see a country, my country, as a spectacular place to be.

6/5/10

Like my cancer treatment, the ride across America is dealing with the day to day unknown. It means dealing with the moment, the next city, and not the entire 4200 miles.

I'm filled with uncertainty, but I'm hoping for a good outcome. I feel well, better than I thought.

We left Salom 70 some odd miles ago. I write from camp in Colburg. The ride started with hard climbs which soon flattened to a steady 12-15 mile per hour pace. I cannot begin to describe the beauty of the area. It is one of rich farm land with greenery and distant mountain peaks. The silence is disconcerting yet liberating. I'm tired, I'm scared, I'm free. We're headed for McKenzie Pass in the morning.

6/4/2010

Today was day 1. Pacific City to Salem, Oregon. We did 78 miles with steep climbs that seemed endless to my Texas legs. I was one of the slowest, but given my recent health situation I really don't care. Well, that's not true. I'm scared as hell about being last! Either way, the climbs were a struggle and I have concerns about slowing the group. I have concerns about how I will feel tomorrow. The ride, from what I understand, will be 55 miles. Very tolerable, then again, today was supposed to be 65.

We woke to 50 degrees and rain. As we drove to the coast the sky turned blue and clouds drifted away. The Gods, it seemed, smiled on us as we dipped a tire in the Pacific and began our journey to the Atlantic. We stopped at Otto's, ate a burger the size of a face and hash browns to match. The surrounding town surrendered to the deep green of the mountains while the mountains surrendered to fog. Everything seemed just as it should be in this part of the world.

The beauty of that which is natural seems to transform people. It crawls inside of them opening chambers for peace. There is an ease here, a feel unlike the city where the natural world is secondary to the artificial world of buildings, controlled temperature, and technology. Nature brings order. People seem to assist rather than resist one another.

Tomorrow is the second day. Good grief, how embarrassing to not have the stuff to make it.

6/3/2010

6/3/2010

"Be kind and merciful. Let no one come to you without coming away better and happier."
-Mother Teresa

I'm wiped out! Last night the flight from Houston was delayed a couple of hours. I arrived in Portland around 3:00 a.m. Pacific time. I write from the corner of the hotel room bed. Before me lies a tattered bike box with shifter cables in similar condition. Anyway, my mind is still on teaching and the daily routine with Adriana. It might sound odd, but I'm not even into this thing yet and I already miss her. I wonder what it will be like to not share a morning coffee with her for the next 50 something days and hearing about her day. I'm just so tired from work and travel I'm questioning everything. Tomorrow I ride! I'm scared! I'm everything! Who do I actually think I am to hop on a bike after cancer treatment and ride across the United States?

I don't know what I'm getting into. I suppose I'm living on hope for the next couple of months. Now that I think about it, hope was the very thing I so desperatally needed for cancer treatment. Now wouldn't be a good time to let go of it.

During the course of the trip I wish to express myself with the awareness that I am in the middle of something special. It is a special time in my life. I'm overwhelmed by the support of my family and friends. I'm overwhelmed by the opportunity to rediscover peace while I pedal.

Yellowstone, it is all that!

Every now and then the world opens its doors revealing a splendor beyond words. Pictures, not captions, reveal a depth to life that borders on the extraordinary. I hope you enjoy the pictures of Yellowstone. I hope you discover your version of extraordinary.







The thick smell of sulfur filled the evening air!

A quit evening in a vast land.

Memories ........

Moments after Old Faithful.

Old Faithful!

Good to meet ya' Archie

"Life is a bundle of great little things."

-Oliver Wendell Holmes

There is nothing more pleasant than waking to the sound of a rushing river. This was the case in Oxbow, Oregon as the sun burned off the morning dew and brought to life the smell of sap and pine. A fleece lined jacket took care of the morning chill while a steaming cup of coffee made everything just right.

On the road by 6:30 a.m, we hugged the shoulder as we passed through sun drenched valleys and mountain tops speckled with late season snow. As logging trucks passed with their first load of the day, I was in awe of their cargo; the size, the smell, the years it must have taken the trees to mature. It was a shame to see them hauled away.

With 45 miles on the odometer our pace slowed as we rolled into a diner. A gentleman approached the table. Around 5'6'', he was stooped, with a white beard, and eyes that were soft and kind. He stood with his arms behind his back, made reference to our cycling gear and asked if we were on a trip. I mentioned we were riding for cancer awareness, I was a survivor, and we're riding coast to coast. He listened, nodded, turned, and simply walked away. Slightly baffled, we shrugged and waited for the waitress to appear. She was glad to see we had met Archie. No, he was not the owner. No, he didn't wait tables. In fact, he didn't even work there at all. She said he appeared occassionally, spoke to customers, walked through the kitchen talking to the staff, and cleaned a table every now and then. He was retired and everyone just loved to have him around.

A few minutes later, Archie reappeared. He started speaking of his red Ford Festiva and how it got 48 miles per gallon. He was terribly proud of his daughter as she recently graduated from college. He lives next door to the diner and loves Idaho with all his heart. He is a poet, and this is what he wrote.

The Idaho Invitation

by Archie

Come share it with me

Touch the softness of morning

See the dawn on the meadow

Feel the warmth of the sun

Hear the cry of the Osprey

Hear the trumpeting chorus

Of the Elk in the valley

Know your day has begun

Try rafting the rivers

Glide and sore with the Eagles

Hear the backcountry calling

Make the summit your goal

Feel the skis in the powder

Sing the song of the mountain

Feel the Idaho heartbeat

Creeping into your soul

Come on,

Come and share it with me

Oh! One more thing.

Air so pure you won't want to exhale

With that, Archie paid for our coffee, shook our hands, got in his red Ford Festiva, and lead the group safely through his town.

Slow Down

"Slow down and enjoy life. It is not only the scenery you miss by going too fast-you also miss the sense of where you are going and why."

-Eddie Cantor




Adriana,


I hope all is well in your part of the world. I'm writing from the porch of a hostel in a little town called Mitchell. It's about 80 miles outside of McKenzie Pass. The porch is really cool. The roof extends well beyond the door offering cover from sun and rain. There's a beat up pair of cowboy boots by the door next to a sign that says "Please remove spurrs before walking on wood floors." I don't know what the population is, but I haven't seen more than 10 people since I arrived. Every now and then you see a muddy truck with a dog in the back. The owner hops out and heads in to the burger/bar for a shot of Jack Black, a burger, or to sign up for Friday's amateur boxing night. Anyway, they serve up a burger the size of your face ... well, not yours sweetie ... let's just say the burger was huge! The fries are so big they flex when you pick them up. The guy that served it bought the place about 5 years ago. He didn't seem like the owner of a burger joint to me. He had a thick grey beard that hung to his chest with yellow nicotine stains on his face and fingers. He told me he and his wife moved out there because he had a job on a ranch. The job fell through so they bought the burger place and stayed. It's kind if funny all the twists and turns a person's life will take.

I hope you enjoy the photos! As soon as I get cell phone service I'll give you a call. Talk to you soon.


Love,

Alex

Fear of Success-McKenzie Pass

“Hiding a talent is not exclusive to any one particular group of people, young, old, black, white, Latin. It doesn't matter. It's universal. The idea that you have a gift or talent is always kind of threatening. Most of us are afraid of our success, that we will actually be great.”

- Laurence Fishburne




As I write, I feel incredibly content. It is a contentment derived from the realization that a personal victory has been achieved. I awoke this morning at the foot of Mckenzie Pass. It is one of the first "real" climbs of the trip. Up to this point, I had convinced myself that if I stared long enough at a topography map the route would suddenly be ridden with ease. This, of course, would not be the case.

McKenzie Pass was closed and we were forced to take the lower route, Sustaine Alternate, which involved 34 miles of consistent climbing with 4800 feet of elevation gain. The remaining 60 miles involved rolling terrain.

The next morning, the skys were heavy and overcast. While eating breakfast and filling water bottles for the day, I faced potential failure and physical pain. Later, while riding, any gradient change marked the beginning of my doom. I was quietly, but assuredly, marking myself for failure!

In, Relections on the Art of Living, Joseph Campbell wrote to the effect that anything you do has a still point, or, what I take to mean a time in which things are neither good nor bad, they simply are. When you're at that point, according to Campbell, you can perform maximally. Basically, I was riding out of fear rather than in the moment. I had yet to realize that "still point." But as happens so often on the bike, the observance of one's surrounding takes over and anything beyond your immediate world is no longer part of the moment. A still point often arrives.

I remember the initial challenge of the climb, but somehow the moment seemed to ease its way into the ride. A slow grind up the pass turned into one of awe as moisture-thick trees parted to make way for the deep rumble of waterfalls.

Peaches and trail mix fueled my body as I swept through turn after turn, and climb after climb. Trees and foilage, still dripping with moisture at noon, became barren and dry from elevation later that day.

Mt. Washington appeared in all her stillness as I crested the pass. While observing, I took note of the moment and declared it one of success.

Every so often there are days when you live deeply. This, I am happy to say, will be one to remember.

Anticipation

"An intense anticipation itself transforms possibility into reality; our desires being often precursors of the things which we are capable of performing."

-Samual Smiles

While walking with controlled anticipation down the hall of the Salem, Oregon hotel, I leaned my pannier-loaded bike against the wall. I was a continental breakfast away from riding into day one. I soon found myself staring at a plate of waffles, eggs, and peaches and questioning my desire to put food in a stomach clenched tight with emotions. "Mornin'," a stranger said. "Where you headed"? I side-skirted the issue by saying, "Not far." "Lot of stuff on that bike to go not far?" he responded. There is a time, I suppose, when anticipation becomes reality. I mustered up all the confidence I had and stated, "I'm riding my bicycle across the United States." With that one admission to a stranger, I walked away from a world of anticipation and stepped into my new reality.

The air in Pacific City, Oregon (the starting point), was moist with recent morning fog. The town surrendered, it seemed, to Pacific ocean spray. Eastward mountains revealed lush greenery from time spent canopied with clouds laden with rain. Surrounding beauty, however, offered little comfort as I looked into the mountains and wondered if I would make it through the first day. Not allowing too much time to think, I swept the Pacific sand off my feet, put on my riding shoes, clipped in, and rolled away to the gentle hum of the tires. 78 miles of first-day struggle would ensue leaving uncertainty about my body's ability to cope. It seemed as though my Texas legs struggled up mountain passes both long and short. My heart rate stayed high as I grinded my way along roads of uncertainty.

For reasons unkown, I awoke the next morning and hopped out of bed with a zeal that surprised even me. My legs felt so fresh, so ready to ride, I couldn't help but look forward to the day. With new spirits I headed to the blinking truck stop dinner sign, ordered coffee, and found myself observing and listening to those around me. What I saw and heard, as simple as it seemed, changed my perspective and my mentality forever. The waitress took my order; her face was pleasant, yet lined from years of smoke and struggle. She kept holding the side of her face. When asked, she said she had a toothache. Her boss would let her take time off, but she wanted to work. To my right a truck driver with overalls and buttons that strained against his weight. The side of his head was shaved revealing a recent scar. He left a tip, grabbed his keys, hopped in his truck and went to work. Just like that, nothing said, no complaining; the guy went to work. The flag out front was half staff. The community, it seemed, had soldiers in Iraq. I'm beginning to see an America that does have standards, an America with people that ask for nothing and work for everything. An America that wakes daily, stands on its own feet, and strives, despite adversity, for a good life. I left that little diner in Coburg standing a little taller and understanding that my country is a great place to be. It will be an honor to see more.

A Celebration of Life

"The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach".

-Unknown


In late September 2008, I was diagnosed with cancer. Surgery, chemo, and radiation introduced me to a darkness I have never felt. June 4th, 2010 marked the beginning of a 57 day self-supported, 4200 mile, bicycle journey from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Each pedal stroke introduced me to fear and self-doubt, as well as heartfelt elation and joy. The ride was a privilege, a gift; in fact, it was a celebration of life. It showed me that I am a survivor and that maybe, just maybe, I can reach for greater heights.

My hope is that I can convey my journey in such a way as to do it justice. In an effort to collect memories, I took pictures daily and journaled nightly. Combining the two created what I hope to be assorted reflections and lessons of a special time in my life. Rather than giving a day-by-day account of the trip, I reviewed pictures and journal entries in three day increments. The significant events are what I'd like to share. I include few details such as speed and distance as they have little relevance other than meeting the August 1st return date. The following is the retelling of my story.

Half way home

Needless to say, the blogging has not worked out as anticipated. Every attempt to write has been thwarted by either lack of internet access, remote locations, or just long days spent in the saddle with free time spent finding food and shelter for the evening. With this in mind, I have established a routine of using good old fashioned pen and paper to chronicle memories. Combining this with pictures, I look forward to piecing together the trip to the blog in a couple of weeks.

With limited time to write before we, once again, hit the road, I can say this trip, thus far, has been both exceptional and extraordinary. I am in the midst of an adventure of a lifetime! This awareness enhances the experience allowing me to further appreciate ever changing surroundings.

I currently write from Kansas. We have ridden though Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming, (including Yellowstone and the Tetons), Montana, and Colorado. Heat, snow, rain, sleet and wind are all part of the day. Elements of the outdoors have proven to enhance the experience as the environment is ever changing and never controlled. Within this environment I have ridden past buffalo close enough to feel their stare. I have awakened at night to a growling pack of wolves, 75 yards away, attacking something weak or establishing command. I have been sore, tired hungry, and elated. Magnified emotions are par for the course. I have never, however, let go of the thought that a short while ago this might have never been. It goes without saying cancer is a nasty thing. The opportunity to ride across our breathtaking country is in stark contrast to the sterile and confining walls of a hospital. Although the contrast in experiences is, at times, overwhelming, I am thankful to see what this country is all about. I am learning that I am proud of my country! We are, indeed, a good people. I look forward to sharing.

We finished Day 5 in Mitchell, OR. Day 6 we rode 81 miles to Prairie City and on Day 7 we rode 83 miles to Baker City. Day 7, Friday, we rode 56 miles to Oxbow. The views are spectacular and we have experienced every season under the sun! We have been rained on, sleeted on, experienced icy cold conditions and, when in the sun, some extreme heat. There are times when we are going from sun to shade that we experience about a 10 degree drop in temperature!! The wildlife, especially the elk, are fun to watch.

I have some awesome videos and pictures but no way to post them yet. So stay tuned because when I am able, I want to share them with you all!!

Today is Saturday, June 12, our first real day of rest since our journey began. I am doing very well and feel very confident! Tomorrow we will be in Idaho as the journey continues!

The Journey Has Begun!

We started our trip across the United States by dipping our tires in the Pacific Ocean at Pacific City, Oregon. Day 1 we rode 78 miles to Salem. It felt good to have the first day under my belt and I did surprisingly well! Day 2 was a 73 mile ride to Coburg, OR. Day 3 we rode to the base of McKenzie pass--about a 60 mile ride. Day 4 was supposed to be a trip over this pass but it was snowed in so our alternate route took us over Suntaim pass--a very beautiful and scenic ride, but all uphill!! We rode a total of 80 miles on Day 4, stopping in Redmond. Day 5 will take us through Pineville and will include about a 70 mile ride with a 2000 ft climb! I have discovered that riding in Texas just can't prepare you for the kinds of elevation changes we are experiencing in the Casscade Mountains of Oregon--but I am learning to cope and do just fine!! I'm learning that the important virtues of patience, passion and persistence will give me the strength each day to make the journey! These are the same virtues that gave me the strength to fight my cancer! I am truly blessed!!

(Posted 6/9/2010)