Champaign, IL to Zionsville, IN: More like Raindiana...

This post won’t be a soap opera; however, I feel there is some necessary context, as I like to post about the mental implications of cycling as opposed to the just dry facts of what happens (if you are interested in my thoughts on anxiety and depression, I keep another blog to explore those). As always, expect me to be forthright and not sugarcoat things: if you want buttery, smiles-only travel stories, you’re reading the wrong blog. If you want to know everything that happens, the good and the bad, then keep reading.

I often struggle with anxiety and depression. Mostly it manifests as being hyper-aware of what could possibly go wrong and getting lost in thought (often negative thought) instead of getting lost in the moment. I’ll find myself uncontrollably exploring the fictional minutiae of having a loved one die in my arms or being arrested for something I didn’t do -- things that have never happened and are extremely unlikely to happen, but that my brain forces me to worry about all the same. This brain of my has the best of intentions, I know. So I’m usually polite when I try and steer myself away from them, but inevitably, five minutes later, there I am again, and I’ve lost a few miles of road to a fantasy of feeling.

It is with this context in mind that we’ll embark on the story of the past two days. I left Champaign after taking two days off to avoid the 20 mph headwinds that the midwest seems determined to force me to endure. I also left Rachel, who had acted about like this when I arrived:

...and who acted about the opposite when I left (thanks again for letting me stay with you, Rachel).
I left with a light breeze that was undetermined about what it wanted to do, and the sun, again, was feeling shy:

There is a saying in the cycle touring world that if you are biking by somewhere with wind turbines, you are probably not having a good day. I had biked by some on my way into Champaign, on the last day, when I’d had the 20 mph headwind:

...and I biked by some on this day, when the wind was more or less complacent. I should have taken it as an omen all the same:

I also biked by this llama.

I'm not sure why, but I think his name is Bradley.

And then I got to Indiana, and it started to rain.

It hasn’t stopped since.

I had to camp in the rain, and then yesterday, I had to ride in the rain with a 17 mph headwind. On a highway with a narrow shoulder.

Let’s back up a little. When I woke up that morning, I was warm and dry, which was a nice change from the last time I tried to camp in the rain (I’d like to thank Alps Mountaineering for giving me a discount on their one person tent, the Lynx 1. I might write more about this in a later post). Suspecting a headwind, I had ridden 80 miles of the 120 to my next host in Zionsville, IN, meaning I had only 40 to ride in the wind instead of half the distance, which would have been 60 miles. So I could kill some time. I dozed in my tent, enjoying the comparative warmth of my body to the cool breeze over my nose, poking out of my cinched sleeping bag; checking my watch periodically and hoping the rain would let up.

It didn’t.

9 AM rolled around and I concluded there was only one thing to do: grin and bear it. I mentally planned the order of operations: change out of dry sleeping clothes into cycling clothes still wet from yesterday, then into rain gear to attempt to keep myself from getting more wet, pack tent, load bike, be on my way.

Goodbye, safety and security.

I had intentionally stopped just a few miles outside the next major town, hoping that in the morning I might pass by a McDonald’s (I’m generally not a fan of fast food, but McDonald’s does breakfast pretty well, especially when one needs carbs) or a gas station with warm biscuits.

I did not -- I didn’t even pass so much as a restaurant, not that they would have let in a dripping cyclist anyways.

At the last gas station in town I stopped and settled for gas station quality coffee and tornadoes, which are basically Americanized enchiladas. I hinted at this in my food post, but one of the benefits of cycle touring is that your body so craves things like carbs and salt (and, in this case, anything warm), that otherwise lower quality food tastes a little bit like heaven.

I meandered inside the gas station taking up as much heat as I could and trying to stay out of the way before finally working up the courage to head out again. The wind and rain were progressively unforgiving as the day went on, and as I never found an Indiana road map I had settled for an easy route, not a quiet one -- a state highway that went straight from where I was to where I was going. Every few minutes, sometimes more often, a semi would pass me going the other direction, and I’d get a slap of wind and rain in the face from the current of air behind it. Every few minutes, a semi would pass me going my direction, and I’d get a brief reprieve from the wind and the ability to go faster than 8 mph for a few blissful seconds. I’d pedal, pedal, pedal, and then wham, the wind would return, as suddenly as it had disappeared.

It’s funny, you might think as a cyclist I’d be scared of semis, but I actually quite like them. They are the most experienced drivers and thus give you the most space and are the most likely to wait behind you for a safe moment to pass. You’d actually like the least space from them because of the drafting effect, but I’m not about to tell that to the next driver I meet (if there are any drivers reading this, please give as much space as possible -- you are required by law to give at least three feet, but we appreciate the whole lane if you’re willing and able). The worst are RVs: people who don’t often drive big vehicles and are usually going too fast and underestimate their margins. Any idiot can kill you, of course. But let’s not get into that.

As the day went on I became progressively wetter and wetter. I’d left my tent that morning with soaked socks and shoes. My pants are a very thin material made to get wet quickly and dry out quickly; as your legs are doing all the work, they are never cold. My torso started dry, but the rain crept in up my sleeves, down my neck, and by the time I’d ridden about 30 of the 46 miles for the day, the windy side of me was wet and cold. I was often shivering and from time to time a few choice words would leave my mouth, directed mostly at the state of Indiana and whoever thought to welcome people this way.

I was so miserable that I actually tried hitchhiking for a bit. First I hopped off at promising-looking driveways or spare lanes for passing left-turners, but as soon as I stopped pedaling the cold would creep in, so that never lasted long. For about an hour I tried sticking my thumb out while riding when I didn’t need both hands to combat the wind (I did get blown off the road twice; thankfully, the not-always-headwind was coming from the far side of the road and thus blew me off the road, not into it. I’ve noted not to ride in the opposite case). I was hoping a gracious pickup truck would be curious about my story or think, “gee, that guy must be soaking wet, and thus in need of a ride more than anything;” but, I think most people probably didn’t want a soaking wet cyclist in their car, and think more about their upholstery than the fact that being wet means I’d appreciate a heated seat that much more. I can’t blame them, and I acknowledge it’s my fault for being out there. I didn’t expect anyone to stop, but it would have been nice if they had.

I chose not to stop for lunch, afraid that if I did, I would be too cold to continue -- not that I was sure anywhere would even let me in. Instead, I would hop off the bike for a few seconds to retrieve a Cliff bar from my bag, then hop on again as fast as I could, rip open the packaging with my teeth, and eat it while pedaling.

After 42 miles of highway, I was able to turn onto a side road and enjoy little wind for the last few miles. I found the house of my host for the night, but they weren’t home yet. I spent a good 20 minutes on the porch coaxing my half-numb fingers to change me into dry clothes and settled into my sleeping bag (thankfully quite dry) on their porch to wait for them to get home from work.

Now what you’re probably thinking after reading all that is: How terrible! Yes, objectively and considered alone as a single day of pedaling, that was probably one of the worst days of the tour (he said, before even entering Africa…). But to be honest, now that I’m warm again, there was a sort of peace in it.

On my mental health blog I once wrote a post about how having a purpose tends to make people happy. On this blog (Cycle Humanity) I’ve even cited being engaged as more important that being happy. Personally, I believe that happiness is a symptom of engagement, which is a product of purpose. I have never experienced happiness as something you get by looking for it -- I’ve only experienced it more like a butterfly in a field of flowers: chase it, and you’ll never catch it. Sneak up on it, and in your zealousness you might damage its wings. In my experience, happiness is something best left to its own devices: enjoy it when you have it, and let it go when the time comes. Get lost in the moment and happiness will settle on your shoulder for a while, but as soon as you notice it’s there, it will flutter off again. The more gracefully you can let it go, the more likely it will be to come back again.

I would never opt for another day like yesterday or wish it upon anyone. But the funny thing about it was, I was so engaged in getting through it, my purpose was so clearly defined (get somewhere warm) and the actions I had to take to achieve it (pedal harder, dammit) that I wasn’t anxious at all. The only enemies were wind, rain, and trucks coming the other way. I wasn’t imagining loved ones dying in my arms or surviving a nuclear apocalypse or my bike getting destroyed on my flight to Europe (a dream I’d had that morning). I wasn’t imagining anything. I was just…

pedaling.

Now, of course, I’m here writing about it and my mind is starting to find ways to entertain itself again. Yesterday, after the ordeal, from the comfort of a bed and a few blankets, I recalled a journal entry I wrote about how hard it was to leave my friends. I’m wondering if what happened constitutes temporarily forgetting about them, and if that’s an okay thing to do: if people, like happiness, can be left for a while, if you can return to them and have them not be insulted by your engagement elsewhere. Maybe being fully engaged in surviving a windy shit of a day now means you can be fully engaged in spending time with them later, and there is less anxiety in that than in the romance of always holding onto things.

I’m taking a break day today to avoid the wind and the rain that’s still out there (seriously Indiana, this is some welcome), but I’ll pedal again tomorrow. I am most grateful to my hosts for letting me stay with them an extra day, and experiencing their personality and kindness is some of the best kind of engagement. They’ve even helped me find creative ways to hang my things to dry:

Hope no one rings the doorbell.

I guess you could say, despite the uncompromising weather and heartache, that I’m finally getting into the swing of things and feeling like I made an not-entirely-wrong choice in quitting my job and leaving my friends to meet new people every day and sleep in a new place every night. Yesterday was, in a way, fortunate. But... let’s not overthink it.

Jackson isn't overthinking it.

‘Till next time.

Madison, WI to Champaign, IL: People, Rain, and Wind

When I last left off discussing my travels, I was in Madison, WI, spending the week with friends. I left Madison on Monday, April 24th, headed for Chicago to visit my cousin.

Thanks, Mandy, for the photo.

Wisconsin was mostly kind to me on my way out, despite the rain and headwinds on the way in. Just outside of Madison I met another cyclist who had just gotten a flat tire. He was commuting from around Lake Mills, WI into Madison, a 30 mile commute. This, he said, was his race training, as he didn’t have time otherwise (my applause to him! We could all save a lot of time, not to mention gym fees, if we combined our exercise routines and our commutes…). He’d looked down to read a text from his wife when he hit a bolt in the road and blew his tire. I lent him my tire iron to get his tire off since the one he had wasn’t working so well. Coincidentally, his wife worked for Trek, the company that made the bicycle I’m currently riding.

These ducks said goodbye to me when I left Madison.

Most of the day was fairly non-eventful. I was self-navigating on county roads through small towns, and stopped for water a few times. The last town I passed through for the day was La Grange, which consisted of a combination bike shop and cafe. The bike shop, I believe, got most of its business from the hundred or so miles of trail just up the road at Kettle Moraine State Forest -- many cars with bike racks were seen that day.

I stopped at the cafe to get water and was approached by Jacob, a graduate student from Racine who had been out mountain biking for the day. He was interested in touring one day and offered me dinner in exchange for touring advice -- okay! He had done tours on the order of a few days before and someone once bought him dinner, which was, in his words, “awesome,” so he was passing it on. I hope to pass it on one day, too.

It’s harder to find stealth camping in areas that are mostly farmland, but I did find a thin strip of trees off the road just south of La Grange.

The next morning I headed off towards Kenosha, where my Warmshowers host was for the night. Again, fairly uneventful: lots of farms and small towns. About 15 miles out from Kenosha, however, I didn’t find a city on the map that I expected to, and as a result, ran out of water. I resolved to stop at the first house I saw with someone in the yard to ask for water. Thus I met Dave, who gave me more than that: he invited me in and gave me an orange, and a slice of banana bread made by his girlfriend. Turns out he was also into biking, but just as a medium to get out on the lake to go fishing. He seemed like someone I would’ve enjoyed getting to know better, but I didn’t want to take up too much of his time, and I already had a place to stay in Kenosha.

Getting into and out of Chicago proper was surprisingly easy. Less than a mile from my host in Kenosha was the Kenosha County bike trail, which at the state line to Illinois became the Robert McClory bike path. Of the short 45 miles I had that day, about 35 were covered by trail. The weather was indecisive -- the forecast had called for rain the night before, which didn’t happen, then rain by noon, which didn’t happen, then when I arrived at my cousin’s, rain 30 minutes later, which didn’t happen. It would sprinkle at times, as if saying, “I could rain if I wanted too…” and I was enticed to put on my rain jacket unnecessarily, but it never came down at any meaningful rate. I was, however, unnerved by the amount of broken glass on the trail. I was fairly confident in my tires (Continental Touring Plus) as I had used them cross country, but still wanted to ride over as little glass as possible. I did end up getting a flat that day, but it was due to a random piece of metal, not glass.

Turns out pollution affects more than just the environment...

I foolishly thought I was only going to spend the evening there, but I was enjoying seeing my cousin and her housemates so much that I stayed an extra day (the headwind might have had something to do with it, too).

On Friday the 28th I left Evanston and, thanks to the low wind, was able to get on the lakeside path and take it all the way past Chicago proper down to the southern suburbs.

The bicycle path is beckoning...

The rain was, again, undecided about what it wanted to do, and it never did more than sprinkle. I met Chip, who was riding along the lake as well, and was interested in touring himself -- we rode together for a while before reaching his turn off, and then, I waved goodbye to tall buildings and headed again into the suburbs…

That night I stayed in Chicago Heights with another Warmshowers host, Chris and Danielle, who were… well, frankly, wonderful. We bonded over cats, Disney, Harry Potter, and video games, and had a very close, 100+ point game of Ticket to Ride. Chris got the 8-train tunnel, and that was what sealed his victory, though by just a few points.

They shared cycling stories of their own, and frankly, a lot of their story in general, which was wonderful to hear. I felt, again, we would have been good friends if I lived nearby, but this was a one night stay.

Shortly after leaving Chicago Heights I got into farmland again -- even more boring than Wisconsin’s farmland though, Illinois farmland is almost perfectly flat, and all the roads are in compass directions in one mile squares… but, I did have a tailwind, so it wasn’t uncommon to find myself at 18-20 mph with very little effort, which is saying something on a fully loaded touring bike. Also, it rained. Finally. The sky seemed to let it out slowly at first, as if exploring something it had wanted for a few days (...), and then it came down hard. At first I was peeved and worried about getting wet, but after a while the rain sort of became normal, and at times it was rather peaceful, just floating along in the middle of nowhere.

That night I stayed with yet another gracious host, Doug, who, among other things, collects Christmas decorations. His house had at least 12 themed Christmas trees and 3 giant santas. It was really quite impressive. Usually at this time of year everything would have been in storage, but he got tired of paying for storage and was building a shed, but the shed wasn’t done yet… so I slept in a room with a cardinal-themed Christmas tree, a tree with only metal ornaments, two Santa Clauses, a model house, and a collection of ornaments that… well I don’t know what they were called, but there were a lot of them.

The cardinal tree.

The next day (Sunday, April 30th) I left with wind from the east, but it would shift to come from the south, and at times, I had a 17 mph headwind. Those times, I got off and walked. If I didn’t, my speed was reduced to 6 mph, sometimes 4 (walking is 3). More than once I found myself in the lowest gear on flat road. The wind was not gracious. Nor was the rain -- whereas the day before, it had made up its mind, on this day, it was on and off and on and off, at least four or five times.

I recalled more than once that I quit my last tour about 200 miles early because of the weather in the rural midwest. I wasn’t about to quit before even making it out of the country, but it took a lot of grit to make it through that day. I also had 80 miles to do -- I’d only done 50 the day before, choosing to stay with Doug at low mileage instead of outdoors at medium mileage because of a storm during the night. I was glad to have stayed indoors (during the storm, the wind gusted up to 33), but needless to say, I would have rather done 80 miles with a tailwind and 50 with a headwind than vice versa. The only good thing was since the roads were all exactly a mile apart, I had constant reassurance that I was making progress.

Finally, I made it to Champaign -- and Rachel! Rachel is a friend from college I stayed with on my last tour. She now holds the record of having hosted me on every tour. I’m writing this from her apartment. I’ve been well fed (on Sunday we went to an all-you-can eat… they didn’t know what they were getting into… or maybe they did: by the third helping I was getting mostly rice), well entertained, and well hugged. It will be a shame to go back out into the wind, but adventure calls. Indiana is less than a day away, and I’m sure it’s not quite so windy or rainy there… right?

Entertainment on the road.

Champaign, IL: The Bosnians

On Monday, April 24th, I left Madison, some of my closest friends, and a romantic interest, headed southeast towards Kenosha. I still had plans to visit friends in the coming weeks, but it was after departing Madison that I really felt I was "on tour." Leaving Minneapolis the week before felt more ceremonial than anything else, as I knew I was headed straight for Madison to see people I love.

Bicycle touring is more psychologically challenging than anything else. Unless you have a serious physical ailment, you can probably pedal 50 miles a day. Sure, without training, you'll be extremely tired and sore afterwards, but get on a bike and pedal for 8 hours a day and you'll end up far from where you started no matter how "in shape" you are. The trouble is not knowing where you're going to sleep every night, if you'll run out of water far from any civilization, and if you'll have anyone to talk to. In the US, anyways, the first two are rarely difficult – it's the third that, for an introvert anyways, can sometimes be difficult.

This is my second tour. My first tour also had a psychological hump: I spent much of day 5 on the beach in Oregon, waxing poetic about the waves and the sand and wondering what I was doing with my life.

On day 6, I met the Bosnians.

Sandro and Sead were tourists from Bosnia (Sandro is from Bosnia, but lives in the US; Sead lives in Bosnia) who were doing a border-to-border from Vancouver, BC to Mexico. We had passed each other at least twice in the past few days, so I knew there were other cyclists around, but it wasn't until I pulled over to heed nature's call and they pulled into the same alcove shortly thereafter, hoping for chain lubricant, that we became friends.

This is how I rode up hills.

They took me under their wing, if you will, helping me find a place to stealth camp that night, even cooking me dinner, and offering me advice (they were the ones who instigating my first weight-purging ritual) and – most importantly – companionship. From meeting them onwards, I was almost never alone: first it was the Bosnians, then Ken, a cyclist I had arranged to ride with via a bicycle touring forum. Once I headed east from San Francisco, I met Tim, from Germany, doing a coast to coast. When I hit St. Louis and headed north to Minneapolis, I was joined by my girlfriend at the time.

At which point my photos all became 10% more rediculous.

Additionally, I was mostly taking a popular touring route created by Adventure Cycling Association, a nonprofit that promotes bicycle touring and bicycle touring routes in the United States, so I had chance encounters with countless other tourists – at grocery stores, coffee shops, and (mostly) on the road. I was often alone, but I was rarely lonely.

Me and three other groups of cyclists who didn’t plan to meet but were all on the same route.

When my girlfriend joined me, she also had a psychological "hump" of sorts, and she got over it when we met Gene, an Illinois local who introduced himself at a gas station, invited us to stay on his property, let us use his fishing poles, and taught us to filet and cook fish. We decided Gene was her "Bosnian," and thus the term was coined.

Bosnian: A person who helps you overcome a mental hurdle, often during a major life change.

This tour has been a bit different. Indeed, I have met new people every day of the tour. I even had the good fortune to be able to stay in Madison for a week after just five days of pedaling. But maybe staying in Madison created a sharp contrast for me: where I was once surrounded by friends, I have yet to meet anyone else on tour, living the same life as me. I have met cyclists! And through Warmshowers, a reciprocal hospitality site like Couchsurfing but exclusively for touring cyclists, I have met many cyclists who have been on tour or who plan to go on tour. But except for the first 15 miles which I rode with my mom, every other pedal stroke has been taken alone.

Ask anyone with a military record and they will almost certainly insist that shared struggles are a social glue (and here is a study that substantiates that statement). I have been fortunate enough to meet many fine people since having started the tour, many of whom I could even see myself becoming friends with if we lived in the same place. But I haven't met anyone who I can share my struggle with. Leaving my closest friends and having comparatively brief, intermittent social contact has been by the far the hardest part so far.

Where are the Bosnians?

Madison, WI: The Ritual

There is a ritual common among bicycle tourists, and most lightweight travelers, I imagine. Sometimes known as “the great toss,” “the purge,” the choice swear words followed by an angry throwing of things over a cliff, or the “do I really need that,” I will refer to it here simply as “the ritual.”

When I did my first tour across the US, the ritual began while I was having lunch with some other cyclists. I pulled out a can opener to open a can of food, and they both looked at me, aghast.

“What,” one of them stumbled, “is that?”

I could elaborate here, but the end result of that conversation was my can opener in the trash and the use of my Leatherman from that point on. Later that week I would lay out everything in my possession and mail home about 5 lbs worth.

For this tour (Cycle Humanity) I was hoping to come in at about 55 lbs dry. What that means is the weight of the bike and everything on it, minus myself, food, and water would weigh no more than 55 lbs. The bike itself is 26, plus fenders and a rack to hold the panniers (bicycle backpacks) another 2. When I did a practice pack, the two panniers came out at 21 lbs, putting the total at 49 lbs. Perfect.

When I left Minneapolis on Wednesday morning, I weighed everything together. I weigh 170, and holding the fully loaded bike on the scale, together we came in at… 255!? Yes, somewhere in there, my setup had gained 36 lbs, and the grand total of the bike, gear, food, and water was 85 lbs.

Needless to say, this was a little disappointing. Even if food and water weighed 15 lbs, 21 lbs still magically appeared from somewhere, and I didn’t even have my tent with me yet.

I could have done the ritual right then and there, but I figured I could ride with some extra weight for a few days and do the ritual in Madison.

Now that I’m preparing to leave Madison, I’ve made a few changes. For starters, I swapped my old Leatherman (the one I took across the US) for a much lighter version with fewer tools - a third of a pound saved there. I didn’t realize that my 15-degree sleeping bag weighed an entire 3 lbs, so I bought a 45-degree sleeping bag that weighs only 2 lbs (anybody want the old one? Used only twice with a liner. Seriously. Buy it from me). Don’t get me wrong, I still want to be prepared for that *one* night it’ll be 15 degrees out, but maybe I’ll just stay in a motel instead of carrying around an extra pound of gear.

So this week was a week of asking myself, do I really need…

• A mini cribbage board?
• The ability to change a broken spoke? (probably, but using a temporary “fiber spoke” I can do this with 20g instead of all the tools and a real spoke which amount to about 150g)
• The ability to fix a broken chain? (tip: yes)
• Two pairs of shorts? (going with no here)
• A really cool belt that shows off my personality but whose cool mechanical buckle weighs half a pound? (no)
• A 2.5 oz dumb phone in case my smartphone gets stolen? (no) - A smartphone? (so far invaluable for getting through cities...)

...and so on.

Not included in the 85 lbs was a 6 lb 6 oz tent which I left at home, having a 4 lb tent waiting for me in Madison - so to net lose weight I have to lose at least 4 lbs since I’m gaining the tent. I also discovered during my time in Madison that I would make copious use of lightweight hiking shoes (so I don’t have to walk around in cleats), so I found a pair that weighs in at 1 lb on discount at REI.

It’s a game that’s impossible to win, especially when you are touring for so long, so far from home, and especially when you have the mindset that wants to be prepared for every scenario, like me. It really makes you question what you need to survive, pushes how creative you can be, and the only person you’re punishing if you take more than you need is yourself.

I think a lot of people could benefit from an experience such as this.

Viroqua, WI to Madison, WI: "Another Homeless Guy"

When we last left off, I had failed to contact a Warmshowers host that was ready to have me, relegating myself to the perils of stealth camping. On this particular night, those perils were rain.

It started raining about 9 PM and I started realizing my bivvy sack wasn’t waterproof around 11. I then woke up every half hour or hour or so to another part of my body being wet, until 3 AM at which point most of the lower half of my body was wet (I had slept on a slight incline with my head at the top). I was debating spending $50 for 5 hours in a motel room when the rain stopped. I waited a few minutes to be sure, hopped out of my bag, changed into dry clothes, and started the laborious process of squeezing out everything wet and loading it onto my bike. I left camp that morning at 5 AM, having nothing better to do and no dry place to sleep.

It was beautiful out. I attempted to take a few photos but they really don’t do it justice. I admit being dry after a night of rain probably made it that much more enjoyable. Having the roads all to myself was nice, too -- a total of three cars passed me in the first hour.

After a few hours of pedaling, including some nasty hills ameliorated by petrichor, I came into a small city known as La Farge. I was told the two places to eat were the bar and a restaurant called “Sisters;” the latter being more expensive but much better. I opted for the latter, hedging my bets it would also be voluminous enough to feed a touring cyclist, and was rewarded with a rather large breakfast including OJ for $7 plus tip.

I stepped out a few times to retrieve various chargers and water bottles, and the second time was greeted, “Another homeless man’s come into La Farge this morning!” -- that’s how I made friends with Chris, a local with an interest in cycling. He ended up giving me the Wisconsin road map I never got in La Crosse and recommended a good road out of town. TTE - Talk to everyone!

It continued to rain for the next few hours, including some hail for which I was fortunately nearby cover. I discovered a town that wasn’t on the map -- Bunker Hill, WI -- which consisted of a bar and some RVs, and as the sun had come out, set my bike up as a drying rack for everything that would fit.

Around Cazenovia, WI, I passed an old fashioned auction -- a stage with a man yelling prices as fast as the brain could process them surrounded by about a hundred people and parked cars in a line as long as a football field on the side of the road. Also parked there… a horse and buggy? Yes, turns out there was an Amish community at the next city, Ironton, WI, and I even ended up racing a buggy for a while -- it would beat me up the hills and I’d pass it going down the other side. I think a selfie would have been particularly artistic, but also a bit rude, so I settled for a photo from behind.

I made camp for the night in Reedsburg. Not wanting to be caught out in the rain, I got permission from the local PD to sleep in a park with a pagoda. It was good I did because an awesome thunderstorm rolled in that night. I imagine it would have been less awesome stealth camping in the woods without a waterproof covering.

Day 5 -- finally, a day of sun! The rain passed over just as I finished packing at about 6 AM. I stopped in Baraboo to pick up lunch and discovered a number of Clif Bar flavors I didn’t know existed…

...before continuing on to Devil’s Lake, a nearby state park, to consume said lunch. The hills going out of the park were obnoxious, but traffic was light. A ferry out of Merrimac, a bit of pedaling with a headwind, and I was home.

I got in on Sunday, 4/16, and plan to leave again on Monday, 4/24. I’ve spent the week with friends and am rather enjoying myself, but am also itching to get out again. There will be one more blog post before I go, and then I’m headed to Chicago to see my cousin. Until next time!

Minneapolis, MN to Viroqua, WI: "You must have an amazing butt!"

Since this is the very first blog post where I actually tour, I’ll provide a little more background. Thus, this post can be the starting place of anyone who wants to “start from the beginning.”

In March of 2017 I left my job at Epic Systems in Verona, WI to bike around the world. After a few weeks of goodbyes and going through my bucket list of items for Madison, I moved my meager belongings to a closet in a friend’s house in Minneapolis, MN. I stayed with my mom (also in Minneapolis) for a few weeks, visiting friends from high school and preparing for tour.

...and exploding my things all over her basement. Thanks, Mom!

While in Minneapolis, there was a certain peace that came over me -- it occurred to me that, for this brief period in my life, I had nothing to do. While a few people had already bought postcards for my bike around the world, I could theoretically return the money and do… well, anything. Or hey… nothing.

Of course, I am not the kind of person to do nothing. After a week of getting up whenever I wanted and letting the dog out every two hours, I began to get restless. The pieces of the tour (bike parts, mostly, but also some sewing projects, like reflective striping on my jacket) were slowly coming together, and at some point, there was just one piece I needed for my bike. I had ordered it online and it was supposed to arrive later that week, but I didn’t want to wait. After calling around to 7 bike shops in the area, I managed to find it and complete my bicycle.

I've dubbed her Louisa.

On Wednesday, April 12th, 2017, I left my mom’s house in Minneapolis by bike. She rode with me for the first 15 miles; then, on the bank of the Mississippi in St. Paul, we hugged, she stopped taking photos long enough to hug me, and then I pedaled on without her (while she continued to take photos).

I don't always wear a giant pink thing on my head -- that's a rain cover. Love you, Mom.

There was one thing missing from my entourage: my tent was waiting for me in Madison. I was planning to use a waterproof shell for my sleeping bag known as a “bivvy” (short for “bivouac”), but was still hesitant to sleep in the rain, and it was supposed to rain that night. I had planned to make it to Red Wing, a mere 60 miles from Minneapolis, but neglected to account for the bend in the river.

As a result, when I thought I was passing through Hastings, I was only passing through West St. Paul (with no “Welcome to…” signs to show me my error), and when I passed a map that showed me still 15 miles from Hastings… I was pretty frustrated. I didn’t have the energy to make it to Red Wing, much less sleep in the rain. So, I called in a favor -- my mom found a friend of a friend in Prescott, WI, happy to feed and house me for the night, for which I was most grateful. The warm bed and a story from a marina manager I ran into at Chipotle kept my spirits up (check the map in a few days for the story), despite the rain and the 30 effective miles after 60 miles of pedaling a winding river.

Thursday was better -- it was sunny, and the river wasn’t so windy. It was supposed to rain again on Friday, so my goal was to make it to another person kind enough to house me indoors: this one, a Warmshowers host in Viroqua, WI (Warmshowers is more or less Couchsurf, but exclusively for touring cyclists). I was still 30 miles behind, as I had chosen Viroqua assuming I’d spend my first night in Red Wing, so I had 2.5 days of riding to do in 2 days. But, it was sunny, and warm, and less windy, and all in all a pretty non-eventful day, except that being non-eventful was an event in itself given the happenings of the previous day.

Nothing eventful going on here.

I did my first stealth camp of the trip, finding a spot behind what appeared to be a construction site of some kind outside of Minnesota City, MN, just before Winona, WI. I was almost unstealthy the next morning -- I turned my headlamp off a second too late as a car drove by the side road and stopped for a few seconds, looking my way, I imagine, before continuing on and dismissing me as nothing worth investigating.

On day 3 I made it through Winona before realizing the next bridge to the other side of the river (the side I wanted to be on) was I-90 -- and I didn’t know if it had a pedestrian ramp or not. After a fair bit of Googling using Kwik Trip’s wifi, I decided it wasn’t worth the risk of biking down and needing to bike back to Winona or biking an additional 40 miles to the next crossing in Lansing, IA, so I went back through Winona to cross into Wisconsin. I also left the Mississippi River Trail, MRT, or, as I’d been calling it in my head, the “Mert,” to forge my own path.

Goodbye, Mert.

Then, the rain came.

And the headwind.

And the hills.

Wisconsin was not happy to see me.

Not for the first few hours, anyways. After making it through a quaint little town called Trempealeau, I discovered a gravel trail that would take me the rest of the way to La Crosse, where I planned to get lunch and plan a route to Viroqua. Riding on that trail seemed to pacify whatever forces were unhappy to see me -- the wind died down, the sun came out, and turns out most of the trail was through a wildlife reserve.

After making it to Onalaska, a city just 2 miles north of La Crosse, I realized I had no idea where I was going. The trail didn’t continue on to La Crosse, and even after getting there, I still needed to find an info center to get a map of Wisconsin -- I was still using the periphery of the Minnesota map I’d been using the past few days. But Minnesota was behind me now.

Fortunately, there was a bike shop in front of me. Coulee Bicycle Co -- formerly known as Blue Heron -- which had, coincidentally, just transformed from a “let’s sell lots of bikes” business model to a “stop by and have coffee and let’s geek out about mechanic-ing” bike shop. So I went in… and had coffee… and we geeked out about mechanic-ing.

Kevin, the owner, was not only incredibly helpful in getting me on my way and kind in letting me take lunch at his shop and use his wifi to plan my route outside of La Crosse, he was just a cool character. The reason, he said, he changed from the Blue Heron model to the Coulee Bicycle Co model, was because he didn’t want to focus on meeting quotas -- he wanted to focus on providing awesome service. The shop was mostly service space and a few tables for (complimentary!) coffee, but the few bikes that were for sale were unquestionably beautiful. I was glad I’d stopped by, and regret not having taken more photos.

I also ran into a fellow cyclist who shared not one, but two stories with me, so I’ll place them on the map shortly.

And then… it was on to La Crosse! Kind of! Because I almost immediately got lost again. But in getting lost, I discovered that La Crosse was where Kwik Twip is based.

Where you can get every kind of fuel you ever wanted.

And I also ran into Cal.

“Are you lost?”

“Yes.”

“How far did you bike today?”

“40 miles so far.”

“You must have an amazing butt! ...no homo.”

Cal was quite kind. And retired. And thus had free time. And since I was worried about making it to Viroqua before nightfall, and was lost, he gave me a ride out of town. Cal also told me a story, so that will go on the map soon as well.

The route Cal and I settled on was highway 14, which was apparently the least hilly route out from the river basin, but it was still very hilly…

What's around the bend? More hill.

...and after a while, the shoulder kind of disappeared…

...so that sucked. It also started to rain, and there was a headwind, so Wisconsin again became rather uninviting -- rain, headwind, traffic, small shoulder. The last six miles to Viroqua had a nice commuter path and the sun was kind enough to come out, but when I got to Viroqua, I didn’t have service, and thus could not contact my Warmshowers host… it was completely my fault for betting on my cell phone to finalize the details. I did find internet at a McDonald’s to see if she had e-mailed me; she had not. It wouldn’t be until I got to Madison two days later that I would find out she had texted me (per my request -- again a shortsighted one) confirming I could stay… since it wasn’t two days later, I filled up my water, headed out of town, and settled in for night two of stealth camping.

A rainy night.

Without a tent.

This was when I discovered my bivvy sack was not waterproof.

Doom approaches. Wet, miserable doom.

The Great Fooding

Waiting in line at the grocery store, I look at the array of candies and chocolates that is always at the cashier’s. Hesitantly, I pick a bag of chocolate and place it on the conveyer belt, hold it there for a few seconds while contorting my face into all sorts of well-meaning expressions, then put it back.

“Nice self-control,” says the cashier.

I look up at him and reply, “Actually, I’m going to get ice cream instead. It’s more calorie dense.”

- - -

Next to, Are you going to bike across the oceans? one of the most common questions I get is, What do you eat?

When on a bicycle tour, one basically becomes a vacuum that consumes everything in his or her path. With a fully loaded bicycle, the average touring cyclist might burn around 55 calories per mile. Let’s say you average 12 mph and pedal for 6 hours a day, so that’s 72 miles a day. That means you’re burning about 4,000 calories from biking alone. There’s the additional 2,000 calories the average human burns just by being alive (assuming you don’t just lie on the couch all day… *cough* America), so let’s say the average cycle tourist needs to consume about 6,000 calories a day.

You can see why it’s important to consume calorie-dense foods - eat something “healthy” like Cheerios that only has 100 calories per 1 cup serving and you need 60 servings, or 5 entire boxes to make sure the pedals keep turning. Eat something a less less “healthy:” peanut butter, which has 200 calories per 2 T serving, and you only need 30 servings, or 2 containers.

Of course, while eating straight peanut butter is cheaper than eating straight Cheerios, variety is still necessary (and nice). Here are the results of my first trip to the grocery store:

I would later recall the benefits of Nutella (it tastes good) and add that to my daily food regimen. The green bags are dried soup -- again, calorie dense, but lightweight.

So, calories are one food group for the touring cyclist. The other? Salt. It’s funny how our bodies adjust our enjoyment of food so what is needed tastes good at the time -- anybody else who eats fries with me on tour probably thinks I’m disgusting. But after biking 30 miles I swear fries taste like nothing unless they have a least an entire salt packet or two emptied on them.

What do I eat on tour?

Whatever I want. But also… whatever I need.

I made it from Minneapolis to Madison and am spending the week here with friends. Expect another post soon - likely Thursday, 4/20/17. We’re just getting warmed up.