Sprockets and Wanderlust

small spaces, swelling

2007-07-23T16:54:00.000-07:00

As of today, Dave and I have been in the greater Portland metropolitan area for fully seven days; we have hung up our scuffed and cracking helmets, have slipped comfortably (thankfully) into soft-soled civilian shoes and non-synthetic clothing and small city spaces. We have told the same stories over and again and enjoyed the telling every time; we speak in the voices of new friends and laugh at the familiarity of them; we sip leisurely from mugs of (good, so very good) coffee, letting the slowness and simplicity of Portland leak into our bones, our joints, our clean tired lungs. And, in the interest of having girls once more think we're acceptably attractive, we have both shaved and/or trimmed our beards....

Quickly: Having thought about it for a long while, I want briefly to concede the relative smallness of our having done something like this. Or, well, to put it better: I recognize that we (I) have a tendency to imbue more importance, more gravity, more stomach and viscera, to an episode like this than perhaps is warranted, appealing to the post-trip prospect of a heightened sense of self or of an altered heart or maybe even of some ineffable internal shift, whatever the hell that could be. I mean, if you take it plainly, for what it is, one could say that we spent the last almost-three months just...sort of...biking around. A lot. But for all its smallness, and despite the predictability of this admission, you should all be glad to know that, in fact, this trip has been a changing thing for the both of us, something that we have already looked back to as one of the defining moments in our respective lives, something luminous and sky-filling. This has been a time of greening leaves and small reflections and large lumbering hopes for the future. And we both end this episode with a distinct sense of...well, of thankfulness, i suppose.

For an exhaustive photo gallery of the trip (and for numerous photos of Davey in various funny/unintentionally seductive poses), please visit my Flickr account:

Tour de Bro

Our monolithic trip has ended, yes, but for the bored at work: take heart! The Summer of Unrelenting Optimism is still motoring along, and in the coming weeks Dave and I will be visiting both Seattle and San Francisco, immersing ourselves in the small joys to be found there, posting when we can, letting this trip linger as long and as enjoyably as possible.

Until then: thank you all for your letters and your support and for your respective contributions to our lives. You are the fabric; we, the garments.

Love
N

a seat in the crook of the arm of the tree

2007-07-17T15:41:00.000-07:00

i just picked three baskets of raspberries. where could i be?

For our last night of camping, Drew, Kevin, Heather and Ryan drove down from Seattle to meet us in Ranier, OR. Guitars and beers and everything and love and we ended up circled around the campfire in our sleeping bags. Yesterday, after a long breakfast we left for Portland. The last 50 miles of the whole trip. Four hours later, i found myself ordering another americano from Stumptown...beauty. Right now i'm with my oldest and dearest - sara - and her youngest and dearest - elynore - picking raspberries in a drizzly backyard in Vancouver, Washington. We still have Paul Sellars for a couple more days. Tonight we will doff fine beers with moustachioed Paul Hegland...a new friend with whom we had the pleasure of finishing our journey. Last night we clinked glasses with my old freund Ani, who is the original Portland-carrot-dangler, whose talk of fountains of beer and mountains of green pulled me through the long dry legs of Wyoming.

My hands are still numb.

My bike has lost 70 pounds.

I've probably gained a few.

I was just handed a big mug of tea and a bowl of cherries.

I'm probably the luckiest man on earth.

We both still have beards.

L'urve
D

comings

2007-07-14T11:47:00.000-07:00

arrived at the pacific ocean yesterday. absolutely surreal.

two more days of biking, beloved ones.

our hearts are light and lean lazily to the west...

desert lions

2007-07-08T23:28:00.000-07:00

oregonoregonoregon! our tenth and last state, our dove and olive branch. for me, it is like a sluggish, grandiose homecoming: this is my state of birth and upbringing, the only state about which i can successfully answer mundane trivia, (state bird: western meadowlark, state flower: oregon grape, state tree: douglas fir...) and it feels strange finally to have arrived, to know that we are less than a week away from the end of the trip, that these flagging days will be sipped and drunk up and then gone.

eastern oregon, in its desert sparseness and unimaginable heat (100+ degrees the last five days) has been trying, with great effort, to kill us. when we descended into hell's canyon two days ago, it was about 110 degrees outside; roughly 118 down in the canyon. yesterday, while biking, i felt dizzy and lightheaded and watery and thought i was going to pass out; paul, for his part, was stung impolitely by a wasp less than two minutes after crossing into oregon; and dave, our boyish hero, was also stung by a bee...on his upper lip. (the swelling has lessened. still, though: bulbous left cheek, plump lip, misshaped mouth) but we are indefatigable! we are armed with thunderous thighs and electrolytes. and we are in EFFING OREGON, so, really, there is nothing that can deaden our spirits at this point. we have skin like sunlight, we chew iron nails and break bodies out of boredom.

to catch up: we spent independence day in grangeville, ID, with our new friend Paul, a Brit, who, for reasons owing to his heritage, had no real reason to think that July 4th was a holiday at all. we are slowly turning him, however: already he has been coaxed into consuming peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chocolate malts, american microbrews, a chili burger, cheesecake, root beer floats, etc, none of which he tried before this trip. he will have tried grits before we're through with him.

there is more to tell but it is late, we have sung long songs to ourselves today (115 mile ride, a new record), and so we now slump to sleep. i leave you, as usual, with the address for the next post and with a small selection of photos.

there is love.

Our final post:
David Ulrich
General Delivery

United States Postal Service
35230 Brooten RD
Pacific City, OR 97135-9100

We will arrive in Pacific City on the morning of the 14th. The day before the last day of our trip. Send quickly, dearest loves; we've no time to dally!

And now:
entering oregon:

jumping high-five:

cowboys:

dave kissing the Oregon soil:

the policemen:

adventure cycling office:

we bleed at the shins for all the scratching. we are desert lions with small reflections.

hearts,
nick

ascents

2007-07-05T14:40:00.000-07:00

Today in Riggins, Idaho, it is 100 degrees. haha. so hot that you feel hot on your skin when you ride your bike. So it's perfect that we're riding into the area on the Idaho/Oregon border called "hells canyon". It's going to be great. We caught Paul Sellers...the elusive Brit who started in Yorktown just two days before us. Met him in Missoula and we'll probably finish out with him. In fact, we'll probably ride into Astoria, Oregon with Paul's severed head on a flagpole, mounted on the back of nick's bike. Sort of a totemistic gesture...we just love him so darn much.
We've still got 34 miles of grunting in this severe heat to get to New Meadows tonight. Tomorrow, we bust into Oregon. Nick bought a gun at the supermarket in Grangeville so we could shoot something as we cross the border. Just kidding i guess.

A Short One

2007-07-02T07:21:00.000-07:00

We took a day off in Missoula yesterday. Drank too much coffee, saw a movie with our friends Jim and Stephanie, wrote letters at Butterfly Herbs, got a sneak Sunday tour of the Adventure Cycling office from our host Julie (we camped in her yard, God bless her) and today, we're going to Idaho.

Lifting

2007-06-27T15:28:00.000-07:00

Quickly now: Our next post:

David Ulrich
General Delivery

United States Postal Service
300 W Main St. STE 100
Grangeville, ID 83530

We'll be there hopefully by July 4th. Celebration!

We have arrived in Montana, having just left Yellowstone, which, despite the overbearing presence of Recreational Vehicles and camera-wielding tourists and the murderously branded marketing aspect of it all, was beautiful. The worst thing I saw while in the park: A huge RV, one of those miserably gigantic 40-foot Class A deals that take up the entire road, hauling, on its trailer, a Hummer. An effing Hummer. Seriously.

Well then: We have capered the gorgeous open glades and the deep-running dales of southern Wyoming, our lungs having acclimated as best they can to the thin mountain air of the Rockies, the dryness of the area occasionally manifesting itself via red droplets of blood that drip thickly from Dave´s nose. Forgive a litle self-indulgence, but, an inner monologue: This trip, at times, has reminded me of that part in Catcher in the Rye where Holden is walking up Fifth Avenue, block after block, sleep deprived, reflecting meanderingly on his sister and on Christmas and on New York, and he finds himself suddenly overwhelmed with the fear, once he steps off the curb onto the street, that he´ll never get to the other side. That he´ll just vanish and nobody will see him again. Terrified, he appeals to his deceased sibling for help, muttering: "Allie, don´t let me disappear. Allie, don´t let me disappear. Allie, don´t let me disappear. Please, Allie." Sometimes, after hours of biking, my legs fatigued from the endless pumping, my hands numb from the buzzbuzz vibrations of the handlebars, I look out into the distance, past the barbed wire fences lining the county roads, and I absorb the ocean of sulking sagebrush plains that extend as far as my weak eyes are capable of seeing, open spaces flanked on either side by bluish mountains in the distance, by looming buttes and red mesas and dry sandy hillocks, and I look at these things and feel the openness of everything; I reflect prolongedly on how far my legs have taken me so far, on how far they have yet to take me, on all the roads traveled and people met and food eaten and sunblock applied, reflecting too on how quickly these past two months have passed and how rapidly the years tick by--the unforgiving fluctuations of insentient calendars, the joys and the sorrows of the persons entering and leaving my life, our lives, and how in twenty years everything I know will be completely different, in forty years this trip will be a vague cloudy fading distant memory, in sixty years I will be dead or forgotten or both--and I get a strange feeling of being swallowed up by it all, as if the magnitude of all these things we´re seeing is washing me out, bleaching, like a figure in a too-bright photograph, a notion not too far off from Holden´s fear of vanishing.

During one of our days in Kansas, our dearly departed Gary was describing how he used to hang glide, explaining how you launch from a cliff. What you do is stand a few feet away from the ledge, your hang glider harnessed to your chest, a person on either side of you holding the wings in place as the wind shakes and rocks the glider turbulently, and then, the moment of calm: the wind curling up under the wings evenly, forcefully, the glider lifting up just barely as it the wings catch the deflected wind. That is when you jump.

My heart, as of late, has been untroubled, untroubled.

Allie, please don´t let me disappear...

Now then:

Wyoming Bleak:

Grand Tetons:

Royal Gorge:

Friends:

Whyoming

2007-06-23T11:43:00.000-07:00

Last night, after 88 miles of wyoming emptiness (Jeffrey City, seriously) we arrived at our camping destination: The Mormon Historical Handcart Society. We blew over the hill at 5pm and saw a few dots, four miles away, which looked like trees...an oasis! The camping was free and considering the area, it was lovely. I guess it wasn't free...it cost us an earful of Mormon history, but that was quite interesting. This was at a spot called the 6th crossing. You see, in May of 1856, 5 handcart companies set out for what Brigham Young called "Zion" (Salt Lake City). I think they crossed the Sweetwater River about 9 times in Wyoming. Well, i think i've forgotten most of the story (we watched a 12 minute video too!). We rolled up on youth group. They had about 60 kids from Idaho in old-timey mormon garb and they were taking them out walking the trail 9 miles at a time with actual handcarts, huge things. They camped at night and we got them right after dinner. So we're sitting there and i says to nick let's yogi and Summer sent us beer bread so starting small i decided we could ask for butter. So i walk over in my slouchingest unthreatening and go "do you guys have any butter you could spare?" Yes. one pound. and how's about salad? and rolls and chicken and a gallon of milk and apples and oranges oh my goodness. Yes, it's all true. The mormons fed us.

We've been rolling with Sharon and Craig for the last four or five days. It's nice to have a crew and they're a blast. Today, we did a short hot one to Lander, WY, which is a cool town with a movie theater. Maybe we'll go for a picture tonight. Man the mostquitoes here are wild. Two Eggs. Two Pancakes. Hash Browns. Biscuit. Coffee, please. Grand Tetons in two days and i can't wait, but i wait all day trying to breathe the 2s and 4s and stomping out the 1s and 3s with my legs. I mean you can really think because nobody's out there your wheels just turn and you wonder how many times they will have turned between atlantic and pacific and how many people are behind you riding the same roads, going the same way. i'm getting tan with red in it. I've got this little peice of paper in the clear plastic of my handlebar bag that says Don't Let your Heart (sign) be troubled. I think it was the cover to a tract. So i don't. Well. i guess state number eight is next and Nick and i have changed not just beards but hearts which aren't troubled most of the time. Riding next to the BNSF train is the best. It's the real west, massive miles of train plowing through the rockies like a dragged axe through a field of anthills, the only thing moving in a still life of grey mountains somewhere in Colorado. Sometimes we ride next to the rails for miles and if the train goes your way you forget about the road in front of your wheels and focus on the invisible legs that can push faster than you. The train is it's own mountain with intricate peaks and pockets. You can always find the spot you would hop into. Nick told me you want to find the car with two stacked boxes, the larger one on top. You get on the back of that car and the lip of the top hangs over you like an awning. I stop pedaling when i find that one and i lay back with my hat pulled over my eyes. I don't care which way the wind blows.

thanks for the mail. we love you.

d

sooner or later you'll bare your teeth...

2007-06-20T15:09:00.000-07:00

right.

so.

as you keepers of tabs know, we cut lengthwise across the mountainous terrains of kentucky and missouri more or less unscathed, surviving dog after unleashed dog, all of them giving chase, a few of them frighteningly ferocious but thankfully slow, neither dave nor myself ever really coming close to being seriously hurt by any of them. and now of course we are in colorado. but, well...a quick anecdote: dave and i had just made ourselves dinner in fairplay, CO, a typical traveler's meal of pasta and broccoli and bread, our tummies adequately sated, the gorgeous colorado rockies providing a breathtaking and picturesque backdrop for our big night before we face hoosier pass (the highest elevation point on the route), and so, somewhat zenned out, i walk towards the campground bathroom to wash the dishes, the sun to the west just beginning to sink heavily behind a distant mountain, when, quickly, instantaneously, like a flood of light from a camera flash, a dog bursts out from behind a trailer and BITES ME. like, bite-bite. as in: the breaking of skin. the drawing of blood. bites me. i wasn't even on my bike!

but that is neither here nor there, that is just funny: we move on: we progress to the present: we are here in walden, CO; last night in kremmling we opted for a motel for the third time on this trip because of the overwhelming and otherwordly mosquito infestation, the mosquitoes swarming around us like flies to roadkill, our legs pimpled with bug bites, the sheer ridiculousness of the scene almost comical. i am sitting in the small town library and wearing my zories and the certifiably offensive smell of my feet and my armpits are clouding around me invisibly, fatally, and i feel actual pity for the young lady sitting across from me, knowing that there is no possible way that she does not notice. as i alluded to above, we have cleared hoosier pass, the highest point of the trail at 11,500(ish) feet, the ride outlandishly beautiful. we are still breathing deeply the air of Denver, though, our five-night-and-six-day vacation there one of the absolute highlights of the trip so far.

and, as it often the case, i am running out of internet time, SO, i leave you with two things: (1) a photographic ode to Denver and vicinity, and (2) the next mail stop address, for those who are interested.

so then, our ode to denver: (and, specifically, an ode to the dutchess of Denver, Danielle Slavick: Danielle: disliker of fruit in general, bestower of questionable nicknames, archetype, template)

danielle:

rachel's and joe's house:

hoosier pass:

for Momma Ulrich:

and, lastly, the next mail stop:

Dave Ulrich
General Delivery

United States Postal Service
208 S Main ST
Sheridan, MT 59749-9701

we'll be there in seven or eight days.

our love for you all bursts forth from our hearts. like camera flashes. or unleashed dogs.

great stories of gold (or "how the west was won on twenty dollars a day")

2007-06-14T15:43:00.000-07:00

nobody told us that living in denver is so easy. we've been here a couple days, and i think we'll stay a couple more. nick and i spent the morning searching for the shrouded face of old ghost bum moriarty, rubbernecking larimer and colfax in the spirit of kerouac. walls of alleyways worn from the eternal sunk shoulder blades of the same forever bums, tucked in on summer afternoons. our eyes trace the shell of man from the gray toes peeking from decades old and grinning tennis shoes to the breeze of sleep, parting the years of beard beneath the nostrils. ballin that jack, crosslegged, digging picnic girls in the grass on lincoln.

we haven't checked the weather since sunday. we've walked miles of city sidewalk and spent too much on coffee...real coffee. we haven't rubbed chamois butt'r or sunblock on anything for what seems like an eternity. and the kitchen...four whole burners and miles of counter space... i'm becoming an expert flapjack flipper and general breakfast guru (having sampled pancakes in every small town for the last 2400 miles). i've also managed to lose weight. 8 or 9 hours a day on a bike matched with voracious gluttony has somehow reduced my figure to an all-time slight. gary says i'll gain it right back, though. right away.

the real thing the real question is "where will we land?" that is what we talk about and that is what we think about when we're not talking. "land" in the long run. there is land...dirt separated by water and we'll be somewhere between two bodies...sometime...and there is the gentle fall that we feel as the slow hands of days somersault away. we will be put somewhere by time...talking about it is just like talking about someone you don't see anymore or like truly beleiving that you remember particular serves from a certain match of the women's french open, watched from a motel room with three beds in Great Bend, Kansas as the screaming wind outside carries sand and pebbles for several city blocks at a gust.

you can see what kind of refreshing clarity denver is bringing us. denver is a hoot.
tonight, we're going out to dinner with danielle and rachel.

love dave

...we lose weeks like buttons, like pencils. -Dave Eggers

holidays and hand grenades

2007-06-13T07:51:00.001-07:00

arrived in denver two days ago, leave tomorrow afternoon; enjoying, thoroughly, a few days out of the saddle. our butts are rejoicing, our livers perhaps not.

quickly now, my recent encounter with a horse, as it tried, seriously, to knock me off:

me laughing at nearly being beheaded:

and now, a photo of davey after he ate so much food at a country buffet that he felt immobile and grossly ill:

and, lastly, our brave young boys had a bit of a spill....

danielle is driving us around like any good chauffeur would...

...and life, as it has consistently been these last several weeks, is sort of incomprehensibly awesome.

more soon! until then, there is a gated and heat-controlled swimming pool that requires my rapt attention....

the road to lo-rad

2007-06-07T13:01:00.000-07:00

Well then. Two inordinately long posts, followed by this: A quickie. Just to give adequate heads-up to the six of you who actually read this, our next postal stop after Pueblo:

Dave Ulrich
General Delivery

United States Postal Service
106 5th St.
Rawlins, WY 82301

As I mentioned in my last post, we'll be taking a detour from the route to spend a few days "vacationing" in Denver (indoor pool! hot tub! seriously!), so we expect to be in the greater Rawlins area around the 19th. Mothers take heed: Energy bars and scented stationery are needed!

which way does the tall grass bend?

2007-06-06T13:10:00.000-07:00

Dave and I are currently sitting side by side in an air conditioned library in Great Bend, KS, the winds outside peaking, fatally, at approximately 55mph, the wind-blown dirt from the highway roads still crumming our eyes like sand on grapes, our mileage today embarassingly truncated, but, considering the bike-tipping speed of the gusts, totally satisfying.

So then: Kansas. After a day apart, our dear Gary Dey caught back up with us--Gary the Intrepid, Gare bear, our adopted Third, our resident hang-glider-cum-African-hitchhiker-cum-continental-cyclist-cum-scuba-diver with the endearing Ohio accent--and so we are once more a trio, a rambling pack; the glorious border of Colorado looms ahead, the promise of Denver and our planned two-day vacation there like honey on sweet bread. (Confidential to Danielle Slavick, aka Don-yell, aka The First! The Paver of Ways!: When we get there, we expect warm meals and freshly made beds and small talk over large beers)

But the people want lists, and so lists I provide:
Collective number of miles ridden: 2,040
Number of days on the road: 32
Most miles ridden in a single day: 102
Number of bees that have hit our eyes (like seriously: bees-on-eyeball contact)
Nick: 0
Dave: 2
Number of times Nick has awoken in the middle of the night to Dave swatting at his arm and saying "Shoo! Go away!" because Dave, waking and seeing Nick's arm draped across his eyes, had thought, in the haze of half-sleep, that Nick's arm was A FREAKING CAT : 1
Number of panic attacks brought on by personal crises:
Nick: 0
Dave: 1 (had thought he'd lost his wallet, had stared at the brick wall with an open mouth for minutes, minutes)
Number of suicidal box turtles that we have rescued from the highway: 3
Number of suicidal box turtles that were so scared when we picked them up that they peed: 3
Number of motels we've stayed in to date: 2
Percentage of those motels that have given us free beer upon check-in: 100%
Chafing: very much so
Number of knees that are operating at optimal capacity:
Nick: 0
Dave: 0
On an index of 1-10 (10 being extremely beardy), our self-assessed beardiness as of right now:
Nick: 3
Dave: 6
Number of times our food has been devoured in the night by bratty woodland creatures: 3
Songs we find ourselves singing to ourselves the most:
Nick: Sufjan Stevens, "The Mistress Witch from McClure"; Death Cab for Cutie, "Photobooth"
Dave: Seals & Crofts, "Summer Breeze"; Pedro the Lion, "Big Trucks"

We have been out now for over a month; I have spent this time pumping my awkwardly tanned legs, looking over at the passing scenery (flooded farm fields, slowly-rising stalks of green, the toy-ridden lawns of paint-peeled mobile homes) and reflecting on open spaces and the cleaning of slates. I have unstuffed my bones and unwrapped my marrow. I have filled hollows and fibrous pores with kneaded clay and water. I have trailed kerosene over the hinged concrete plates of every bridge we've crossed and am waiting for that moment at trip's end when, with ten states behind us, with unfathomable hours spent thinking and waxing and singing aloud, with the palimpsest of my travels bright and burning in my mind, I will kneel and kiss the soft soil of Portland and reach quickly, gladly, tiredly, for the box of matches.

Alos: I think Gary is plotting my and Dave's deaths....

the jasmine in my mind

2007-06-06T13:03:00.000-07:00

i think i was right to be anxious.
http://www.weather.com/newscenter/fcstsummary.html?from=wxcenter_news
but for tonight, we are motelling it, hard. and it's good.

(at the counter, checking into the room)
gary: "where do we get the continental breakfast?"
crabby motel man: "i sell rooms, not food...but it's got an icebox and a microwave."
"oh yeah? is the icebox full of beer?"
"actually, some fellas left a bunch of beers here the other night! i'll go grab them for you!"
true story.

despite the rowdy winds, kansas has been pretty good. it seems like each small town we hit is stocked with a diner-boothful of winsome, spirited old timers. they ask questions and respond with adages and belly laughs, jibes and guffaws, pushing us on through the wind.

two older men approached us yesterday afternoon on different occasions while we were scraping our plates at Joey's Cafe in Buhler, KS. The first, Norman Adrian, came in and immediately began the routine questions. Our answers ("Oregon" and "Yorktown, Virginia" and "Brooklyn", respectively) seemed to garner a sort of distant marvel, one that must be the byproduct of living a long life as a plains farmer. It's like you grow up your whole life being able to see for miles in each direction...this is the yeast of imagination, the flatness, i mean. And the imagination is your get-out-of-jail-free card. The prarie is the prison. The farm gets passed down the generations and you can't refuse it. So you take it, but all the while you dream of coastline, islands, bustling cities, snowy mountains. After a few minutes of easy conversation, Norman got up and dropped a business card in front of us. "Well, take care and i hope to see you in heaven." As the door clanged shut behind him, we read the Bible verse on the card. His business was God's work. A get-out-of-jail-free card.
The other guy who came in was less of a mystical figure, but just as important. "Biker Jim" McIvers. He saw our bikes outside. He walked in, got a coffee, and sat right down with us. He's biked cross country. He went from Wyoming to Buhler Kansas in 7 days. At first, his wife didn't like it, but that don't stop him. Did we need anything for our bikes? How many miles did we do? He just wanted to bike all day. Retired around 20 years ago and did his first cross country in '91. He was probably in his 70's. I'd seen his business card at the Pippa Passes Bike Hostel (Kentucky), but i didn't make the connection until he pulled one out for each of us. We waved goodbyes and thanks for the help. About four blocks away, he pulled over in his truck and hopped out. "Well there's some road work over here, so maybe we should get the bikes around this culvert. Then you can get on down this road, let me help you." Thank you, Biker Jim.
But the Clara Bartons of Kansas are not all old men. Two nights ago, after our first 100+ mile day, we arrived at the home of Liz and Heidi in Newton, KS. We walked in to the smell of vegetable lasagna, bread with homemade pesto, and garden greens (courtesy of Liz's folks). We had never actually met these girls, but we felt like we knew them already. They did the TransAm trail from West to East last year. Thus, nick and i started our trip reading the gushing journal entries that they left at the end of their trip (the cyclist logs in the churches and bike hostels in Eastern Virginia). Someone had left their phone numbers in a cyclist log in Kentucky, saying "these girls want to host transam bikers", so of course we had to call them. Not only did they put the three of us up for the night, but they made a feast! and we stayed up way past our bed time, sipping wine and telling stories. It was very tempting to take the next day off, hanging around Newton (loitering at both Liz and Heidi's workplaces), but after gorging at the Bread Basket for all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet, we stepped out into a wind from the east.!!!! so that afternoon we rode the easiest and quickest 65 miles of our lives.

but the winds have changed.

i'm going back to the motel for some TV!
much loves.
much daves.

everybody knows it's loads of fun

2007-06-02T13:18:00.001-07:00

Kansas.

We've arrived at one of the most ill-hyped states that we will cross. Horror stories abound and i feel a tightening in my chest. Nick is sneezing. Gary's bike is broken and the folks at Tailwinds Cycles (Pittsburg, KS) are on lunch break. Oh dear. Only one thing to do, however. Just put my head down and push through it, singing Sam Cooke into the wind and chewing gum in rhythm with my pedaling. I don't think it will actually be that bad....i mean, it's flat.

Last night, we stayed in Golden City, MO. We were very excited about this stay because our map listed the "Golden City Bike Hostel", which we envisioned, of course, as a glistening oasis of bike-friendliness. A place where the sweet old ladies would be awaiting our arrival with steaming trays of muffins and crowds of delicious microbrews peering out of golden ice buckets. But i called ahead and the slow friendly drawl on the other end answered "Wyatt Funeral Home". Needless to say, we made a beeline for the pavilion in the city park, as the clouds wrinkled their dark brow for the second downpour of the day. But we didn't "build the house" (klaus putting up his tent) without going to Cooky's first. This is an old-timey cafe whose name reverberates in the ears of cyclists within a 100 mile radius. This was a place that was worth all the hype and more. After a delicious early dinner, we went and set up camp, waited a few hours, then went back for pie. Dutch Peach, Dutch Cherry, Dutch mixed berry, and German Chocolate - all a smashing success...so i think yesterday's dutch crusts may be the only things thrusting us towards Kansas against our wills. Now it's off to Walnut, KS, without our dear travelling companion of the last week, Gare Bear.

So long friends. I dream of New York streets and fine coffees, but we are persevering. Colorado will be good!

-dave

visions! colors! small points of light!

2007-06-01T09:29:00.000-07:00

No time to wax romantic! We've miles to ride! In the meantime, some eyecandy:
Beards:

Entering Misery:

Our dear German friend, Walli (Klaus to be pictured soon!):

Gary (aka Gare-bear):

Robert! Diener! From Berlin!:

Chester, IL, birthplace of Popeye:

Mother-effing PONY, the ruler of everything:

speaking German to unleashed dogs

2007-05-30T10:56:00.000-07:00

Tour de Breaux, aka The Summer of Unrelenting Optimism, aka the Swim! To! Shore! Tour '07, is in FULL FORCE, is racing along like swiftly moving currents; we have hit missouri, our fourth state, 1500 miles ridden, one flat tire on the board, (mine) nine new bike friends acquired, (who knew this would be so social?) and the idea of Comfort Food is, slowly, sounding less and less comforting.

But quickly now, we've no time to dally: Thus far: Dave has had his life threatened fully two times, once half-jokingly by a blatantly intoxicated self-described "5-time veteran" named Buzz in Carbondale, IL, who, at various points of our conversation, (1) attempted, unsuccessfully, to smash a packet of mustard with his fist, (2) mimicked punching and/or choking Dave, although there was never any contact, mind ye, and (3) commented, emphatically, sometimes adding a hollow pound to the chest, on how he is NOT TO BE [EFFED] WITH; and then, par for the middle-of-nowhere course, our young Ulrich was threatened again, this time much less jokingly, by a shirtless dog owner on a four-wheeler (no joke) who had convinced himself that Dave had maced his dog, (he hadn't) and who attempted, in his cutoff jean shorts, to be intimidating...which he was.

Now then. Ye ask, and we happily oblige: Our next mail drop address:

Dave Ulrich
General Delivery

United States Postal Service
106 N. Main St.
Buhler, KS 67522

We will be in the general Buhler area in 5 days, (conservatively estimated, of course) so any tokens of encouragement should arrive thereabouts.

And for you overambitious types, here is the address for the post office AFTER THAT:

Dave Ulrich
General Delivery

United States Postal Service
25140 E. US Highway 50
Pueblo, CO 81006

We should be there on the 10th of June or so.

For all those who have sent letters (electronic and snailed): Thank you thank you. You will be repayed with warm thoughts and not-so-prompt replies.

And now I leave you with a small sampling of photos. Many more to come...

To the slow sawing of sinews!

Making dinner in Berea w/ friends:

Dancing in Berea to African drumming:

The making of banners! Behold, Summer of Unrelenting Optimism:
We learned how to Contra dance...and it was supreme:
Saturday in Berea:
Cave-in-Rock, IL:

complimentary love letters with each purchase!

2007-05-24T12:30:00.000-07:00

we are a small handful of miles from the Illinois border (you know, those 12-mile-handfuls), so i'll make this quick. we love your mail. some of it is edible, but all of it is consumed with primal and ferocious energy. It was yesterday morning that we backtracked the 8 miles to the town of Mc Daniels, KY (long story) to pick up our mail. Over coffees and huge breakfasts at Knotty Pines Restaurant (pronounced "Naughty Pines"), we carefully opened our gifts and it turned our plain jane Southern meals into soul food.

here's the next spot:

Dave Ulrich
General Delivery
United States Post Office
130 Court St.
Hartville, MO
65667

we'll probably be there in around five days.
we're starting to ease into the 80-90 mile days! jip-joe!
this afternoon, we'll get on a ferry in Kentucky, cross the Ohio River, and get off at Cave In Rock, IL. i think it will be a hoot.

love for now,
dave

An open letter to the slightly obese girl who shouted, "Fucking queers!" at us while we were biking by her truck in Springfield, KY

2007-05-24T11:56:00.000-07:00

Thank you.

Thankyouthankyouthankyou.

You are the torchbearer! You are our first and favorite!

Everything, finally, is in its right place...

Sincerely spandexed,
Nick

berea, jewel of kentucky

2007-05-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

Appalachia is almost over, berea our gateway into flatter lands and longer days, our bellies full of organic greens and co-op sloppy joes and black market milk and gallons of ethiopian coffee, our beards coming in slowly, slowly; our legs acclimating to the constant stress, our achilles tendons turning to sand-dusted jello...and we are officially one-sixth of the way done with the trip.

to our new berea friends: thank you. you are glowing, you are warm.

we wear spandex; we are powerful

2007-05-19T17:21:00.000-07:00

yesterday, after three long days of dealing--not without an untold number of grunts and strains and unharnessable leaden curses--with the starkly steep hills and mountains of Appalachia, dave and i arrived yesterday in berea, KY, a small college town squirming with life, a place blessed with a small but committed community of environmental activists and artistically minded bringers of change. we were taken in by a community co-op affiliated with the college, a house full of girls, all smiles and open arms and hands stretched forth with offerings of food and friendship and frozen treats.

which is to say: Virginia, the first state of this crazy-balls-ass journey of ours, has officially been VANQUISHED! Annihilated! A small worm for squelching. We progress, then, from that land of beginnings, the land in which, many years ago, the word "destiny" was spoken between bonneted and starched settlers (the word "manifest" would not be added for another two centuries), to the land of fried chicken and derbies and sluggers birthed from the loins of louisville. kentucky, though, has not given us the warmest of welcomes. daily: impossible hills and bored unleashed dogs and the mangled and lobotomized remains of once-functioning cars resting forgotten on lawnfront cinderblocks or sinking slowly into soil. this state has been kicking our sore spandexed asses. and we've been loving it....

i am writing now from the living room of our new friends; we have taken another day off and are spanning the hours watching African drumming and sewing flags and cooking communal meals with lovely people.

and i have a home-made dixie burger to eat....

trail magic

2007-05-15T11:45:00.000-07:00

the appalachian trail hikers call it "Trail Magic." local hiking enthusiasts leaving boxes of food, gatorade, gifts of encouragement, etc, along the trail. unexpected nuggets of joy. for us, that has come to us in a few different forms. behold, the photographic inventory of our trail magic to date:

Cookie Lady June Curry:

Charlottesville:

Blacksburg Addendum:

Stuart Family:

have i mentioned life has been beautiful?

swim, young ones, to shore!

when there is no pebble dropped or wind to blow

2007-05-15T11:44:00.000-07:00

(this was written by dave but posted by mua)

when you first meet someone you create a perception of them
you perceive who they might be
the strong cheekbones tell you how their ancestors drank pure water and probably farmed leafy greens
wild hair says i got me right where i want me so take me
and wearing anything with beads might say i make a soft noise when i move about in the world because everything else is so loud

so i guess what im trying to say is we per ceived about 15 or 20 people at once in the blacksburg area (were going to keep writing about blacksburg until we move there) and we watched the funny delicate arc of where our perceptions started to where they ended up with just being friends because you realize when you really start to know people you stop perceiving them you just know them youve learned the real things about them and band t shirts and teva sandals and tattoos cease to be anything but handles by which to describe your friends to others to let them hold the feeble perception that you started with

right now nick and i are hammering away at handicapped keyboards in haysi virginia mine happens to be punctuation disabled (thus the lucid and free flowing rainbow which im currently riding) here at the library were flanked by mike and adam who we just met on the road about 10 miles back they are fighting the good fight as well (wind hills joints tendons loneliness country gas station supermarkets)

ill tell you the truth for a little while i was lonely there i think leaving the plush nest of my birthplace struck a sad chord in my heart not to mention that next night we stayed in the weirdest little dead town of Whytheville sneaky camp on a carpet of brown needles in a beautiful grove of dead pines but it sure felt empty i mean nick was a little sad too

next mission when i get back is to fight the tyranny of punctuation

as for all of you
please send things written glued bought sold bartered half eaten
the holes you left in us are curiously mailbox shaped
so fill them

Dave Ulrich
General Delivery
United States Postal Service
9501 S Highway 259
Mc Daniels KY
40152

we should be at this spot in about a week so if you send anything try to have it there by the 21st of May

secret handshakes to you all (different ones)
dave

blacksburg, i love thee

2007-05-13T15:01:00.000-07:00

home court advantagE

2007-05-10T12:17:00.000-07:00

seems to me the closer i get to my birthplace, the better stuff gets for me. after a 70 mile hilly day yesterday, Nick and i settled down in Catawba Valley, VA. crashed down, faded, achille'd down, i should say, ahem. so we sprawled in the lawn of Catawba Valley Baptist Church and rocking through the walls we know it's youth Worship team practice so we wait for a break in the wailing and i step in the door "excuse me, we're bikers, can we camp out on this here lawn" beautiful vista on one side of the valley. Jeff, so it says on his shirt, says "well, ahem, let me call the pastor". i think Jeff's the leader...so no pastor but minivans roll up and calls are made and Alan Lee down the street says we can camp in his yard tonight and come on down to shower and everything.
So down we go. he's got this like cattle grate in his driveway that we tiptoe our bikes over and we plopemdown and in the house to shower. then, over left over s we (mashed potatoes, mmmsweet potatoes, green beans, stuffing, semi-sweet tea) end up shooting the breeze for over an hour with the Lee family. they are great. we now have these friends in the Catawba Valley. So i call my mom from the tent in Alan's yard and she's telling my dad "They're camping in Catawba Valley" where i used to dine as a two-year-old with my family.
So of course, now i'm in my birth-town of Blacksburg and i'm automated like a robot like moving the right ways and mouth drops out my jaw mechanical to say things to people and make friends and i don't think about any of it just let my home sweet home self do the talking and lordy it's fine.

we list!

2007-05-10T12:01:00.000-07:00

Number of toe-clip-related falls:
Nick: 5
Dave: 1
Number of cafe owners who, upon discovering that Dave and I were on a cross-country journey, supplied us with free stuff: 2 (Tuan at Cville; Brian at Lexington Coffee House; both lovely people; both supporters of Good Thing in General)
Dave's problem area: Achilles' Heel (swollen, sore)
Nick's problem area: Left eyelid (swollen, annoying)
Intensity, on a scale of 1 to 10 (10 being extremely severe), of our sunburns:
Dave: 5
Nick: 2
Average mileage per day: 60
Most miles in one day so far: 87
Least: 30 (today)
Number of families who have allowed us to camp out on their front lawns: 2 (Barry in Charlottesville, the cyclist, the giver of water; and the too-gracious Lee family in Catawba, who, in their infinite kindness, supplied us with showers and warm meals and long lounging talks, even though we had asked merely for a plot of grass)
Chafing: No(t yet)
Allergies: Yes (Nick only)
Blue Ridge Mountains: Conquered!
Appalachia: Forthcoming!

We are in Blacksburg (the sun is shining; the days have brimmed unflaggingly with too-beautiful-to-fully-process pastoral scenery--there: dilapidated barns! there: impossibly green hills of grass! there: long white fences; brown mares, coats ashimmer!) and we have been taken in by a coterie of bike co-op twentysomethings and are on our way to the river to lounge with them and drink deeply (collegiately) of wine and our legs are growing stronger and our butts are becoming less consistently sore and at night I think of what I would be doing if I had not decided to do this--where I would be sitting, what beers I would be drinking at which bars with what unclose acquaintances--and I beam, and I swat the bugs away, and I rub my swollen eyes, and I think lingeringly of my loved ones, and I sleep.

private property - ain't no one here but me

2007-05-07T09:35:00.000-07:00

well. we're still in Virginia. it sure is beautiful, but it's strange to see that most of the vast land in this state, in this country is owned. Nick and I had our first little rogue campout two nights ago in a meadow that seemed to be part of this huge farm outside of Ashland. We both got a decent sleep, but i had close to twenty dreams - all of them involved the owner of the farmland under our backs. I'll tell you all about them. In the meantime, y'all can dream about my thighs and my bald head.

sleeping on the floorboards of churches

2007-05-05T13:03:00.000-07:00

Traveling leaves you with so many names. The names of passing towns, of people met, of roads ridden and rivers crossed. You collect them. Like sea shells. Or dead starfish. So far our inventory of names is somewhat small, a modest offering of syllables and stringed memes, but they are wide and amplified; they are heavy like water: Elsa Bakkum and the grace of her aptly-named church; Lewis Haynes and his willingness to inconvenience himself and teach us how to lock unruly doors; Ray the Mountain Climber and his ropy advice; the encouraging sagaciousness of Heidi Holliday's registry scribbles; the triumphant and multi-syllabic Chickahominy River, over whose waters Dave and I high-fived each other; the cornicopia that is the forgivably-named Ukrops; the likewise-curiously-named VA encumbent, Trip Chalkley; Ashland, VA and its life-saving coffeehouse; the counter-intuitively engineered Charles City Road; the nameless formerly-comatose-motorcycle-accident-survivor we encountered at Horizon Food Mart (large eyes; toothless; purple corduroy shirt); the hope of Success, MO (more on this city to come....), etcetc.

We sing to ourselves. We stretch when we can. We eat bread and cheese and bananas voraciously. We cook with olive oil and wear sunblock and drink coffee at every available opportunity. We breathe in deep mountain air and feel with satisfaction as the avenues of our lungs are cleared of their New York debris. We coast down steep hills, bordered on both sides by the unimganiable green of the American countryside, and, automatically, like clockwork, as though we've been doing this for weeks now, we throw our fists in the air with excitement. We yelp.

This is Day Two. Dave, for reasons you can reference above, has named his iron steed Elsa. (the regalia! the nostalgia!) I, for similar reasons, have named mine Heidi Holliday (or, alternately, Mama Xi...or, when i'm feeling ambitious about the trip, Portlandia...) 110 miles down, a few thousand to go....

setting ships to sail

2007-05-02T19:17:00.000-07:00

And we have arrived: The evening before the sending-off of boys to their lessons; before the uncertain launching of ships.

I am writing from Dave's mother's office in New Jersey, the entire day having been devoted to bikes bikes bikes maps bikes, New York having faded, sadly, perhaps only temporarily, into the gray behind us. We leave for Yorktown tomorrow morning, 6ish, the tailend of the witching hour, arriving some time in the afternoon, and, always observers of decorum and ritual, both Dave and I will partake in a ceremonial dipping of our rear wheels into the Atlantic, thus, with yet-un-sunburned faces and wet rubber, beginning our little journey.

We have already set up the first of nine mailboxes along the route, for those among you who would be interested in sending us some tokens of encouragement/love/edibles (potables?). Here is the address information:

Dave Ulrich
General delivery

United States Postal Service
211 N. Reynolds St.
Damascus, VA 24236
(276) 475-3411

We plan to arrive in Damascus around the 11th of May, so it would be best if the packages arrived by May 10th.

More soon. As for now: We have celebratory beers to imbibe....

i dream in stereo

2007-04-24T07:43:00.000-07:00

in doubly, that is.
tandem.
teaches us about love, forgiveness, and the flower of promise. it's the american dream. that's what the tandem bike is for me. it's my white picket fence-two kids-in the country-dog sliding on the kitchen floor-wine cellar-ham radio-midlife sailboat-corvette covered on blocks in the driveway.....something that i sincerely think about when i try to envision my future.

of course, i'll still ride the lone steed. silence in the small hours. tilting my head away from the wind. watching the street riverrun away under my arms, which are still as statues and resolute in small folds and bronze wrinkles that were dug with the flex of a joint and never moved, never closed back up or filled back in. it's about fertility, probably. you know how all life is spawned from repetetive motion...the peak and dip of the moon pulses with the same hip thrust as the life giving loin which thinks of waves and rivers-constantly swirling the same water back into itself-as it's host sweats and cusses and the cherry tree buds, blooms and dies in a year long, slow loop, knot in the board that supports the roof of the shed, the knot is an eye where the tree learns to count starting with years. as it's branches sprout and swell, the tree learns about numbers, one, two, three and each arm has fingers who count by growing their own fingers and all of this wraps the gentle marrow of the tree heart in a new skin each year.

just saying.

this morning, full on 2.95 breakfast special and copperwire lectric bustelo coffee, jeezy and i were riding up 6th ave. acting the commuter and jeezy bumps a cop car haha and the cop pulls over and starts talking pathetic power trip how he's going to lock jeezy up and mess up his friend here too, me who's not said a word except this is stupid and we laugh at him as we ride away free on like gazelle legs which never have touched the ground but appear to jump, really flying bouncing on a layer of power that lives under its feet all the time even sleeping a centimeter off the ground hovering. haha....we win.

Glidin' Across America

2007-04-18T13:32:00.000-07:00

Body Glide (aka "The Glide") has officially been marked off our "To Buy" list. The demons of chafing have officially been exorcised. I'm feeling better already....

Possible future exchanges inspired by and/or related to Body Glide:
"Bro, you Glidin' today?"
"Crap man I think you got some of your Glide on my sammich."
"I told you bro...shoulda gone Glide back in Pueblo."
"Brosef, I think I need to swing by a bathroom and re-Glide."

Bikini biking

2007-04-16T13:27:00.000-07:00

As my friend Alex pointed out, "Biking blog," read quickly and carelessly, looks just like "Bikini blog."

Coincidence?

We still need a name for our tour. Some possibilities:
Free Ballin' Tour '07
Summer of Unrelenting Optimism
Tour de Bro
(--> alternately: Tour de Breaux)
Torch Bearer Tour '07
The CRBHD Acquisition Operation

We need help with names. Any input is appreciated.

And I still need to buy body lubricant....

I believe in you. Your magic is real.

2007-04-09T06:14:00.000-07:00

Kasey messaged me yesterday--she of the beautiful golden locks and lilting voice and curving-down-at-the-ends smile. Her message spoke of love interests and Louisville and Lawrence and potential leaving. And horoscopes. This was mine for yesterday:

For the future **
This can be a time of very successful energetic activity, if you proceed cautiously enough. You may be infected with an unjustified optimism that anything you do today will "turn to gold." It may, but it won't happen by luck. It will happen through intelligent planning and foresight, which are available to you under this influence if you make a conscious effort to take advantage of them. You act for the future under this influence, because you are more concerned with what can be done than with what is. Therefore this is a good time for furthering new projects. But do not overextend yourself and go beyond your resources, which is another temptation now. Also your fondness for taking risks can lead to accidents at this time, so be careful. You are not unlucky, you are just somewhat impulsive.**

I am not much one for horoscopes or psychics or any such foretelling of futures. I look to them as I look to magicians. Or prophets. Or religion in general. With a sort of aloof suspiscion, coupled, almost always, with a suspended disbelief, a desire, however remote, for it to be real: A child watching a woman being cut in half; white rabbits materializing from nothing, emerging shyly from black hats; prophesies dealt from mountaintops.

Mostly I just think horoscopes are fun. And sometimes, strangely accurate.

A good time to be planning a bike trip across the country, hm?

eight wheels are better than two

2007-04-06T12:58:00.000-07:00

this morning, jeezy and i met at gimme for a pre-ride americano. there was a big beautiful dog tied up next to the stoop where i sat. when it's owner came out, i asked him, "what kind of dog is that?" "rottweiler" he said. "i like it." i replied, smiling.

as he walked away, i felt bad for calling it an "it".

ps - on my lunch break i was doing some digging in the photo archive at the mid-manhattan library. that's where i found this impressive image.

I don't know "no"

2007-04-03T07:55:00.000-07:00

i can get my mouth into that round shape, i can blow a smoke ring (...probably still can), i can whistle like a lonely bandit, but it's the word. stringing together those little letters goes beyond my verbal motor skills. i suppose it's about love, right? it's about sleep and love. or sleep versus love, rather.

anyways, this trip is about "no". if i have anything to do with navigation, we will actually write that elusive word across the country. tracing a grand loop from jersey up to michigan, out to kansas, down to tennessee, back up to jersey, then a curlicue-connector up toward indiana, then diving down to texas only to turn our noses north for the giant horseshoe up to montana, ending up in new mexico. the US could certainly use a little dose of negation. i'm sure charles ray agrees.

addendum: perhaps i've been living under the locational curse of the double negative. Brooklyn, New York contains my new mantra twice! Mystically, linguistically, this could be responsible for my gap-toothed and grinning lexicon.

PSS - New Orleans and New Mexico are high in the running for places to settle with North Dakota leading by a final furlong.

michael stipe and jesus fistfight in heaven

2007-03-30T13:18:00.000-07:00

long train rides through New Jersey after a brief but tumultuous snowfall: time for sitting, planning, putting pen to paper. orchestrating! ensuring we are prepared!

something not discussed on unlined moleskine pages: the issue of my skin. i have what one might call a condition...red skin raised and raw. when i think of the itemized list of things i need to have before embarking on my cross-country bike trip, eczema is not among them.

dave has some lingerie questions....

rhythm and blues

2007-03-30T08:36:00.000-07:00

so i got to thinking...

2007-03-29T13:36:00.000-07:00

mic number one. isn't this a lot of fun?

2007-03-29T11:49:00.000-07:00

so here goes the things that are meant to go. we were meant to go. nick and i decided we have to start shrinking our stomachs. for one thing, we're not going to be able to eat much on bicycles, plus nick is having a hard time squeezing into his tour jersey.

Avatars! Bicycles!

2007-02-27T06:33:00.000-08:00

How many online personas is one allowed to have? I say...THREE:

www.myspace.com/neighbornick
www.flickr.com/photos/neighbornick

And then, of course, this blog that you're reading. That makes three. Like the heads of Cerberus! Like the eyes of Shiva! Like the Kings of Orient!

This is, of course, the beginning. The First. When I conceived this blog, I had thought it would be a sort of online personal literary journal, a site on which to dump my random thoughts and poetic fancies and minor moments of epiphany. But these things often become much more than they had intended to become; now, with May fast approaching, this blog will be documenting my somewhat-poorly-informed decision to quit my job, move out of my comfortable Williamsburg apartment and tread the country lengthwise. On bicycle.
Things to expect:

photos of me on my bike, pretending not to pose but angling my face slightly--just slightly--so as to expose my best side to the camera
photos of passing landscapes, perhaps beautiful, perhaps not
photos of my friend and biking partner, Dave, who may or may not be wearing bike shorts
thoughts on love and relationships
humorous anecdotes relating to the soreness of butts and, for the sake of transparency, chaffing
completely unnecessary biking-journey-as-metaphor-for-life rants
thoughts on neglected hygiene
reflections on being hurt
reflections on hurting others
sex tip of the day
just kidding
general zen excogitations

As you can see, there is much to look forward to. What's more: this blog is really not just my little project. It is to be collaborative! Together-wrought! Like braided bread. The inimitable Dave Ulrich will be contributing some thought of his own. He will also probably be writing haikus, which you should look forward to.

To drawing from deep wells!