From the Mountaintop Archives

The Eve of the Last Day.

We swore at the hills today as we rode from Ten Sleep to Buffalo. My Dad even gave the finger to one unexpected rise but it didn’t respond. It just sat there and made him feel foolish. We knew we faced a big pass, Powder River, the highest and longest of our trip so far, 9,666 feet, with over 5,000 in elevation gain over twenty plus miles. For the last mile we could see the RV waiting at the top with Mom and Elias to wave us forward.

We thought we made it.

But then we stayed high in the Big Horn Mountains for another twenty miles with deceitful down hills that ended with abrupt climbs. Psychologically, these sneaky hills hurt more than the constant drive up Powder River Pass. We thought every hill was the last one until we hit another. By the time we reached another KOA campground in Buffalo, we pedaled for four and a half hours and this does not include our snack, water, and lunch breaks.

We saved the hardest day for the second to last. We land in Kaycee tomorrow afternoon where for three nights we sleep in private bedrooms at my great Aunt Lois and Crow’s ranch. I feel nostalgic already about our biking days coming to an end. I’ll miss waking up to ride, even if the RV shrunk over the last month and we could all use a chance to spread out and enjoy personal space.

The physical challenge of biking, though daunting at times, feels easier than the challenges of arranging a life.

I can’t bike forever. I know that. But I hope to harness this energy and channel it into a more centered routine. One that feels like rising and pedaling. Sleeping and doing it again. And accepting that I can never fully anticipate the change in grade around each bend.

As I write from the deck of the KAO campground office, between sentences I watch a mama cat supervise her black and white kittens. She sits near two who wrestle and chase each other around the cabins. A moment ago, as I pondered how to end this post, a third all-black one, that I hadn’t seen earlier, ventured away from his mama to rub against my ankle. He jumped in my lap, curled up, and purred.

More Mishap from the Biking Family

So Elias fell out of his table-turned-bed last night, landed on the Thermarests on the floor beneath him, and never woke up.

Yesterday after my Dad's flat tire stop, as we biked out of Cody he thought, "There's a nice wind in my hair," then realized he forgot his helmet and gloves in the RV.

A few days ago I switched from my biking tank to a short sleeved short to protect my mildly burned shoulders from the sun. Partway through the day Nick asks, "Did you put any sunscreen on your lower back?"

"Uh, no."

I didn't realize the shirt rode up leaving a stripe of bare Alaskan back skin that is now crimson. So my shoulders are tan, my mid-back pasty white, and my lower back the color of Tom Robbins beloved beets. The oddest tan lines adorn us. Tan arms but white hands from our bike gloves. Tan legs starting mid-thigh with white feet. And at the end of the day all I want is shade. That Washington rain is welcomed back anytime.

Oh, and Elias discovered his own way to glide. He now goes down ramps and hills by lifting up his feet entirely and just holding onto his walker for the ride. This strategy won't help him learn to walk down hills but it sure is fun. Who needs a slide when you come equipped with your own personal ride.

We head to Ten Sleep tonight, then Buffalo, and then our final ride to the ranch in Kaycee. I'll leave you with some more pictures before we go:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Movement

I write from a KOA campground in Greybull WY where the pool welcomed us after biking in 90 degree dry heat for days.

After drinking warm water throughout the ride, when the host welcomed us with cold bottled water I could have hugged her. Especially after she helped me back up the RV and connect it to her systems and then said, "Don't tell your family I helped you. You can do it. It just takes practice."

Thats how I feel about most things, especially after biking for miles day after day.

You can do it. It just takes practice.

Like parenting a child with special needs.

Its hard to believe I once felt so scared of the thought of Elias using a walker. I wanted to keep him in his stroller so the world wouldn't know. Wanted to continually call him a preemie and not special or disabled or a visually challenged child with CP.

Felt like a walker would be a blaring signal of difference.

And it is.

But I don't really give a shit anymore.

I mean, I don't see his walker, even if it makes heads turn. Its just a part of him. Just a means for balance and independence that gives him the freedom to explore.

As I sit at the picnic table Elias walkers around the RV with his Dad refusing to listen to his exhausted body. Between the sun and swimming and a full dinner of chicken nuggets, French Fries and apple sauce he should be sacked out by now. But he's still going.

Like all of us. We just keep moving even when all we want to do is rest.

My mom biked over 60 miles today and is now pushing Elias through the gravel in his little umbrella stroller. I tried pushing him in it earlier and it doesn't work very well.

I can hear her: "Uh oh, we're stuck again.'" And now she's walking backwards and dragging him on two of the four stroller wheels.

Still going.

Too Short

Through Yellowstone and Shashone National Forest and all I can say is what an honor it is to bike along these roads. This is beautiful country.

I'm sitting in McDonalds  in Cody Wyoming as my Dad gets a new tire. Our first flat of the trip. Nick just arrived to say we are ready to get on the road so I'm sorry to say this will be the shortest update yet. We pass through Cody to Greybull for the night. Only three days of biking left to Kaycee. Will write more at our next access. Lots o love.

Fathers' Chocolate Filling

I have no idea where we'll be when you read this. Somewhere, Montana. Almost, Wyoming. I'm writing an advance post in case our biking roads don't come with Internet access.

I'll publish this on Friday though its Father's Day as I write. This morning my Dad made bacon and eggs while I slept late. When we all sat down at the table my Mother said, "Happy Father's Day."

Doh.

I sit between my father and the father of my child, the two men I admire most, and completely forget this holiday in their honor.

Before the trip I remembered. My first Father's Day with my dad since college. How cool to be with both men at once. I imagined making them breakfast and surprising them with thoughtful gifts all day long.

But no. I forgot.

My solace is knowing I can choose another day. Call it Dad's day. Make dark coffee with buttermilk pancakes. Go for a morning stroll then send Nick fishing and my dad to a shady corner with a historical biography. I can serve them cold beers and popcorn throughout the afternoon and cook a juicy steak for dinner. Elias and I can make a chocolate pie with strawberries for dessert.

And when these forgiving men grow sleepy, I can tell them I love them over and over again.

And Elias does too.

Wisdom without Wisdom

(Revised this morning to add a few more pictures.)

My Dad, Nick and I lean our bikes against the railing of a bridge at the beginning of someones driveway. I pull Cliff bars out of my front snack pack and hand one to my Dad. We all take a layer or two off to compensate for the sun rising above the mountains. And to prepare for the eight mile climb ahead of us to Chief Joseph Pass.

As we stretch and drink water a blue pick-up truck slows to a stop. My Dad moves his bike out of the way so the man can turn down his driveway.

"Nice day for a bike ride," the burly man says with a grin.

I'm relieved he's friendly.

"Yeah we stopped to take some layers off. Its getting warm." Nick replies.

"Where y'all headed?"

"Up the pass to Wisdom."

"The mosquitoes will get ya."

"Yeah?"

"I worked steers up there a couple of summers ago and they were something fierce. But we learned if you didn't shower for four days they left you alone."

"Well, we're working on it."

******

My Dad told me to imagine I'm rolling a carpet up as I bike uphill.

"Rolling a carpet. I'm just rolling a carpet. Rolling a carpet." I say over and over again as I pedal up the steep incline that never lets up for miles.

The passengers in the cars that whiz past all crane their necks to stare.

One lady rolls down the window of her RV twice the size of ours and waves her fist in the air. "She gets it," I think, as I push that carpet up the mountain one stride at a time.

*****

I drive the RV down from the pass, 27 miles to Wisdom. Elias falls asleep in his car seat by the fifth mile. I forget to switch the RV out of second gear and putter along for 15 miles until I remember to switch it to drive.

In Wisdom, a town of a hundred people, I pull into the American Legions campground. Before I even turn off the motor I can see the mosquitoes swarming. They trap me in the RV. 

I sit reading in the driver's seat until I remember the beds behind me. With Elias still asleep, I lie down with my book and wait.

Jackson Hot springs Lodge lays 18 miles ahead. Two outhouses, fire pits, picnic tables, and blood-sucking mosquitoes adorn the American legions campground.

I know where I'd rather camp.

When my parents and Nick roll in it takes them a few minutes of swatting to agree.

"Close the door," my mom says when I'm still half way in it.

"Jesus," I hear my dad mutter as he puts his bike on the rack.

Nick and I decide to bike the last leg to Jackson, pedaling fast to outrun the buzzing monsters, stopping only briefly, until we meet Elias, Mom and Dad in the water.

"Hot tub!!!" Elias says again and again in a voice that tells us all we made the right decision.

(And the cherry on top is I found internet here in Jackson. We plan to be in West Yellowstone by the weekend and more campgrounds and small towns in between. Thanks everyone for following along.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That Could

When you read this we will be leaving Lolo, Montana for an eleven day cycling stretch. Elias will be keeping the driver company, searching for water, and sneaking M&M's. Or wait, maybe that's me.

Our job is to pedal.

And if the incline isn't too steep or the headwind too strong then this task becomes rhythmic. Relaxing even as you forget about pushing and merely move with the bike.

Before I left Anchorage one of my counseling mentors told me she thought this trip would change our lives.

Sitting here in the middle of it, I can't articulate the change yet.

Except to say that a piece of me has felt dis-empowered since I delivered Elias four months too soon. Swallowed by a sense of impotency as my body opened to a medical world I couldn't comprehend.

My little engine sat at the bottom of the hill humming, "I think you can't... I think you can't...I think you can't."

Well.

As I biked up Sherman Pass, the highest paved one in Washington, I noticed the wind shift, as the familiar mantra from childhood skipped along with me.

I think I can...I think I can....I think I can....I think I can...I think I can...I think I can...

Pictures

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trout Creek to Flathead Lake

This is the cush part of our trip. After spending two nights in a beautiful house in Sandpoint Idaho we biked 69 miles to Trout Creek to camp at an RV park for the night. Nick and I even went out to dinner at the Naughty Pine Inn to celebrate the first of our two wedding anniversaries. (We married in Alaska and Cape Cod.) I think everyone at the Naughty Pine knew we didn't live around there but the greasy burgers, fries, and onion rings made up for the stares. I topped off our romantic evening by falling asleep putting Elias down and spent most of the night in bed with my little boy. See I told you the RV's not so sexy.

On Friday we rode a half day and then drove the rest of the way to Flathead Lake where the Newhalls, my brother's in-laws, are putting us up for the weekend. With a house right on the lake Elias can throw stones in the water, his new favorite activity, for hours. He throws kerplunks, dribblers, bouncers, beauties, sliders, and splashers. When he sees water, all he wants to do is throw rocks. Its one of the few times that he'll sit still so I support this new habit. Otherwise it's: "check out new pace!" which means we follow him around with his walker as he rolls around the yard or campsite.

At each new campsite Elias needs to check out the bathrooms. He doesn't quite get that I can't give him a tour of the men's room and I'm not totally sure what the attraction is to toilets. He's not using them yet as he rarely tells us about the state of his diaper. But he loves bathrooms. He even says goodnight to them when we say night night to people and things. Forget about the moon. Good night toilet.

At a lot of campsite the bathrooms are the only structures so this could be part of the fascination. Plus a lot of them are made with smooth concrete floors and surrounding walkways which walker wheels roll on easier than grass and pine needles. But this is the kid who leaves the paved road to roll through the bushes. His will to move is endless and he doesn't need us next to him to explore his surroundings. Now we just have to say the word campsite and he makes his "Oh face" because it means checking out another new place.

Sometimes I find myself looking at him and wondering how this rugged little boy could be my tiny NICU baby. And oh my god he's not done growing yet. Wait. Stop. Slow down. No. Go ahead. But. Wait...

Call me the Queen of Mishap.

“You don’t have to stop if you don’t want to,” my Dad said as he waited for us to catch up to him.

I wanted to stop but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get my right foot free. I always disengage with my right foot first and I couldn’t free it from the pedal. It took me a few seconds to remember I had another foot to land on. With my left foot on the ground I twisted and yanked my right foot, my Dad and Nick did too, until Nick, brighter than I in these situations, told me to take off my shoe. With both brains and muscle Nick fixed the problem. Turns out I lost a screw somewhere on route 20.

 

My chain also keeps jumping off my bike when I try to switch to my granny gear on too steep of an incline and on the shoulder-less bridge across the wide Columbia River my Columbia rain jacket slipped from my rack, tangled in my gears, and caused me to lose the ability to pedal all together. And it was quite possibly the worst place to stop. So I coasted to the edge of the bridge but made my Dad fall off his bike since he didn’t fully unclip in time to stop with me. My rain jacket survived with two small tears and an oh so pleasant smattering of grease.

 

Along the Pend Orielle River we stopped for a snack break and I rested my bike against a pole connected to a barbwire fence. Smart huh? Well my handlebars wrestled with that fence and rode away with a few scars.

 

The first day I drove the RV I somehow managed to pull it over across fresh asphalt on the wrong side of the road over a too-big curb in a construction ridden town and then could not get back on the road so I had to wait for my dad to save me.

 

“Of all the places to choose to stop for a rest stop why here?’ he wanted to know.

 

I could only say: “I don’t know, I pulled a bonehead move.” The truth is I panicked following the pilot car, worried it would lead me out of Twisp, past our designated meeting area, so instead of finding the first nice pull-over on the East side of town I pulled out of line, across the hot smelly tar, to park the wrong way in front of a Napa Auto body shop.

 

Don’t ask.