Ryan's Final Blog

Hello everyone, by now I assume that you have all read about the nearly averted tragedy that befell Anthony and Zach just a few days ago. As I know that many of you are very concerned for their well being I will begin with a quick update on both of them. Both are still staying in Colorado Springs and will remain their in the very capable care of the Phelps until at least Friday. Their injuries are healing well although soreness and medication are still very much a part of everyday life. Two things that are not beaten at all are their morale and their resolve to finish this trip. For more updates on their recovery stay tuned to the blog where they plan on updating you in more detail shortly.

As for me, my solo trip started out exciting and challenging but also somber and lonely. Then, on Saturday, I was given a call that would forever alter my trip and my life, followed by an event that would do the same. The call was about Anthony and Zach’s hit and run accident; the event was a high speed bicycle crash of my own that is seemingly marking the end of my journey across the states, but before I get ahead of myself I will start at the beginning.
I began to ride ahead of the other guys after an early start from Garden City where I rode into Colorado early in the afternoon. As I stopped by the "Welcome to Colorado" sign I experienced my first lonely moment. I looked at the sign and had a strange urge to dance across the state line while somebody spoke a meaningless monologue about Kansas into a camera. Instead, I propped my bike up against the sign, snapped a picture with my throw away camera, and biked on.

Aside from the sadness that accompanied the lack of a jig into Colorado, I quickly realized how much I had come to depend on my teammates on a daily basis. For example, the first night in my new tent I found myself starring aimlessly at the ceiling unable to fall asleep despite my extreme fatigue. Over the last 5 weeks I transformed from feeling uneasy with the tight quarters of our three person tent to dependent on it. How was I supposed to sleep with out the sound of Anthony and Zach trading movie quotes and eventually, the deep breathing of the bear that we call Big Daddy. I also did not like the idea of making all the decisions on my own. Team LOCO had reached a point where every decision was discussed and made as a group. Everything from where we would stop for breaks to whether we would eat Chinese or Mexican food. Suddenly, the burden of being the only decision maker overwhelmed me and I found myself pushing myself a little too hard in the first several days. However, I learned to cope with my solitude and push on always prayfully thinking of the two friends that followed close behind.

After spending four days riding across Colorado I have decided with out a shadow of doubt that it is by far the most beautiful and diverse state that I have had the pleasure of seeing on my trip thus far. The east side of Colorado was as flat as Kansas and even more disserted. In fact, at one point there was a 72 mile stretch of road with no towns, no gas stations, no food stops, no cell phone coverage, not even farms or houses. There were however an abundant amount of dead rattlesnakes on the side of the road which begged me to ask one question…where are their alive brothers? After the prairie, Colorado took a very different turn as I began to run into the southern Rockies. Riding through the La Vita and Wolf Creek Passes were not only two of the most physically challenging parts of my trip but also the most rewarding. The views from the peaks were phenomenal, the rides down the backsides life changing, and the sheer feeling of accomplishment when you crest a mountain that tops out at 10,000 + feet in elevation is unparalled.

Unfortunately, the serenity of my surroundings were about to be violently interrupted by two ensuing events, the first being a simple phone call. I received the phone call just as I had crested the Wolf Creek Pass and was about to take a picture of myself holding a snowball. It was my Aunt Emy and she had just read the blog about Zach and Anthony’s hit and run ordeal. Although the blog assured me that my friends were alive and well I went into a state of controlled panic. I began calling whoever I could in failed attempts to get in touch with my fallen comrades. After about 30 minutes of unsuccessful attempts I decided what had to be done. I would ride down the 9 mile decent of the Wolf Creek Pass and continue another 10 miles into the town of Pagosa Springs where I would get a hotel for the night. From there I could try to get in touch with Anthony and Zach and decide how I should proceed. However, the Wolf Creek Pass had other plans.

It did not take long after I began my decent down the back side of Wolf Creek Pass to realize that this was an intense ride. During the first 4 miles of the decent I reached speeds estimated at about 60 mph. After about 3 miles I began to get on the breaks hard in an attempt to stop at a scenic overlook. It took me the better part of a half mile to come to a stop and I instantly decided to take it a bit slower on the second half of the decent. After a short break at the overlook I continued once again down the hill, this time, a car following me would tell me later that I was traveling between 45 and 50 mph. All was well until I rounded a corner and saw a biker’s worst nightmare, a gap in the middle of the road about 3 inches wide. To a car this crack would go unnoticed but on a bike the crack was just large enough for my front tire to slip into leaving me with out control of my bike. The last thing that I remember was thinking… "I may actually pull this off with out an accident." What followed that thought was me being tossed from the bike towards the cement retaining wall on the side of the road. My right side of my shoulder and hip took the initial blow quickly followed by my head smashing into the retaining wall. What followed was a series of tumbles and flips as my head and body bounced down the road.

In the interest of keeping this under 5 pages long I will fast forward through some of the painstaking details. Thanks to my sweet Trek helmet and the fact that I was wearing it allowed me to walk away with limited head injuries despite the fact that my helmet was shattered and my head acted as a battering ram for over 20 yards. Other than that, my injuries were limited to extreme road rash and major bruising in my knees, hip, and lower back. The other main reason that I am alive and well has to deal with the amazing couple and their son who were following me at the time of the accident. Not only did they stop and make sure that I was alive but they also drove me and my gear into Pagosa Springs, called the EMT’s, stayed with me while I was getting checked out, and then drove me another hour and a half to the city of Durango where they made sure that I got a hotel room and that I was safe and sound before they parted from me. They are seriously the main reason that I made it through this ordeal and I will forever be in their debt. May God Bless them for they are truly an answer to prayer!

That was Sunday; now let’s fast forward to Tuesday. After shipping my busted bike home I caught a 15 hour Greyhound bus to Colorado Springs where I was once again saved by none other than the Phelps and yes, sitting in the back seat were the other two members of Team LOCO. I was never so happy to see the guys in which I had started this journey and we quickly greeted each other with handshakes only since hugs would instantly inflict an immense amount of pain on each other. Since then we have been hanging out with the Phelps and their extended family nursing our wounds and seeing the beautiful Colorado Springs area.

Today is Wednesday and it is 11:25 pm mountain time, which means that in less than 12 hours I will be for the first time in over a month and a half heading east. The fall that I took put me out of commission and off a bike for at least a week and maybe more. With the career that I have to be back to that makes it impossible for me to finish the trip on time. For that reason, the Phelps have driven me to Denver where tomorrow I will be on a flight back home. I would be lying to you if I said that I am not disappointed, even slightly depressed. However, the last month and a half have been life changing and I would not trade that time for anything. Even the crash itself gave me an opportunity to spend the last few days of my trip back with my friends in a beautiful area of the country that I would not have seen otherwise. As for those of you who know me best, you all know that I will finish this trip! As soon as I have a chance I will fly to Colorado with my bike, begin where I had my crash, take two weeks, and finish my trip. For now I will return home knowing that I rode as far as I possibly could before I was stopped by two fateful events.

I would like to thank everyone for their constant support both verbally and financially. It was YOU not us that have made this trip a success. I hope that you all continue to keep Anthony and Zach in your thoughts and prayers as they complete their journey. Thanks again and I look forward to seeing many of you soon. God Bless!

Hit and Run

This posting is coming to you from a beautiful ranch house about 20 miles from Colorado Springs. Sadly we don’t expect we’ll be lightening your spirits much from our last posting as our trip has taken a serious turn for the worse. We suppose the best place to start would be where we left off in Lamar when we were dealing with Zach’s problematic back tire.

We were on our way to Wal-Mart when we saw a small ammunition shop on the side of the road. Seeing as we were going to Wal-Mart to pick up co2 cartridges to refill our tires should the need arise, we thought it might be a good idea to pick up what we needed there. The owner of the establishment was a man named Mike, and he had over 20 years experience working on motorcycles and as it turned out he also had a small garage in the back of his ammunition shop. We gratefully accepted his offer to look at Zach’s bike, as we were baffled as to how we would get to La Junta to a bike shop where someone qualified could correctly diagnose the cause of 6 blown tubes.

In no time at all we discovered that a piece of protective tape covering the where the spokes connect to the rim had moved, which was causing our tubes to work themselves into a series of sharp depressions within the rim of the tire. It was a simple fix and by early afternoon we were back on the road and on our way to Las Animas.

35 miles later we enjoyed a small Mexican lunch and made our way to the local coin laundry to wash our dirty clothes and avoid a vicious thunderstorm which had followed us into town. At the laundromat we had the pleasure of meeting Dr. James Miller and Dr. Barbara Pivonka. We sat around and shot the breeze while our laundry finished drying and we folded our clothes. By the time it was time to leave both of these kind souls had donated 50 dollars to our cause and filled us with enough good will to last us for the next hundred miles at least.

We left Las Animas for an RV park 20 miles down the road in La Junta around 6:30 or so. The storm had passed us over and our exit from town was complimented by the most beautiful sunset we’ve had the privilege to enjoy yet. The storm was about 30 miles off into the distance and we could still see the lightening dancing between the clouds and ground. The only thing more spectacular than the electricity skipping through the air was the sun was shining through a large hole between the storm and the ground, highlighting the clouds and skirting the reeds at our feet as we made our way between cities.

There was no warning from the Semi-Truck which hit us from behind, and everything happened so quickly that it is difficult to recount exactly what happened. Zach lost consciousness immediately so the best we can do is tell this from Anthony’s perspective, which thankfully is still at best incomplete.

At what seemed like exactly same instant I heard a loud crash and felt a blow to my left side which I can only compare to being struck by an enormous hammer. The impact was with such force that I was immediately thrown from my bike into the air. The only image I can recall is being surrounded by debris. I suppose that my years practicing martial arts contributed to a sort of instinctual reflex to tuck and role, as I found myself tumbling through the weeds and dirt in something close to the fetal position before finally coming to rest in the dirt beside the highway.

The next thing I remember is Zach calling our my name.

“Anthony, Dude are you ok?”

It took me a moment to process this question. I imagine I was in shock but had the presence of mind to look around. Zach was about 20 feet from me lying on his back half on the road, there was pieces of bike lying across the road and on the shoulder, and about 15 feet in front of me was what was left of my bike. The trailer I was dragging was little other than a twisted piece of metal, the back wheel was completely destroyed, the and the seat was ripped from the frame. A dull but searing pain ripped its way up my left side and I checked all my limbs to see if they still worked. A moment later I had confirmed that I still had control over my motor functions, and finally was able to respond.

“Yeah… Are you alright?”

Zach waited a moment before responding between grunts.

“I think so.”

Numerous cars passed us by as we struggled to keep our wits. Moments later I found myself on the phone with 911 and paramedics were on the scene within minutes. I cant recall much that happened between the ground of the accident and La Junta hospital other than being swarmed by mosquitoes and the ceiling of the ambulance, but within a few hours we were being x-rayed and treated by La Junta’s finest.

By some miracle we both escaped with little more than superficial injuries. Zach is now enjoying 4 staples in his left arm, which broke his fall, a very badly bruised leg, and a mild concussion. I on the other hand do not have a visible scratch on me, but the left side of my body is suffering from what the doctors as the hospital called one of the worst contusions they’ve ever seen. No broken bones across the board and thankfully, we are both alive.

The story the police gave us at the hospital went a little something like this: A witness saw a large silver semi hit us both. Zach was traveling behind and based on his injuries it seems that it only clipped his bike sending him through the air for about 20 feet where his arm broke his fall. Based on my injuries and the condition of my bike we expect the wheel well of the semi then hit me on the left side, sending me into the air until I came to rest about 45 feet from impact. The driver did not stop and the police were unable to acquire a suspect. To be honest we will never really know what happed in any more detail than what you’ve read here, but we are left humbled and grateful to be alive as most accidents involving bicyclers and semi’s do not have the same outcome…

Greg Phelps and his wife Melissa once again came to our rescue after the hospital discharged us this morning. With our limited medical insurance they refused to keep us overnight, but it seems extra attention to our injuries would have proved to be unnecessary. We spent the night at a nearby holiday inn and have since been picked up by the Phelps and driven to a ranch north of Colorado Springs where we are enjoying the same warm hospitality that we were spoiled with in Wichita. Both of us have quite a hard time walking but are expected to make full recoveries without too much of a delay. Zach’s bike was salvageable and we took what we could from mine, but we are unsure what this will mean for the rest of the trip. For the time being we plan to recover in Colorado Springs and see how we feel in a few days. We have not yet given up hope that the trip may yet be completed, but we’ll wait to make any further plans until the time is right.

We’ve heard that in experiences such as this one may do a degree of re evaluating of one’s priorities. I don’t know if this is true for everyone but I can say that it is true for me. I want to take a moment to say that I have no regrets for going on this trip thus far and if I could do it again I would do it the same without hesitation. Being dosed with a sense of your own mortality makes it painfully clear that life is far too short to be worried about money or pain or those who have wronged you. What’s important are the lives you touch and the ones by whom you are touched. I am grateful for the luck to be born into a loving family, for the pleasure of knowing all of my friends back in Pittsburgh, for the privilege of being given the opportunity to see the world through the kindness of others, and the honor of standing beside the friends who are truly there for you. If this experience can inspire any one of you readers to take a moment to consider that which is important in your own life and let go of that which binds you, then I consider it paid in full.

We wish all of you the best, and will be in touch. Thank you for all of your continued support.

Team LOCO has fallen on Dark times

Well folks, it can’t all be flowers and sunshine on this little journey of ours, and the last few days sure have been evidence of that. Over the course of the past 300 miles we have been rained on, sun burnt, blown quite a few tires, and even managed to have one of our teammates go his own way. Let’s start at the beginning.

We made our way from the Phelps household to Dodge City without too much trouble. The grounds were flat and we experienced our first tail wind which was a surprise to be remembered. Instead of the consistent headwinds we’ve encountered up to this point, suddenly we felt no wind at all. Even though we were cruising at our standard 15 mph we felt no breeze on our brow but instead an eerie stillness. It wasn’t until we looked beside us at the wild grasses blowing in our direction that we realized that this is what a tail wind feels like. The next hundred miles or so were the most effortless of the trip so far.

Not too long after we left Wichita we came upon a small town in Kansas which had recently been devastated by tornados. This was one of the most disquieting experiences our team experienced as well. The entire city was all but wiped off the map by an f5 tornado over a mile and a half wide. We have no perspective personally to give us reference for this kind of destructive force, but it was as if the finger of god itself was drug across the flat Kansas ground and through the town, leaving nothing but rubble in its wake. While our cause has been, and is now for ALS, our hearts go out to those who are suffering from this terrible tragedy.

In Dodge City it became clear that the members of Team LOCO needed to have a serious talk. Certain time constraints were weighing heavily on one of the members of Team LOCO and we had reached the point where if Dagen was going to uphold certain work commitments he had obligated himself to, a change in pace or direction was necessary. As we stand we have near 1300 miles to go, and will be rolling into Los Angeles somewhere around the 15^th. This date does not coincide with the start date of a very important work project back home, so the short of it is that in the near future Ryan will be going his own way in an attempt to finish the trip by early July. We don’t know when the next time we’ll have access to the internet will be, so he wanted to say a few words to our loyal reading audience so we’ll give the floor to him.

Hello everyone, I hope that all is well and that we have continued to entertain you through out our trip. I would like to start by once again thanking all of the people that have supported us through out this trip. Some of you we have known since we were kids, some of you were complete strangers who for some reason felt compelled to help three hygienically challenged bikers, and all of you made this trip not only possible, but also enjoyable. I have enjoyed reading your supportive emails and comments; they are the constant rejuvenating encouragement that we need. Finally, I would like to thanks Emy and Gordie for not only being the reason behind this trip, but also for taking the role of our biggest cheerleaders as we peddle across the country.

I promise that I will continue to try and update the blog and media after I separate from Anthony and Zach if I can find a place where I have access to a computer although I trust that Big Daddy and Tony Viva are more than capable of keeping you entertained for the final push towards the Pacific. Thanks again and God Bless…Lancaster or BUST!!

In other news, since Dodge City we have somehow managed to blow a total of 6 tire tubes, and are in a bit of a pinch. Right now we are in Lamar, Colorado and are going to make an epic push to La Junta in an attempt to find a bike shop that can repair one of the member’s broken wheel. It is our hope that the reparations to this bicycle appendage will do something to stem the slaughter it has wreaked on unsuspecting bicycle tubes over the past 30 miles. Our only chance is to stock up on co2 cartridges and hope we make it there.

Please enjoy the following videos, as we have a new camera and a new dance to share with you all.

Into Colorado(REVISED, SORRY ABOUT THE BLOOPER): http://good-times.webshots.com/video/3067296420101327493zrhuGv?vhost=good-times

Bike tire 1 http://good-times.webshots.com/video/3013696010101327493dBzXkU

Bike tire 4 (same day, half hour later) http://good-times.webshots.com/video/3094557630101327493JUsgxU

We promise a much happier entry next time and a juicy new episode of Anthony’s awkward situation corner. But for now we’ll leave you with this admittedly mild installment:

A couple miles back we were lucky enough to meet the owner of a beauty shop in Syracuse, KS. She saw us at a gas station and offered the floor of her shop to us for the evening which we gratefully accepted. After a few pleasantries she left us to our evening activities around 9:00. We quickly changed out of our bicycling gear and into something more comfortable, and sat down in the only chairs which were available to relax. These were not your ordinary chairs however, they were the ones with the huge glass bowl on the top used for drying hair and solidifying perms and such.

So there we sat, our underwear strewn about the floor, bicycle parts on the table, and enjoying a fresh plate of canned mac and cheese, when a really burly Kansas man walked into the shop. We were under the impression that all tanning appointments had been filled, but apparently this particular cowboy had a tanning emergency which needed to be satisfied immediately.

“There ennybody in dem tannin beds?”

Zach and I, dumbfounded by this awkwardness of this situation could only respond with a simple, “No man, it’s all yours”

He stood there for a moment, obviously as confused by the situation as we were before quietly retreating to the solitude of his own private cancer box for a solid bake session. In retrospect it was all pretty amusing.

Take it easy players, we’ll get back at you soon.

-Team LOC

Kansas

Wow, it seems to be awhile since our last blog and of course much has taken place since that last correspondence. We finally escaped the grasp of Missouri and found ourselves in the safe haven of Kansas, spent some time experiencing the “Playground of the Midwest,” passed some bike riders that made us look a bit silly, and accepted the warm hospitality of the Phelps family.

When we last left you in Jefferson City we were stuck waiting for a bike shop to open Monday morning to fix Zach’s unknown bike ailment. By now we can tell you that the problem was a broken free hub in the back wheel and we can also tell you that unfortunately for Zach, the bike shop in Jefferson City did not have the free hub in stock. They did however tune up our bikes and somehow got Zach’s bike to a point where it could be ridden although he was limited to three very low gears. The bike shop owner also called ahead to his friend who owned a bike shop 50 miles west of Jefferson City in a place called the Ozarks. The friend told us that he would be expecting us in the morning and that he had the part to fix the bike. However, this meant that Zach had to limp through the next 50 miles with a barely functioning bike through hills, which were made even more difficult for Zach since he was perpetually stuck in high gears.

The next day we found ourselves limping into the Ozarks, which by the way are the most exciting place that we have seen since we left the Atlantic Ocean. The Ozarks are a series of man made lakes and tourist towns that have been rightfully dubbed the playground of the Midwest. As we rode into town towards the bike shop we were surrounded by Old Time Photo shops, arcades, batting cages, restaurants, and other shops and activities that you would expect to see on the boardwalks of the east coast ocean front. We decided to begin our day in the Ozarks by taking care of business and getting Zach’s bike fixed. After Zach was back in working order we headed back into town to get something to eat and enjoy some of the activities that the town had to offer.

The adventure began at a small restaurant and pub in the center of town called the Casablanca. We found out later that the establishment is poised to be featured in the July issue of Maxim magazine and we quickly discovered why. The delicious food was only outdone by the incredibly kind service and homely atmosphere. Just when we thought that the people in this small town couldn’t be any more friendly, a complete stranger picked up our lunch tab. After thanking ___ and his son and grandson __ and ___ we decided to go across the street and get Old Time Photos taken. We spent about an hour doing our best to bring out our inner cowboy and when it came time to take the picture, we found ourselves once again leaving our wallets in our chaps. This time, it was the owner of the Old Time Photo Shop that paid for our pictures. We once again thanked our Good Samaritan for his kindness and decided that it was time to get back on the road, but not before deciding that the Ozarks are indeed a town that is worth revisiting some time in the future!

While in the Ozarks we learned of another race across America that had just commenced in Ocean Side California. The Race Across America or as it is more popularly referred to, RAAM, is a supported race in which the riders either race in teams or individually. Unlike our trip that will most likely last 45 days or more, these riders finish with in two weeks. More specifically, the teams can finish as fast as 5 and a half days and in the individuals can finish the race in 10 days. Even more ridiculous is that there is a team of 60 something diabetic women competing in the race this year. To support the trip, there are tents set up about every 60 miles or so with water and food. Even though we are not partaking in RAAM we stopped at the tents as we passed and the people were extremely friendly and helpful. They even gave us energy bars and took our pictures for their website. It was also neat to see the riders pass us going the opposite way. There seemed to be a level of mutual respect for what each of us were doing and we always made sure to wave and yell out encouraging words as we passed.

When we got to Wichita, the capital of Kansas we were blessed with the opportunity to stay with the Phelps family. The Phelps household was an amazing experience indeed. Greg Phelps is an old friend of Anthony’s father and as such felt some sort of misfounded obligation to our little band of misfits. He most generously offered up his home to us and pulled out all the stops to make us feel welcome. And we do mean all of the stops. The entire stay at their home was like an eloquently crafted dinner, with every act of kindness culminating in a perfect soufflé of relaxing and fun.

The first course of kindness was shown to us at small Italian restaurant were he picked up our tab. The second was when he toed our tired little behinds off the highway into his quant rural community. The third was when he and his beautiful wife and daughters made us the most fantastic 5 star steak dinner we’ve ever had in our lives. The fourth was when he carted us around Wichita as we made repairs and preventative maintenance measures on our bikes. The fifth and sixth and seventh were the multiple hand made snacks and breakfast that Melissa made us throughout our day off. The list goes on and on but we can say with the utmost sincerity that Greg and Melissa Phelps are by far one of the most enjoyable, accommodating, fantastic company that we’ve had the pleasure of experiencing on this trip so far. The food alone would have been worth an entire blog entry, but we couldn’t begin to do justice to the poetic artistry of flavors by butchering the description with our crass cyclist language. From the bottom of our hearts and bellies, thank you so very much.

And now it is time to begin the last third of our little trip across the states. From Wichita we will continue down route 54 to Dodge City where Wyatt Earp gained fame as a peacemaker. From there we have a couple of different routes that we debating, but all end up going through Las Vegas and finally end somewhere around Las Angeles. As for those of you who have been waiting for picture and video updates, our camera unfortunately stopped working last week. However, once again, Anthony’s Dad came to the rescue and sent us a new camera so we will hopefully be able to upload more pictures in the near future.

Missouri

It is only a few days after our last post and we find ourselves waking up in the Comfort Suites Hotel on the west side of Jefferson City Missouri for the second morning in a row. Although that in itself may seem exciting, I assure you that the several day journey that led up to our arrival here was anything but.

Firstly we should explain why there is not out of Illinois dance for you to watch as we humiliate ourselves once again on the side of the highway. You see, St. Louis was much like Washington DC in the fact that route 50 joins up with a major interstate, which bicycle riders are of course not allowed on. However, like usual, we decided to test our luck with the local law enforcement and ride on the banned highway. Unlike, Washington’s finest who did not catch up with us until we had ridden over 20 miles, the St. Louis Blue were much more on top of their game and stopped us just 2 miles after we entered the no riding zone. Once kicked off the highway we were in need of other transportation through the city so we took a metro to get through the heart of the city. During this time we anticlimactically crossed over the Mississippi River. After the metro we rode a few miles to a hotel and called it a day because the area is expecting tornados, 90mph winds, and baseball sized hail! We decided that our tent may not withstand these elements and that we would fair much better in the confines of a Best Western.

In the morning we were back on the road, this time on route 100, which is biker friendly but still a pretty major road. Our goal was to take route 100 for about 40 miles back to route 50. While on this short stretch of road two things happened, one good, one not so good. Firstly, the good news was that a man stopped us on the side of the road and was so excited about what we were doing that he met up with us several miles down the road fully equipped with Gatorade for Team LOCO! We graciously thanked him, moistened our parched throats, and continued down the road. The not so good event took place when a car did not see Anthony and cut him off. Anthony, paying close attention to the road noticed the poor driving and stopped on a dime. Ryan and Zach who were following close behind also tried to stop as to avoid hitting Anthony however they collided. Now we are not Physics majors but what we do no is that when a large object (Zach) hits a smaller object (Ryan) the smaller object will be moved. In this case, Ryan flew over the handle bars of his bike and landed on his shoulder where he rolled several times before coming to a painful stop. Luckily, all parties were ok and several bystanders had the pleasure of catching the moment for themselves.

Two days later, all is well as Team LOCO gears up for a 35 mile afternoon where they plan to end up in Jefferson City at a hotel, which is to be paid for by Zach’s generous parents. However, little did they know that each one of them was in for a journey that they would not soon forget, here are their stories.

Ryan’s Story: I was riding slightly ahead of Anthony and Zach when I got a call from Anthony who told me that Zach’s bike was giving him problems. He told me to ride to the next town and wait for them there. By the time I arrived at the next town the condition of the bike had worsened and Anthony told me that it had become obvious that Zach could no longer ride into Jefferson City. He told me that they would try to hitch in, while I rode ahead and met them at the hotel. At this point I was about 20 miles outside of Jefferson City with about an hour and a half of daylight left. Knowing that I had to make good time I took off. What I did not know is that the terrain between myself and Jefferson City was as mountainous as we had seen in awhile so by they time I actually got into the city the sun was almost completely gone. To make matters worse, the hotel that we were staying at was on the west side of Jefferson City, another 10 miles from where I was. So after dangerously, riding through the dark to a hotel, which seemed impossible to find I finally arrived at the Comfort Suites.

Zach’s Story: I limped on into the City of Linn on a bike that had the task of carrying the largest biker the road has ever seen nearly 1200 miles and Sheila (Bike’s Name) had finally thrown in the towel. I then met up with Anthony at a Gas Station not to be named and the decision was made to hitch into town. After nearly 1.5 hours of unsuccessful cheesing on the side of the road, a Police Officer pulled into the station and the thought crossed my mind that he might fulfill at least half of his sworn motto – He could serve us by getting us a ride. Turns out though he was there to protect the frightened gas station attendants as we quickly learned that his stop there was not a coincidence. “Disturbing the Peace” is what he called it and we were ushered down the road to a new hitching location and we were left with about 20 min of daylight and no ride.

Not long after we moved a small white pickup pulled along side us and offered one of us a ride as that was all he could fit. I piled into the truck with all of mine and Anthony’s gear leaving just him and his bike to fare the road to town. We started off and the first word out of this driver was “sorry we had to call the police on you – but you boys made a mistake”. I tried to understand how you could call the 5.0 on someone and then give them a ride to town but this is an enigma that will never make sense to me but a ride is a ride. A 30 min ride quickly turned into 2+ hours as the longest car ride of my entire life was prolonged by a series of wrong turns, ice stops for his N/A brew, and chit-chat that might haunt my nightmares for years to come. I finally made it to the Hotel – After both Anthony and Dagen in 1 piece and needed a day off for my mental health as well as my physical.

Anthony’s Story: The three of us had become slightly separated as the day wore on, and while we three did enjoy the brief dose of solitude, it became apparent that Zach was far too far behind, so I decided to take up a post at the nearest gas station and wait a bit. Multiple reports from the station’s patrons revealed that Zach was a short distance behind and having some mechanical trouble so I waited for him there. The next series of events confounds me still, but somehow our Missouri-ian brethren decided that the best course of action to be taken when two cross country cyclists are down on their luck is to call the police. Then, by some strange twist of fate, one of the culprits of this act of ill informed insanity decides to pick Zach up leaving me alone with about 15 min before the daylight is snuffed out for the evening.

Being that I was the only one with a functioning bike at this point it followed that the best decision would be to let me try to fend for myself for a bit, and worse case scenario I could ride myself into Jefferson city and just be a couple hours late. Zach and his new and interesting friend took all my gear and I waited by the road a while longer where I tried to hitch alone. This leads us perfectly into the next addition of Anthony’s awkward situation corner.

A blue pick up truck flies by me at about 50 mph. I dismiss it as another failed attempt at snagging a free ride, but am the startled by the sound of squealing rubber as the truck comes to a screeching halt about 20 yards from my erected thumb.

“GET YERR &*%^ OVER HERE” I hear the man in the passenger seat scream in an accent that could only be appreciated for all of its ignorance if it were heard in person. I consider it for a moment, and decide it’s worth a shot. I push my bike up to the car and am greeted by two sets of hazy, blood shot eyes, and a smell as if the two inside had taken a hot bath in a tub full of pure well whiskey. The short haired kid in the passenger seat appeared to be the mastermind of this little operation and between the spray of spittle and waves of alcoholic breath, the following conversation ensued:

I begin with, “So… you guys are messing with me then?”

“Man we just chugged a bunch of beers, we’re wasted. What are you doing?”

“I’m riding my bike across the states for charity…”

“Yur whut??”

“Maybe I’ll just check you guys later”

“Whut are yuu, poor er sumetin?”

“No…”

“Man I’m so rich; I just bought my friend this truck. I’m *&^%ing sweet. Yes sir I am”

“You sure are…. Later guys”

I turn to walk back to my original hitching position, but after a confused pause I hear a final, “Hell Yeah we’re messin with you!!! HAHAHA, man we got him good!”

A final report from the squealing tires signaled their departure as my fantastic two new dui compadres sped down a darkened highway towards whatever soggy bottom porcelain fate awaited them. I wish them the best of luck.

About a half hour later I was picked up by a fantastic older couple named Bill and Donna Morrison, who took me and my bike the rest of the way into Jefferson City where I met up with Dagen and finally Zach at the hotel.

The conclusion of our Jefferson City adventure is that there were no bike shops open on Sunday so we had to take the day off and wait until Monday morning to walk our bikes to the nearest shop. Luckily for us, Zach’s dad once again picked up the tab for the hotel room and we slept in luxury for the second night in a row. After we get our bike’s fixed, God willing, we will be on a 5-6 day ride down route 54 towards Wichita Kansas where we hope to stay with a friend of Anthony’s father. Until then, pray that our bikes continue to hold up and that we hit good weather through the Great Plains!

illinois

It seems some time has passed since we had internet access. No worries though, we’ve got plenty of loco to share with you since our last update. We believe the last time we left you we were somewhere around North Vernon, Indiana in a nice little Comfort Inn. Since then we have been gifted with a bounty of steaks, shelter and nalgene bottles, rejected by a priest and his slightly less than hospitable congregation, braved a field of poison ivy and subsequent dish soap bath, camped across from a state correctional facility, and have fought the most mentally trying element known to bikers.

The first day of riding after North Vernon was relatively uneventful until we stopped just outside a town called Bedford at a gas station to fill up our waters and take a ten minute breather. It was an ordinary pit stop until a man approached Ryan and struck up a conversation. The golden boy put on his best face and let that silver tongue of his go to work, and before we knew it, Ryan had scored us four steaks, baked potatoes, and warm bread. He told Ryan that he had been at a church event, passed us biking on the road and wanted to bless us. We gratefully accepted the dinner and got ready to press on and find a camp site for the night. However, before we could leave another couple approached Team LOCO; their names were Fabien and Jeanine and after another short conversation they offered their storage garage up for shelter and a place to camp for the night. Their garage was about eight miles up the road in the outskirts of Bedford and when we arrived there was more awaiting us than just shelter. Jeanine and Fabien had driven ahead of us, purchased food, water, and even three Nalgene bottles as well as some other camping supplies. If that wasn’t enough, later their son and his girlfriend stopped by with more food and more snacks! And so the evening was spent eating steak dinners, enjoying iced waters, and sleeping in a shelter other than our tent, overall it was a victory for team LOCO!

The next day was spent riding through the rolling hills of south western Indiana, which were actually the largest inclines we have seen since West Virginia. Later that night we were running out of daylight and in need of a place to camp when we came upon a church letting out of their evening service. Ryan was excited to tell the pastor of his trip and was hoping that he would let the Team camp out behind the Church. However, the pastor was less than friendly and turned down Ryan’s request with haste and cruelty. Ryan’s first reaction was to tell the man that he had Faith with out deeds, but instead decided to hold his tongue and move on silently (apparently this pastor does not teach the good Samaritan story). Thankfully, we found a camp site off of the highway about a mile down the road and were able to set up their tent before the sun set for the evening.

The following morning we quickly passed the second Indiana border. As has become tradition, we crafted a new dance and another brief monologue, this time voiced by none other than golden boy himself.

Check out the video here:

http://good-times.webshots.com/video/3093850430101327493KcKoXf

Upon entering Illinois we bore witness to the fury of mothernature unlike anything we had ever really encountered. Sure we have complained and perhaps even exaggerated a bit about some of the elements we have faced thus far… but we can say to you now with absolute certainty we have encountered nothing as mentally wearing as the winds of Illinois.

Just before we crossed over the border we felt a gentle breeze on our brows. It wasn’t a bad thing seeing as the heat of Indiana was the primary force we reckoned with. But all too quickly that wind grew and grew until it was exerting more pressure on our legs than the vast majority of the hills we encountered in West Virginia. However, unlike the crests we topped in the Appalachian mountain range, wind has no definitive end. There is no way of gauging when you will get a break from this invisible blanket of pressure that slows you down. And it is at exactly this realization point that you feel the first ping of aggravation.

You find yourself traveling down a flat piece of highway. You see the road in front of you and are perfectly, completely aware that on any other day this piece of flat ground would yield a breakneck pace. The benefits of the newfound leg strength garnered from the conditioning trials of Appalachia have become wonderfully apparent and what better opportunity to make up for lost time than this pancake of earth which lies before you?

However, what lies ahead is not simply a clear pancake of earth. Hidden across its surface is an invisible barrier which instantly slows your pace from what you know should be about 20 mph to closer to 10. The first response to this is a mild sting of irritation. At first you think you can deal with it. Then an hour goes by… The irritation grows, and it grows, and it grows until it reaches the point of anger, then rage, then madness. All three of us have independently found ourselves screaming at the air as if it were a living conscious being that could appreciate the eloquent string of insults we throw at it. And on most occasions it seems as if the wind responds by blowing even harder at our tired bodies, and we are left to wonder if whether or not has actually heard us. At the end of the day we are left with the stark realization that it is only going to get worse as we pass from Illinois to Missouri, and then Kansas. Bring it on wind, you’re just another storm we’ll weather.

Aside from the wind we have also braved a few slightly less extended obstacles. Two days ago our evening ride was ended a bit short by a freak thunderstorm which came at us from the horizon in what seemed like less than a half hour. Before we knew it the sunlight was gone and we found ourselves scrambling to put together a campsite as soon as possible. The best location we could find under the circumstances was just beyond a small field. Without taking the time to examine it thoroughly we all rushed across and instantly found ourselves in the center of a mix of weeds and what else but countless poison leaves of poison ivy.

What followed was a hilarious scramble of tent pitching and a dish soap sponge bath as we frantically tried to wash off the blister causing oil which had saturated our arms and legs. Had anyone been there to witness this exercise in desperation amidst the heavy rains and soap bubbles its not likely we’d live it down any time soon. We’ve seen to it that this entry is the only evidence you’ll find. Oh yeah, and this entire scene took place in a vacant lot directly across from the biggest prison we’ve ever seen. Fun stuff.

Before we sign off here we’d like to say thank you to all the people who have shown us support along the way so far. We check the donation page and read your comments as often as we have internet access, and they serve as a constant inspiration and reminder of why we have done this trip in the first place. Thank you very, very much. We hope to hear more from all of you.
We should be in St Louis by the end of the day. The next scheduled stop is Jefforson City Missouri, then Wichita Kansas. We should be in Jefferson city within 4 days, and soon after passing Kansas’s borders.

Oh and one more thing, when we were passing through Salem Illinois this week we met a wonderful woman named Barb who worked at the Salem Inn. She was inspired by our trip and called the local newspaper. Here is a link that will take you to the article; scroll down until you see our picture. Enjoy!

http://wjbdradio.com/news_current.asp

the end of ohio and the beginning of indiana

We’ve woken up a tad late in the Comfort Inn here in North Vernon Indiana so we wont be able to put much into this blog, but that’s ok because a whole lot hasn’t gone on in the 70 or so miles in between here and Cincinnati. However, there are a few interesting tales to tell, so here goes.

We had a bit of a rough start as we left Cincy, it appeared that some of our new equipment needed a bit of breaking in before we could make full use of it. Our new squishy seats had to be adjusted and there were some compatibility issues with our old tubes and the new tires. BUT, after a few minor repairs we made it back onto the highway and to downtown Cincinnati.

That was a treat, let us tell you. We have stayed on Rt 50 for the vast majority of this trip thus far. When we started in ocean city it was a two lane road with a massive shoulder, when we passed into Virginia it opened up a bit but we still had some wiggle room. When we went through west Virginia, it was narrow and windey, in ohio it was flat and boring. However, when we passed through downtown Cincinnati, somehow this quiet gentle road we’d come to love suddenly transformed into a massive 8 lane superhighway full of irritated drivers in the middle of their evening commute. After about an hour of navigating between cars, negotiating on and off ramps, convincing a few state troopers that we are in fact sane, and a plethora of slightly less than polite hand gestures later we had left the city limits and were back on our way to the Ohio/Indiana border.

We ate at a small restaurant just off the road in the first town we found after Cincinnati, which proved to be the most extended dining experience thus far on the trip regardless of the fact that all three of us ordered sandwiches and salads. As a result of this, we were forced to make camp in the earliest available campsite, which was on the outskirts of a state park about 5 miles from the Indiana border.

The following morning we were greeted not by our usual rays of sunshine and birds chirping, but rather by a slightly disgruntled park ranger, who decided to let us off with a warning for sleeping on park grounds. After noticing a bit of poison ivy rashes on our ankles we cut our losses and got out of Ohio. There was again a commemorative dance “Out of Ohio Dance, check it out here:

http://good-times.webshots.com/video/3019372330101327493tyaOSK

The next day we put in some serious road time and made it here, a decent sized town called North Vernon, where the highlight seemed to be the Ponderosa buffet, where we gorged ourselves on mac and cheese and ice cream. Soft serve never tasted so sweet. However, getting here was a bit interesting. About 20 miles outside we were riding under partly cloudy skies with the sun sneaking through from time to time, needless to say, that all changed very quickly. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the skies ahead suddenly changed from partly cloudy to just cloudy. The sky turned black illuminated only by the occasional bolt of lightning on the horizon. Now most intelligent people would have stopped, set up camp, and called it a night, but that is not the LOCO way. Instead, we took a deep breath and rode directly towards the apocalypse, end of the world like storm. The first element that hit us was wind blowing directly in our faces at a surplus of 25 – 30 mph. After the wind came the rain, which pelted us stinging any exposed skin like hail balls. After about 5 – 10 miles of battling the elements we finally fought through it and came out unscathed at the other side, however we were wet and beat so we decided that we earned a hotel stay in North Vernon.

We realize this entry wasn’t as exciting as many of you may be used to… However we can do something to make up for it. Please enjoy another entry into Anthony’s awkward situation corner:

Earlier in the trip on a routine lunch outing at a pizza restaurant that shall remain anonymous, I decided to take advantage of their above average bathroom facilities. Now before I get to the juicy center cut of this story it is necessary to relate a slightly unexpected side affect of riding on a bicycle for 4 hours at a time. I’ll do my best to keep this clean, so lets just say that when you sit on a bike seat that is as hard and small as our seats are, certain umm…. functions in your body’s plumbing system require a bit more coaxing before they can work properly. Ok, I’m pretty sure you’re all on the same page at this point so I’ll continue.

I sit down on that gloriously clean piece of porcelain to take care of my business and, as usual, it took me a while to relax and, ya know… get things moving. A short while I’m just about good to go, the bathroom door of my stall unexpectedly flies open. It takes me a moment to recover from the shock of this, but when I do I see a tall man in a baseball cap standing in the doorway staring at me.

“What are you doing?” the man asks

There I sit, pants around my ankles, in the stall of a pizza restaurant looking up at this man who has seen fit to interrupt the one public place that I thought was the industrial equivalent of holy ground. I think of a number of ways to answer this question. My first response was to go rhetorical on his inconsiderate ass. “What do you think?” “Are you retarded?” “What does it look like?”

In the end I decide to play it cool and state the obvious. “Um, I’m droppin a deuce dragon dude”

“What?”

“I’m pooping.”

“Why are you doing that in here??”

Now, this one stumps me.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll be out here. You just hurry up.”

“o…k….”

And with that he shuts the door, and waits on the other side. I sat there for about a minute, looking at his huge steel toed boots just beyond the base of the stall and thought about the appropriate course of action. Needless to say I was seized with such stage fright that I could not complete the task at hand, and was forced to go and take part in the dining experience in a far less comfortable state than I had imagined. The moral of this strange tale (if there is one) is this: always choose a bathroom with multiple stalls if you want to remain uninterrupted. I pray none of you have a similar experience.

Peace out home slice.