Week 5-Climb every Mountain…

It has become too difficult to try and sum up all our experiences as my son Oakley and I bike across America, in a weekly five-paragraph blog. Every day is so rich with beauty, learning, and drama that it seems an injustice to shrink it down to a bite-sized chunk, but here are some observations, from where we sit at a campground on the shores of Jackson Lake in the Grand Tetons of Wyoming:

I have cried three times. Once when Oakley and I were finishing up a 68-mile day in the hot desert sun and my spokes broke. It was the second time this had happened, and my frustration got the best of me. We were 20 miles from the nearest town, and I was out of ideas and felt short on gumption. “What are we going to do, Oakley?” I asked sitting on a guardrail, my head in my hands, sweat running down my chin.

“Send me home?” He responded, equally worn out. And the tears came. I swallowed hard and decided to ignore him and stick out my thumb.

A logger picked us up. He drove us to a bike store in Hamilton, Montana, and reminded us all, apropos of nothing, that we are choosing the life we live every day. That we were lucky and made a good team. “You could catch a flight home today if you wanted,” he said. “But you’re here because you want to be here.” We both acknowledged the truth in this, and Oakley later apologized. It was the first time he has been able to say he is choosing this. It is not because I am making him but, rather, a challenge of his choosing.

The second time I cried was because I got two flat tires in an afternoon. (There seems to be a pattern here.) The first we changed, and then due to an unseen malfunction (later discovered as a metal burr chafing against the valve stem) it popped again. We were out of spares. This time an elderly rancher picked us up. We told him about our misfortune, and he responded that his dog was just hit and killed by a truck that very morning.

The third time I cried it was because I was homesick for the rest of my family. I was longing for a hug. I was longing to give a hug, and I was tired. I am human.

There have been many more times that I have been awestruck. A few stand out. The first was the day we rode through Big Hole into Wisdom, Montana. As we descended into the town, miles and miles of sagebrush of a color that can only be described as greenish-purplish-blue spread out before us, under the biggest sky I have ever seen. And there, 50 miles from any other town, was Wisdom.

It was comprised of maybe 10 buildings with a population of 91. We sidled up to a little cafe to see about some dinner, and as we ate (handmade, wood-fired pizzas, not pulled from a freezer) were joined by half the town, congregating to talk about the day. A little dog walked in through the cafe’s open door and peed on the floor. Everyone just laughed about the establishment’s open-door policy. Later, walking back at twilight to the town park where we could camp for free, we listened to coyotes yodeling and cows lowing as they bedded down under the star-filled night. I could live in Wisdom.

The second moment came when we descended out of Yellowstone into the Grand Tetons. The Teton mountains rise up majestically. They still wear skirts of snow and their jagged peaks hold court over beautiful Jackson Lake. Oakley commented that the scene reminded him of a screen saver for a computer. That is high praise from a teenager.

The third occurs nightly as I look up into the sky. Montana and Wyoming have more stars than I have ever seen. The truth is, it scares me. It reminds me how small we are, how insignificant. I feel like I could fall off sometimes. Oakley says he feels the same way. As we work our way across the country, the vastness of the stars seems to remind us of our vulnerability. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It is humbling. It help us remember how much we need each other, how we have become each other’s home no matter where we lie.

Oakley’s Perspective- Things to Fear-Week 5

In Yellowstone National Park we were told that the bears were really bad this year. The ranger said it would be the best idea to buy bear spray, which is a really strong version of pepper spray, since people have died from getting attacked by bears. If encountered by a “big ole griz” we should spray it. In case y’all don‘t know, Bear is my middle name, and I’m not scared of a grizzly. Actually, I’m terrified.

Other people have told us all kinds of other things to worry about. We should be careful of bison and moose. I have never heard of anyone being attacked by a moose. We were told to be aware of rattlesnakes. We have been told about hail being the size of grapefruits, lightning storms and 40 mph headwinds.

The landscapes that we have passed are amazing. Today we entered the Grand Tetons, and the view is something you would use for a background for a computer screen. We have passed through tiny towns (like Wisdom, which was our favorite) and Virginia City (an old gold mining town). I can imagine my life if I lived there. It might be cool.

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