Well, I’m in Utah now and the trip is going
well. Still haven’t met any jerks and people are treating me with kindness
at every turn. Yesterday, I experienced two of the high points of the
trip. At Garden City, at the foot of Logan Pass, newlyweds Patrick and
Shirlee Wyman stopped to talk and ask me about my trip. At one point,
Patrick asked, “How old are you? I’d guess about 45.”
I could have kissed the young fellow. Man, shedding a
few pounds hasn’t hurt a bit.
Then again, I have to be honest. Patrick and Shirlee
aren’t your typical newlyweds. I mean, they looked like a sweet
couple. But Patrick is 80, and Shirlee didn’t say and a gentleman doesn’t
ask. They met on an internet site: LDS.planet. So I assume they’re
Mormons. It turns out Patrick is also a type-1 diabetic, but looks fit and
trim entering his ninth decade.
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Patrick and Shirlee. |
That makes me feel good about my daughter’s chances for a long and
healthy life; and Mr. Wyman makes it clear, “The key to controlling the disease
is exercise.” Then he turns pensive and admits he lost his daughter
Wendy to type-1 diabetes in 2000, when she was only 31.
She died suddenly from a
heart attack.
So I tell him I’m sorry and remember why it is I’m out here
riding in the first place.
From Garden City, which sits on the shores of
beautiful Bear Lake, you have to rise 1,800 feet in about six miles
to go over the pass. Then you get to coast down Logan Canyon, which has
been carved by Logan River. It’s a beautiful ride.
I mentioned two
high points: The other was at the top of the pass when I stopped at an
overlook and had a nice chat with a couple from Australia. Before we
parted, the husband reached in his wallet, said, “I know this isn’t much,” and
handed over a $5 bill.
It’s the little gestures that reinforce my belief that
humanity is good.
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Rebecca and Sydney Staebler. |
Last time I tried to blog I got rushed a little by an officious fellow
at the library in Jackson, Wyoming (another member of the library staff had
gone out of his way to help me load pictures). So I didn’t get to fully
describe my visit to the Staeblers...or the blood that flowed later.
Joking aside, a REAL high point of the trip was
visiting the Staebler family in Bozeman. Sydney, as I said, is a type-1
diabetic, about to turn eight and enter second grade, her first time in a regular
school. (The family just finished a two-year trip around the USA, with
father Dan working from his van “office” on computers every day and mom
home-schooling Sydney and raising son Sam, 4.)
Rebecca worries about Sydney starting school and
how she’ll manage her diabetes when she’s away from home. Rebecca worries
a lot about her daughter and even after more than two years dealing with this
disease (and raising two cool kids) I get the feeling she’s still almost in
shock. I know that’s how my wife felt, when our Emily turned up diabetic
in 2005.
It’s hard to believe. One day you’re raising
a normal, healthy child. The next you’re looking at a lifetime of doctor’s
appointments and all sorts of potential medical issues.
Anyway, the Staeblers and their friends, Tim
Bradshaw and Mary Lynne Wilmore – and the other people I’ll mention later – are
leading unusual lives, which I mean as a compliment. Tim and Mary Lynne also
returned recently from a two-year journey around this country; and like Dan they’re
in computers and could still work while on the road. Over dinner the five
of us agreed that it’s good to be adventurous and not just plunk down in front
of a TV and let life pass you by.
The Staeblers make sure of that by dispensing
with the TV completely in their home, though they do admit to an affinity for
NETFLIX offerings “on demand.”
It’s a good way to insure you raise children who
like to read and like to play outside and Sydney and Sam both take a role in
raising the family’s array of animals. In my last post I noted that Sam
had a pig named...and then left it out. His pig is “Slugbutt;” and I, for
one, love the creativity. The family also has a llama, which keeps coyotes
away, chicken, sheep and three goats named “Goat Boy,” “Cutie” and “Mary.” Rebecca
laughs and admits all three are males.
Mom is an environmentalist and health conscious. So
the family eats the meat they raise, which means they don’t
get any second-hand doses of steroids and antibiotics on their dinner plates. They
gather their own eggs and raise most of their own vegetables and for breakfast
mom juices me some vegetables.
It’s a long way from the day, when I was still
teaching, and considered a Twix Bar from the stash I kept in my desk a good way
to start the day.
Unfortunately, as Yoda once said, “To see scenery
good and good people meet, pedal you must do.” So, after a good bit of
procrastination, I was off again the following morning, headed south toward
Yellowstone Park again. The ride up the Gallatin River was wonderful,
rising generally, but only a gradual climb, the beautiful river nearby,
white-water rafters to watch along the way.
My plan is to do 80 miles and get close to West
Yellowstone and re-enter the park the next day. My check of Google Maps
shows a campground along the way, right about where I want to find it. So
I enjoy the ride all day. At the 50-mile mark I pass the last town where I
might stop. Bah! I’m riding 80! At about 60, I see cabins for
rent: “$50 FOR THE NIGHT.” Pshaw! I’m riding 80.
At the 75-mile mark I start looking for the
campground. Nothing. At 80. Nope. I pass 82, 83, 84,
86. I don’t see no stinking campground! Now it’s getting on toward
late evening. I pick up the pace and zoom along with darkness settling over
the land. Soon I’m trying to keep my tire close to the white line. Then I’m
bent low trying to see the white line. (My front lamp died some
days back.)
When I crest one hill I can see West Yellowstone
lights far, far in the distance. By now, I’m stopping to dismount when
cars pass, or switching sides to ride in the dark, with lights behind me.
Finally, traffic coming out of West Yellowstone picks up and the headlights
keep blinding me. So I get off and walk when I have to. Then, one
last time, after mounting again, I aim for the side of the road to dismount and
turn my wheel too much and go crashing to the pavement, bloodying my elbow and
scuffing up my helmet. (Better a scuff to the helmet than the head.)
So I walk, grumbling, the last two miles into
town, arriving well after dark, and with almost every hotel sign flashing, NO VACANCY. I manage to get a room at the
Brandin’ Iron Inn, where a sign says: “Room price established at check-in
time.” I figure the clerk sees my bloody elbow and jacks the price up $25
and figures it’s dark outside and sees I’m on a bicycle and adds another $25.
Call it the
Rope-a-Dope Inn. They charge me $134 for the night.
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Riding in the dark - not smart. |
Otherwise, the trip is going great of late. In
Yellowstone they have a policy to save camping spots at every campground (except
one) for hikers and bikers. So a couple of nights ago I had a chance to talk to
Brice, a 125-year-old French hiker, a mechanic back home in Dijon, who is
visiting the U.S. on a three-month visa and trying to improve his
English. Our other companion was 23-year-old David Rothschild, like me
pedaling across the United States. David and I talked politics (he’s a
liberal, too), environmental trends (he’s an agricultural major and also
studied environmental issues) and of course the trials and pleasures of
bicycling across this great land. Later a bicycle tour company at the next
camp site sent over ice cream they had left over ... and did the same the next
day with breakfast. Brice, the French hiker slept late. So I never
got his picture. David, I will try to post today.
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Dan was heading east, I was heading south and then west. |
The kind gestures have been many along the
way. Ben fixed my shifting problem at a bicycle shop yesterday. Back
in Yellowstone the Shealy family stopped to talk, helped me form the O-H-I-O
sign and donated to JDRF. And in the Grand Tetons three young women out
for a ride offered me a place to stay with one of their families when I hit
Logan, Utah. (I came up just short and camped at a Forest Service
campground in Logan Canyon instead.) Ken and his wife, riding around the
USA on a motorcycle after selling their computer-technology business, treated
me to great conversation at Coulter Bay campground in the Tetons. And the
Ahos gave me great cinnamon roles and an awesome breakfast sandwich at their
deli in Montpelier, Idaho.
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Yellowstone buffalo. There are several thousand. |
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Lower Falls, Yellowstone River, 308 feet high. |
