Hey everybody,
First off hello hope all is well. There are some of you on here I haven't wrapped with for quite some time. Second apparently there was some crazy spammer doo dad that got a hold of my email this weekend the result is you got some advertisement for Viagra or some other medical junk. Anyway apologies, if you haven't opened it please disgregard it. If you have sorry, I have gone ahead and taken the necessary steps so it will hopefully only happen once.
Again hope all is well and apologies...it has been a huge pain in the backside.
Take care- Bri
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Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
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Thursday, September 4, 2008
Recap
Houston: Wounded Duck has hard dock over. Apologies to all those out there for the delay in communication over the last week or so, but upon my return back to home port the duck has been both exhausted and thrown back into society like a blaze of fury.
Where I left off was in Rigby, Idaho, I believe. After having a fabulous visit with the cuz, I continued the trek westward across the vast span of sagebrush and sand that is southern idaho. Unfortunately, tragedy struck as I neared my destination of Arco, Idaho when my chain exploded while trying to ascend a wee hill while battling debilitating winds. Absolutely left with nothing but a free wheeling crank spinning into nothingness, I was forced, for the first time in my life, to stick the thumb out in hopes to find a little help. Fortunately, as cars were very few and far between, a couple from Island Park came rolling down the road in a full-sized dualie pickup where the broken nag took shelter in the rear and I in the rear seat. As it turns out they were retired Navy folks whom had never themselves picked up a hitch hiker and after telling them that I too had never hitched we all figured that it was a day of firsts. The next possible place to find a bike shop turned out to be in Hailey, Idaho, where the big rig and all of us in tow rolled on to meet. After managing repairs to the nag's warp drive, we all decided to take shelter in Hailey where they had to pick up a corncob blaster to strip off the stain off their cabin. Taking refuge in the Americinn, we all ventured out on the town to grab a bite down at the brew pub and had quite a night of swapping stories and sharing adventures. The next day we all went our own way with a little better appreciation of what life may throw in your path on any given day.
From Hailey I continued to dance into the devil's breath as winds crept up to 30 mph of sustained headwinds so after about 40 miles of filth I decided that Fairfield was a good choice to hole up and prepare for the final approach back to home port. Angie my sister, and Greg her beloved beau, were kind enough to come out for a visit to the ol' Prarie Inn. And after dinner and a picnic in room number #102 they took off the next morning with kind waves and much needed support to help the duck suit up for the final plunge. They also managed to grab a couple of pounds of gear to lighten the burden the nag had been suffering all these many weeks. After shedding the bulge, I set off for what was to become the only century ride of the trip. The winds had been predicted to be light and helpful by the local meteorologist, but alas the prediction was to be only a falsely guided myth of equalizing barometric pressures. The reality turned out to be another chapter of the same sinister story of the southern breezes ripping their way across the desert plains. After a couple of rollers I managed my way into Mountain Home where I took refuge in the expansive green acres of grass outside Walmart where i threw down a banana or two, a couple of drinks, and settled down for a long summer's nap. Upon stirring from my slumber on the slippery sweet grass, I opened my eyes to conditions that had changed very little. Briefly I pondered continuing my comfortable position while looking up at birds of flight suffering their own flights of angst but home was calling and the duck hadn't flown this far to be shot down on the final stretch. So saddling up atop the ol' nag one last time, off I set towards 2019 Euclid Ave in hopes to roll in before the pitch of black set in. I could go into what it was like rolling directly into the 30-35 mph howlers but by now I have faith in all of your imaginations to deduce the pleasantries that were undertaken that afternoon.
Fast-fowarding to cresting the last hill at Black's Creek exit, the long forgotten emotions from a similar cross-country trip came back searing through the mind and soul. On one hand the culmination of such a trek is inexplicably rewarding to finish, however on the other hand the purity and simplicity of life on the road is rather addicting (after the preliminary stages of utter suffering) and a moment of regret too washes over that it is all coming to an end. And an end I did find late last week riding into town at dusk utterly wiped out after traveling 108 miles on that final day and enduring 9:01 hours on the well-worn saddle to reach my little casita in S.E. Boise.
I want to thank all of you, especially Dan Christiansen, Ron Shawn Brooks, my sis Angie, my beloved family - Mom and Dad: couldn't have done it without you, for all of your support over the last two months during the Race from Responsibility part deux "from barstool to bike saddle". The trip provided much more, as they usually do, than I had expected... from blazing sweat-laden heat and humidity to the frozen tops of the colorado mountains and everything in between. The trip of '08 has come to an end and the beginning of a new job and continued quest towards my master's degree has begun. Apparently life doesn't slow down much in this camp.
Houston, Wounded Duck has landed on the home pond, the nag is secure, this is Wallace signing off.
Final tally on the odometer from rolling out of substation Dixie in Pensacola, Florida to the waving farewells of Ron Shawn to the home station here at 2019 Euclid Ave: 2009 miles
days on the road: many
Memories from the journey: too many to list but all will last a lifetime.
P.S. pictures will be uploaded soon in case you would like to witness the debriefing footage. Cheers.
Where I left off was in Rigby, Idaho, I believe. After having a fabulous visit with the cuz, I continued the trek westward across the vast span of sagebrush and sand that is southern idaho. Unfortunately, tragedy struck as I neared my destination of Arco, Idaho when my chain exploded while trying to ascend a wee hill while battling debilitating winds. Absolutely left with nothing but a free wheeling crank spinning into nothingness, I was forced, for the first time in my life, to stick the thumb out in hopes to find a little help. Fortunately, as cars were very few and far between, a couple from Island Park came rolling down the road in a full-sized dualie pickup where the broken nag took shelter in the rear and I in the rear seat. As it turns out they were retired Navy folks whom had never themselves picked up a hitch hiker and after telling them that I too had never hitched we all figured that it was a day of firsts. The next possible place to find a bike shop turned out to be in Hailey, Idaho, where the big rig and all of us in tow rolled on to meet. After managing repairs to the nag's warp drive, we all decided to take shelter in Hailey where they had to pick up a corncob blaster to strip off the stain off their cabin. Taking refuge in the Americinn, we all ventured out on the town to grab a bite down at the brew pub and had quite a night of swapping stories and sharing adventures. The next day we all went our own way with a little better appreciation of what life may throw in your path on any given day.
From Hailey I continued to dance into the devil's breath as winds crept up to 30 mph of sustained headwinds so after about 40 miles of filth I decided that Fairfield was a good choice to hole up and prepare for the final approach back to home port. Angie my sister, and Greg her beloved beau, were kind enough to come out for a visit to the ol' Prarie Inn. And after dinner and a picnic in room number #102 they took off the next morning with kind waves and much needed support to help the duck suit up for the final plunge. They also managed to grab a couple of pounds of gear to lighten the burden the nag had been suffering all these many weeks. After shedding the bulge, I set off for what was to become the only century ride of the trip. The winds had been predicted to be light and helpful by the local meteorologist, but alas the prediction was to be only a falsely guided myth of equalizing barometric pressures. The reality turned out to be another chapter of the same sinister story of the southern breezes ripping their way across the desert plains. After a couple of rollers I managed my way into Mountain Home where I took refuge in the expansive green acres of grass outside Walmart where i threw down a banana or two, a couple of drinks, and settled down for a long summer's nap. Upon stirring from my slumber on the slippery sweet grass, I opened my eyes to conditions that had changed very little. Briefly I pondered continuing my comfortable position while looking up at birds of flight suffering their own flights of angst but home was calling and the duck hadn't flown this far to be shot down on the final stretch. So saddling up atop the ol' nag one last time, off I set towards 2019 Euclid Ave in hopes to roll in before the pitch of black set in. I could go into what it was like rolling directly into the 30-35 mph howlers but by now I have faith in all of your imaginations to deduce the pleasantries that were undertaken that afternoon.
Fast-fowarding to cresting the last hill at Black's Creek exit, the long forgotten emotions from a similar cross-country trip came back searing through the mind and soul. On one hand the culmination of such a trek is inexplicably rewarding to finish, however on the other hand the purity and simplicity of life on the road is rather addicting (after the preliminary stages of utter suffering) and a moment of regret too washes over that it is all coming to an end. And an end I did find late last week riding into town at dusk utterly wiped out after traveling 108 miles on that final day and enduring 9:01 hours on the well-worn saddle to reach my little casita in S.E. Boise.
I want to thank all of you, especially Dan Christiansen, Ron Shawn Brooks, my sis Angie, my beloved family - Mom and Dad: couldn't have done it without you, for all of your support over the last two months during the Race from Responsibility part deux "from barstool to bike saddle". The trip provided much more, as they usually do, than I had expected... from blazing sweat-laden heat and humidity to the frozen tops of the colorado mountains and everything in between. The trip of '08 has come to an end and the beginning of a new job and continued quest towards my master's degree has begun. Apparently life doesn't slow down much in this camp.
Houston, Wounded Duck has landed on the home pond, the nag is secure, this is Wallace signing off.
Final tally on the odometer from rolling out of substation Dixie in Pensacola, Florida to the waving farewells of Ron Shawn to the home station here at 2019 Euclid Ave: 2009 miles
days on the road: many
Memories from the journey: too many to list but all will last a lifetime.
P.S. pictures will be uploaded soon in case you would like to witness the debriefing footage. Cheers.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Day 44: Seattle, WA (by Houston)
Mission Control, this is Houston, reflecting on the last week's adventure. I'll also be posting some photographic evidence in the near future.
We certainly had our challenges... unfortunately, the cold-flu that greeted me in Colorado was slow to subside and made it difficult both physically and mentally to put in long days in the saddle. Also, as the Wounded Duck alluded to, hotel accommodations were in surprisingly short supply as we ventured north. The weather, sometimes predictable (like the endless winds in Wyoming) and sometimes just crazy (like snow in Colorado in mid-August), is always a factor. But maybe the biggest obstacle was simply the remoteness of some of the towns we found ourselves in. Sometimes it felt like we were the involuntary contestants in a twisted version of the Amazing Race TV reality show where the goal was to get bodies and bicycles from A to B using any available means of transportation. One example, you need to get from Baggs, WY to Jackson (350 miles to the north). Sounds easy, right? Our solution: hitch a ride, rent two cars and drive them a total of 1100 miles, requiring two days. Whew.
Despite this, we also shared some great memories. We met several amazing folks on the way, like Virgil (our host in Frisco), Mike (TransAm rider from New Jersey), and Helen (proprietor at the Chicken Coop B&B). We experienced a couple famous mountain resort towns (Steamboat Springs and Jackson). We spent untold hours in hotel rooms of varying quality watching the Beijing Olympics and cheering on team USA. And we returned to our former glory as two guys from Idaho, anxious to take in all there is to offer in smalltown USA, at 13 mph.
Wounded Duck, I was honored to ride with you, if only for such a short duration. Your willingness to throw yourself into new experiences, not to mention your perseverance to make it through this trip, are inspiring. Good luck with the remainder of RR2 and I hope we can do it again soon. Houston signing off.
We certainly had our challenges... unfortunately, the cold-flu that greeted me in Colorado was slow to subside and made it difficult both physically and mentally to put in long days in the saddle. Also, as the Wounded Duck alluded to, hotel accommodations were in surprisingly short supply as we ventured north. The weather, sometimes predictable (like the endless winds in Wyoming) and sometimes just crazy (like snow in Colorado in mid-August), is always a factor. But maybe the biggest obstacle was simply the remoteness of some of the towns we found ourselves in. Sometimes it felt like we were the involuntary contestants in a twisted version of the Amazing Race TV reality show where the goal was to get bodies and bicycles from A to B using any available means of transportation. One example, you need to get from Baggs, WY to Jackson (350 miles to the north). Sounds easy, right? Our solution: hitch a ride, rent two cars and drive them a total of 1100 miles, requiring two days. Whew.
Despite this, we also shared some great memories. We met several amazing folks on the way, like Virgil (our host in Frisco), Mike (TransAm rider from New Jersey), and Helen (proprietor at the Chicken Coop B&B). We experienced a couple famous mountain resort towns (Steamboat Springs and Jackson). We spent untold hours in hotel rooms of varying quality watching the Beijing Olympics and cheering on team USA. And we returned to our former glory as two guys from Idaho, anxious to take in all there is to offer in smalltown USA, at 13 mph.
Wounded Duck, I was honored to ride with you, if only for such a short duration. Your willingness to throw yourself into new experiences, not to mention your perseverance to make it through this trip, are inspiring. Good luck with the remainder of RR2 and I hope we can do it again soon. Houston signing off.
Day 44: Rigby, ID
Houston, this is duck, over. Have made it across the border into the home state of idaho. As per usual, the day had its ups and downs. rolling over teton pass yesterday marked the last major ascent of the trip and she certainly showed some teeth. While hoosier pass might have been the tallest, teton was definately the steepest. With that behind me, i quickly rolled on down to the state line stopping for a minute to dance a little jig at the border while enjoying the spectacular scenery. The winds picked up as the afternoon wore on but did manage to roll into rigby, where my dear cousin patty lives, at around dusk.
Stand by for yesterday's hard count:
mileage: 86
saddle time: 7:32
feet in elevation ascended: oh too many
relatives visited: 4
jack-asses on eastern idaho roadways: many...more than most places across the country
Looking forward to doing more damage today, so better get scootin before the winds whip back up and the thermometer starts shooting north. Wounded duck out, over.
Stand by for yesterday's hard count:
mileage: 86
saddle time: 7:32
feet in elevation ascended: oh too many
relatives visited: 4
jack-asses on eastern idaho roadways: many...more than most places across the country
Looking forward to doing more damage today, so better get scootin before the winds whip back up and the thermometer starts shooting north. Wounded duck out, over.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Day 43: Jackson, WY
Mission control, this is wounded duck, over. communication link has been restored. Since last transmission, houston and i have undergone a series of adventures/sorties throughout the state of wyoming, utilizing many modes of propulsion to accomplish mission progress. Unfortunately, houston's bio-med sensors were reporting the symptoms of a fever, congestion, cough, and other cold/flu-like signs of a pretty sick guy since shortly after his arrival in colorado and throughout operation dumbo drop. The operation also ran across an unusually high level of boarded up ports that showed flashing neon "no vacancy" throughout western wyoming and north western colorado, causing the operational status of the nag and the hog to reach a meager 40-50 percent. Due to operational conditions that were faced, we performed a series of maneuvers to successfully extract houston onto an evac aircraft back to seattle and a healthy store of medical supplies, including riding into a chicken coop inn located in baggs, wy where we had to pull in the reigns. The next day did not show signs of improvement of our mission status nor that of houston's. So with the eight ball in our hand predicting further severe complications in both health-related and logistical issues, a decision was made to roll with contingency plan c (charlie). The result, through many ups and downs, including hitching a ride from a sweet but crazy lady who never really seemed to breathe during her 43 mile long one-sided conversation to craig, co, is that houston's medical status is stable and he is now safely residing in a coastal facility recuperating, and wounded duck is safely here in western wyoming staged to re-enter the gem state of idaho and to push through the latter portion of desert and sage to return home. Before setting off, would like to thank helen from the chicken coup inn where our heads found soft beds, our bellies a hot breakfast, and our fingers computer access to get things back on track. Duck out over.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Day 38: Craig, CO
Rest of mission control: houston and wounded duck have made hard dock in craig, colorado, over. Due to a lack of docking ports in baggs, wyoming, we were forced to pull the reigns in before setting into the route north of the colorado-wyoming border. So after a relatively short day, we have found unique accommodations at the wayward inn... again sporting a pink bathroom testing both style and our masculinity. The riding conditions were absolutely delicious with just a wee nip of a breeze and temperatures finally above freezing. Fingers are crossed that similar conditions will reign the skies tomorrow while this gruesome two-some continues to head north into cowboy country, attempting a goal to complete a century ride.
Today's hard count: 50 miles
hours in the saddle: 3:13
waves by the vehicular fan base: 6
shoulder along the road: wide and and nearly complete from point a to b.
Time for these gents to grab some winks so for all of you out there good night. wounded duck out, over.
Today's hard count: 50 miles
hours in the saddle: 3:13
waves by the vehicular fan base: 6
shoulder along the road: wide and and nearly complete from point a to b.
Time for these gents to grab some winks so for all of you out there good night. wounded duck out, over.
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