Bound South

Nov 21

Mailbag Monday #1

For the past few weeks we have been enjoying a number of letters from some very special students. We were notified that an elementary school in North Dakota was enraptured by our journey from Alaska and was eagerly following our every posting about Canadian mudslides and bike rides and more. At our last mail drop, we got their letters; countless handwritten missives by third-graders who were quite enthusiastic to share our North Dakotan commonalities and investigate the strange wonders of our bicycle expedition. Monday will now become Mailbag Monday at Bound South, where we will share these letters and our responses.

Dear Isaiah,

My name is Michaela. I am 9. I do not like to ride bike up hills but I love going down them. Do you like riding bike? How long do you ride a day. Do you ever get tired? Is there anything you are really looking forward to? I drove to Vermont with my moms friend Gary, my grandpa, my mom, and my brother. I live in ND. What are all of the states you are going to see? And how on earth did you make your own bike? My class is third grade. How old are you? when is your birthday? What is your favorite color? My birthday is July 2, 2002. My favorit color is black. Do you ever eat at a restraunt? Do you get to go to bed or do you drive that whole time? Why did you choose to ride bycycle? I would drive atleast a motorcycl. I hope you don’t fall off your bike with all that stuff on it. I have three siblings Austin, Carter, and Jason. They are all boys! I think yours are David and Nathan, hey, they are all boys too but I am a girl and you are obviously a boy.

Sincerely,

Michaela

Dear Michaela,

I have always liked to think that I love riding bike uphill and downhill. I just love riding uphill a lot less! Riding bike for me is about freedom; it’s a form of incredible transportation that can take you almost anywhere under your own power. It’s the mechanical fulfillment of the human engine. It is beautiful to me, even when I am totally exhausted from it. Yes, even us three Pan-American bicycle adventurers get tired from riding! We like to ride about sixty or seventy miles in a day.

I think that I am looking forward to the vast regions below the US-Mexico border more than anything. The Andes and Tierra del Fuego are always on my mind, but they do not distract me from the beauty I get to see every day. The US states of Idaho, Washington, Oregon, and California have been spectacular in their own way and I hope that we capture that on our website.

I’m 22 years old, I was born on June 15th, and my favorite color is blue. I most definitely sleep at night, and sometimes even during the day when I get the chance. If I ever get the crazy idea to do this trip again one day, I bet I’ll be riding a motorcycle and eating at more restaurants. I hope I don’t fall off my bike either! If there was ever any doubt about whether we were boys, this trip has cleared it up.

Sincerely,

Isaiah

Nov 18

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Citystates of Mind

Communities of the Pacific coast are tied together by the ribbon of road known as US Highway 1. One grueling day took us across Los Angeles. We found that many disparate communities were shockingly proximate to one another. The limitations of bicycle travel did not prevent us from seeing spectacular beaches, hillside estates, beachfront mansions, and urban blight all within a few miles of one another. Cities have always provoked the human spirit with their visible geographies of inequality; after all, it was the hellish and urban factories of Manchester that inspired Marx and Engels against capitalism. The landscapes of pastoral agriculture rarely incite our passions in quite the same way. Cities seem to bring out the worst in humanity and yet somehow provide the structure for all of those terrible little demons to coexist so productively.

Beach murals.

Cities are here to stay. The world continues to urbanize. Opportunities and human possibilities abound in cities and usually cannot be found outside of them. The spectacular and unexpected means of progress within cities is what makes The Economy of Cities one of the most important books to my personal intellectual development. The city has grit, romance, rubbish, flash, and jazz writ large across its complex landscape. In this city of Los Angeles and every other great city I know, I am hopelessly intrigued but also troubled. My roots in rural North Dakota have bred a fierce and rugged individualism rooted in a supportive, tight-knit community. I’ve been blessed enough to travel to some other corners of the world, with college in a New England town and terms abroad in Peru and the Czech Republic. I’ve never truly lived in a city but I’ve spent enough time in them. I know only what I see and I do see a city in my future. Which city – who knows? Perhaps any one where I can ride my bicycle to work and to get groceries and to escape. There is something disconcerting about that inevitability, however. Embedded in the city are decades of infrastructure and regulation and decisions and history upon which the matrix of modern life is negotiated, for better and for worse. There are car commutes full of angry souls imprisoned in speeding vehicles, ossified social roles and city cultures, zoning codes and permits and endless asphalt and city lights that sparkle to dim the stars. There is also the critical mass of diverse people and passions, boundless opportunity, and the promise of progress and new ways of doing.

What if we could dissolve the boundaries between the parallel urban universes we encountered by bicycle in Los Angeles? Can one shrink social distance and eliminate the dehumanizing anonymity of the city? And can it be done while preserving the urban diversity and freedom that produces ever more spectacular expressions of the human spirit for innovation and prosperity and joy? These are just a few thoughts that occupied our minds and our conversation as we crossed the great cities of southern California.

Our last campsite before the string of cities.

Nov 13

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By The Numbers #2

We’ve now been riding for just under three months and North America has flown by. Within two weeks we will reach the Mexican border that will bring a great deal of change to our journey. Our diets are going to switch from peanut butter and pasta to beans, tortillas, and rice. Our typical lunch breaks will be missed, but we’re excited to move on to the next leg of our trip. We are riding along some of the most beautiful coastal highways on the Pacific coast. It has already been a wild ride down Highway 1 and there are many more stories to come.

In our last numbers post we tallied up the first month. In three months we have covered just about all of North America and have a number of things that we are proud and thankful for. Here’s our accounting from San Francisco:

Total Miles Covered: 4035 mi

Longest day: 109 miles from Mt. Hood to Bend, OR

Longest streak of consecutive riding days: 12

Laugh attacks while out riding: 3-20

Bleached eyebrows: 2

Rest days, sans rest: Hiking in Jasper, Cyclocross race in Portland, Building with H4H in Bend, and dancing in San Fransisco

Dance Skill Atrophy Index Score: 100%

Days ridden without rain: 27 days

Most consecutive days without a shower: 5

Average cost for each day: $4 per person

Days sick: 0 *knock knock*

Best pen pals: 3rd Graders from rural North Dakota (more on this later!)

Culinary Innovations: Campbell’s Chunky soup with pasta, ricotta cheese and potatoes

Best food splurges: Smoked pork ribs, Jenny’s Burgers, “12 Tacos for $10” deal at Taco Bell

David’s Role: The Sergeant

Isaiah’s Role: The Cheerleader

Nathan’s Role: Professor Pumpkin

Most Epic Campsite: Treacherous cow pasture on the cliffs over the ocean, with unknown vehicle stalker.

Quickest Campsite Departure: 30 minutes after waking at 5:45AM from the treacherous cow pasture on the cliffs over the ocean

Habitat Donation Total: $4,140

Nov 8

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Saddle Up, Cowboy

Inextricability is frequently misunderstood in life. Contrasted with the wandering of the autonomous, inextricable lives are obviously entangled with notions of purpose, community, and continuity. Many twenty-somethings fear the specter of commitment, perhaps not out of loathing for these principles but out of fear for frequent separations. Yet the inextricable life is inevitable. Life is an election that you cannot stay home from because you vote with your feet. We carry necessary anchors with us through life and our bodies grow stronger from the movement.

Beautiful Highway 1.

Minimalism is like moving those anchors, not cutting their ropes. Humanity drops anchor in wealth, homes, cars, relationships, and careers to name a few things. There is an important dual lesson in all of this: the first is that we have a choice in where we anchor ourselves. The second is that we have no choice but to choose. I remember selling my car in Anchorage three months ago before we began riding our bicycles north to Denali. That sudden liquidation of my trans-continental transportation left me feeling liberated and proud. Do not underestimate how liberating minimalism can be! But months later, the personal anchor of my beloved Honda has been wholly transferred onto the rack of my Surly Troll. I covet and adore it with the same intensity. Don’t fool yourself by thinking that you can live anchor-free; take it from three guys with nothing but three bags and a bicycle. We carefully measure the inextricability of our lives by bicycle, always critically self-aware of our perceived necessities – whether they be your only comfy pullover or the heaping bowl of oatmeal we delight in every morning. Minimalism forces you to confront and better appreciate your anchors of necessity.

Cool California coast.

Time compels us forward and bids us southward, away from these past days with family in the Bay Area. Our cause calls us to our fundraising and other personal goals for this journey. Inextricability is a daily rhythm that binds us once more to a road going south from San Francisco.

Reveling in the Redwoods.

Nov 1

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How You Help

Unsurprisingly, people will often ask us how they can help us. Living by bicycle acquaints you well with the immense generosity and blessings of complete strangers. I thought it would be wise to write here explicitly what makes a real difference for Bound South.

Donate to our cause. This is why we ride.
Follow this website, and share it with everyone who could possibly enjoy it.
If you meet us on the road, give what you are able: a word of encouragement, a jar of peanut butter, or a place to pitch our tent.
If you cannot meet us on the road, send us an electronic message or a mailed package…or help us down the road.

We’ve raised over $4000 of our $60,000 goal. Every donation counts, no matter how small, and 100% of your donation goes to Habitat for Humanity to build a home in Eastern North Dakota for a family in need.

We derive immense satisfaction from sharing the beautiful and powerful things we experience with an audience. If you enjoy a post or have a question, please let us know in a comment. If you use social media such as Facebook, share our updates; if only ten people did this every day our journey could quickly reach thousands of new readers.

We have received so much generosity from people across Alaska, Canada, and the United States. We hope for that goodness to continue. Even the small things matter; a few encouraging words from passing motorists have lifted our spirits during countless difficult climbs. If you can offer more, a shower, laundry, and a roof to sleep under are spectacular gifts.

We thrive on the messages and comments we receive along our journey. Cookies and care packages for our mail drops are always special treats. Do not underestimate an encouraging word. If you have family or friends or connections in the areas we pass through, please let us know. A friendly face in an unfamiliar place will be a tremendous blessing, especially as we move south of the border through Central and South America.

Thank you to the many people who have helped us already in this journey from Alaska to Argentina.

Oct 28

4 Comments

Out of Oregon

Thematically, Bound South is an adventure beyond the shadow of a doubt. If one were to write the book, it would not be a placid Walden on wheels. A life by bicycle is not one of boundless mental reflection and meditation; it is actually a life missing its comfortable dose of autopilot. We are overloaded with the sounds and smells of the world and the subtleties of the sympathetic nervous system, listening to the engines of our body and attending constantly to the biology of hunger, thirst, and joy. There are moments of exhilaration; the car that passes too close, the lost connection of fast wheels in loose dirt, and the magical descents when your disc brakes can run cold in a wheeled emulation of flight.

Red Dirt Descent down Forest Service Development Road 60

Lest I give you the wrong impression, however, this is no thriller novel. There are some moments of climactic choice; whether to take the ditch at the sound of an oncoming 18-wheeler, to take uncertain forest roads versus sterile and certain highways, and whether to seize the $1.88 tortilla chips in the constant battlefield of the grocery aisle or rather cede victory to the twin nemeses of Hunger and Budget. Our maxim has become, “When in doubt, choose adventure and choose food.” There is enough oscillation between meditation, exhilaration, and simple self-preservation to occupy the mind for a lifetime of riding. If you don’t believe me, just get outside and ride your bike.

Camping at Cultus Lake at high altitude. Too cold to swim.

Leaving Bend was no easy task. Getting to Crater Lake National Park was at least as difficult. The most extensive and difficult climbs of our journey made each day a trial of our accumulated strength. Holding to our word and our maxim, we “chose adventure” through the Deschutes and Umpqua National Forests, eschewing the paved roads off of the Cascade Lakes Highway and instead traversing some of the most impassable and spectacular forest service roads we had ever seen. The Trolls were made for this, after all. One only has to climb up to 6,000 ft. Windigo Pass with a heavy bike on sandy single-lane dirt to appreciate what we faced on just one afternoon in central Oregon.

Stopped and stood for a while at the rim of Crater Lake. Also too cold to swim.

What goes up must come down, and we earned every single vertical foot that brought us up to the wonder of the world known as Crater Lake. Thousands of feet deep, Crater Lake rests as the remnant of a volcanic collapse from an ancient era, ringed by park roads and campsites closed for the proximate winter. It was absurd to ride our bicycles over nearly 8,000-foot-high Crater Lake in late October, a blessing of a warm sun and clear skies.

Lodgepole pine remnants from the Davis Fire of a decade past.

We hope and pray for more pleasant absurdities between here and Argentina, such as the outhouse we used to cook oatmeal in when our campsite froze overnight west of Prospect. Or the reappearance of my awesome tan lines.

Tan-lines too marvelous for words.

We ride on for California and continue a dogged but sustainable pace, stopping to rest and reflect in equal measure with our adventures and absurdities. Why we ride will always be the critical thread that moves with us to Argentina and will one day bring us home.

The long road to Crater Lake over old volcanic ash.

Oct 26

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Minimalism

“Minimalism” might seem like a redundant concept to three men who can already hold their entire lives inside the panniers a bicycle. Simplicity in how we pack, purchase, ride, and live is a guiding force. What we carry will go with us through all of our days and over all of our mountain climbs. When you must carry everything, the non-essentials weigh on you both mentally and physically. An unused ball cap is hardly a boat anchor, but throwing it all away proves to be good for mind, body, and machine. Minimalism is a fitting philosophy for a trio of bicycle cowboys, so we make a habit of constantly reevaluating our needs. Last week in Bend, we did just that.

Pile of non-necessities.

Realizing that we were all carrying some excess baggage, we attempted to rearrange our necessities into three rather than five bags each, and succeeded largely because we share so many essential items, i.e. tent, camp stove, spare parts. So, after purging the expendables, we are now riding without front panniers. Now, it may not seem that exciting to some, but it was a liberating experience for the three of us.

Stripping oneself of all decadence and nonessentials and being content with basic clothing, shelter, and food are humbling, but extremely rewarding. It’s an idea that will go with me on the road ahead, especially now that I’m lighter and faster.

Oct 21

Bend and Break

Synchronization. I was devastated when I spelled that word wrong at the Ramsey County Spelling Bee in 7th grade. The word captures the feeling I’ve had since crossing the volcanic arc of Oregon’s northern Cascades. Things seem to have come together for Bound South, with a shared rhythm despite the brotherly dissonance that makes a journey like this so special. Our MSR Mutha Hubba seems to erect itself when night falls. The innumerable varieties of Campbell’s Chunky Soup have been thoroughly vetted. The clear winners have emerged to take their rightful place in our panniers alongside our rice and rotini.

Early morning over Mt. Hood, 107 miles to go.

We rise with the sun and ride despite the wind until the time is right to stop. There are few explicit plans or deadlines and yet we have internalized this southward tempo like some kind of circadian rhythm. How far today? This has become a rhetorical question, an inspiration, and our daily adventure.

From lush timber forest to desert in just a few miles. Amazing contrast.

107 miles separated us from Bend in Oregon’s high desert, a full day of hard riding from the timber forest of Mt. Hood where we camped. A hard day of riding was followed by some splendid days of Habitat building, photography presentations, and meeting with family and friends. Bend has been the welcome breath between movements that we needed. The seemingly permanent sunshine of Central Oregon belies the cold roads and high altitudes that still lie ahead. We can’t help but soak it in while it lasts.

David shows off his Habitat build painting skills.

Every day I like to ask myself whether I believe in what I am doing that day. It’s a simple litmus test to isolate the road ahead from the accumulated weight of the long road behind us. Days of rest have been sweet here in Bend, but already I am itching to get back on my bike and ride south. I love this journey as much now as I did leaving Anchorage in August.

Long and windy road to Bend with mountains to the west.

Oct 17

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Different Names

Unsurprisingly, Washington State was named for the honest President, American hero and amateur cherry-tree butcher known as George Washington. One might assume that the names of other places across the Americas are logically assigned as well; however, one would be sorely mistaken. Our inner romantics cry out for a Jasper of the Canadian Rockies that must have been named for those opaque stone walls of a heavenly New Jerusalem; or perhaps for a Portland that was framed as a majestic gateway to Oregon’s western shores. In reality, Jasper was named after an unremarkable fur-trading post, and Portland is Portland because of the strange coincidence of a lost coin-toss, a New England city, and an isle near Dorset, England.

The Gorge closer to Portland.

The names and town signs and landscape changes with every mile we pedal. Vast geographical differences can mask the wondrous commonalities shared by the people we encounter. Small anecdotes from our days riding through the Inland Empire illustrate much of this goodness. A marine biologist and schoolteacher sheltered us from cold rain in the mountainous apogee of the Columbia Gorge. A bar owner let us camp in his beer garden, sheltered from the ruthless winds that were arrayed daily against us on the flat desert plains of central Washington. Perfect strangers offered donations, directions, and invariably a prediction of our impending doom in Mexico.

I wonder when this strange mixture of luck and providence will run out. I wouldn’t mind being lucky and good…but usually I don’t count on either. When I consider our journey I recognize that there really is no such thing as an expiration of luck or providence. The deepest depths of frustration and misery that we encountered (which seemed rather unlucky at the time) are rooted now so firmly in our most spectacular rides and relationships. It was bad luck that gave us headwinds on the Columbia, but that same bad luck that gave us a beautiful tent site on a sandy patch of land in the Gorge.

Sunrise, camping on the Columbia Gorge.

A weekend in Portland brought us time to rest, to eat unheard of amounts of food, to race our Trolls for fun, and to explore what the city had to offer. We will miss Portland and its roses, its food carts, its bicycles, its swing, and its indelible urban culture. We’ll be back someday without a doubt. Yet there is no remorse in leaving, no sense of loss as we once more saddle up and ride towards Bend. The names and faces will change but I am confident that there will always be a few for whom this goodness that we so enjoy will remain unaltered.

Obscene amounts of exquisite food with the Pfeiffers.

If I could offer you one highlight from our weekend in Portlandia it would be our continuing tradition of doing non-restful things on rest days. Case in point: cyclocross racing at Cross Crusade here in Portland. The local ‘cross scene in Portland is arguably the best in the nation and we couldn’t pass up the chance to race and experience the spectacle. We leave for Bend with just a little bit of fear in our legs but no regrets. David and Nathan received their initiation to the world of bicycle racing and we all pushed our limits. Onward through Oregon and on the road once more, Argentina is still very far away.

Oct 13

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Home on the Range

There_is_something startlingly familiar about the Palouse in eastern Washington. It’s not the landscape (we just said goodbye to the Rockies and it’s unlike anything we have seen thus far on the road), vineyards, or wineries. Rather, it’s familiar because it reminds us of home. Everything about it – the friendliness and warmth most small towns hone, agriculture, back roads to explore, open skies fit for sunrises and sunsets, home cooked meals of meat and potatoes, and so much more – seems to remind us of North Dakota.

Between Spokane and Walla Walla, we traversed rolling stubble fields of harvested wheat on dirt and gravel roads. Rolling along, we had plenty of opportunities to pick apples from abandoned farmsteads, wave to farmers working the land, and chat with country folk after their dogs chased us down. In the small town of Diamond, WA (a town very similar in size to Starkweather), we found shelter from the rain in a family’s garage. At times, I wondered where we were and why we were climbing some of the steepest grades we have seen thus far (on a mud-tracked prairie road, too), yet I felt at home.

As we ride closer to the Oregon coast along the Columbia River in the sage brush-covered desert land of southern Washington and northern Oregon, the Palouse, a gem in the Pacific Northwest, pulls me back. It is a place I won’t soon forget.

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