The pictures that I have added to the bicycle story are culls from that memorable trip. The best 100 photo's disappeared, so I had to use what I have. Click on the blue underlined typing and that will show a picture associated with that part of the trip. Use the Back Arrow in the upper left hand corner of the screen to return to the text.

SAN FRANCISCO TO THE SMOKIES ON BICYCLES

E. A. WRIGHT

When one approaches 50 and refuses to acknowledge that Father Time is taking over, some determined souls look for ways to turn back the hands of time. Many of these driven people take up activities such as jogging, tennis or swimming that is more befitting of someone in their late teens or early twenties. In my case, I decided to take up bicycle riding. I knew very little about bikes but I had a copy of the June 1973 issue of Popular Mechanics on hand in which Steve Sloan rated "THE TEN BEST BIKES YOU CAN BUY." I selected the Fuji S10S Special Road Racer because it was in the $200 price range that I had in mind. I started riding a few miles occasionally and was overwhelmed by the shifting, handlebar brakes and the crazy racing handlebars. My first flat was a nightmare. How could I ever manage to get that rear wheel out of the chain and frame and ever get it back in and expect it to work?

My first real ride was a 18-mile circuit around Rockville, MD and environs. On this ride, I got my first taste of coping with traffic, pot holes, high shoulders on roads and loose gravel. By the end of the trip I was sore and a nervous wreck.

Sometime later, my 14 year old son Bob, and his 15 year old friend Bill Langston talked me into riding to Whites Ferry, MD, down the C & O Canal to Great Falls and back to Rockville. This was about a 55 miles round trip. After riding about 50 of those miles, fixing many flat tires, and near sundown we finally called my wife, Pat, to come and rescue us.

With the passing of time, the pain and frustration of the Whites Ferry ride faded into good memories. With this new found euphoria, I made a big blunder of agreeing to ride from San Francisco, California to Washington, D.C. during summer vacation. I really thought that the boys would forget it, but they would not let the idea die. They kept pressing me about when we would take our cross country bicycle trip. I could stall them for a while because my job with the AEC (ATOMIC ENERGY COMMISSION) was transferred to the Clinch River Breeder Reactor site in Oak Ridge, TN.

I moved to Oak Ridge, while the family remained behind in order for Bob to complete the school year and to take care of selling the house. The easy life in motels and apartments caused my weight to soar. To get some exercise I brought my trusty Fuji down in the spring of 1976 and started riding 12 to 15 miles a day when time and work allowed. I also wanted to get into shape just in case I could not talk the boys out of the cross country trip.

My riding abilities increased and by mid October I had logged about 3,000 miles and lost many pounds doing it. I still did not know much about adjusting the bike's derailleur and was having lots of problems with broken spokes. This inexperience resulted in an accident, in which I down shifted into the lowest rear gear while doing about 20 mph. The chain jumped the largest sprocket and jammed between the cog and spoke guard. This caused the pedals to spin at a fantastic rate that resulted in me being thrown off the bicycle and into the middle of the highway. Toe clips would have prevented the accident but I considered that they were too much of a nuisance. From this accident I suffered seven compound fractures including four broken ribs, a collar bone, shoulder blade and a wrist, and a terrible shock to my ego and pride.

During the convalescent period I bought and studied good books on bicycle

repair. This partially unraveled the mystery of adjusting the rear derailleur. I also installed toe clips and resolved to never again shift into gears that were lower than I could pedal at the speed that I was riding.

By January 1977, I was sufficiently healed to resume riding again. It would be foolish to say that I did not recall the events of the crash during each ride. Even today, each time that I pass the scene of the mishap, I recall the events of that October 15, 1976 and resolve to always be more careful.

By Easter I had logged 800 miles and was regaining some confidence. My son, Bob, and his friend Bill continued to apply the pressure to take the cross country bike trip when school was out. With the onset of spring in East Tennessee I increased my riding to get in shape for the inevitable. Within the next two and a half months, I rode an additional 2000 miles with several trips of more than 100 miles per day.

In early June the boys were out of school. Bill, now 17 years old came down to Tennessee from Rockville, MD with his new Fuji Dynamic 12 bicycle. My last excuse vanished when my boss said that I could take a month off for the trip. At this point I started pouring over maps, ordering spare parts for the bikes and assembling camping gear. Bob, now 16, and I changed our Fuji S10S bikes into 12 speeds with gears ranging from 32" to 108". My first big problem was the decision about which pass that we would use to cross the Sierra's and the route to use to reach Denver.

Pat, my wife, had the best idea of all. She suggested that she drive us out to San Francisco and trail along behind with all the camping gear and spare parts. We quickly took her up on the offer. At the last minute, Joel Brown, a 15 year old neighbor in Oak Ridge, wanted to join the group. We agreed that Joel could go but he would have to fly out to San Francisco because our little Vega hatchback just wasn't built for 5 people, 4 bikes and a months worth of supplies.

We departed Oak Ridge, TN the last week of June and two days later via interstate routes were at Pat's Dad's place in Longmont, CO. We took the interstate over this route because I knew this part of the country very well and it had lots of roads, plenty of water and other facilities. From Longmont, Colorado, however, we drove over the exact route that we planned to cover on our ride back. This photo shows us passing over Trail Ridge in Colorado on our way out. We marked the location of all facilities of interest on road maps. This included motels, stores, camp grounds, water and in certain areas, a shade tree.

Upon arrival in the San Francisco area, we generally rested up, tuned our bikes and the boys made some trial rides together. In addition we bought sleeping bags and other needed items that were too bulky to fit in the car for the trip out.

Joel Brown arrived at the San Francisco airport in good shape except a bent front fork on his bike. We secured a new fork and made last minute preparations for the trip. During this time Pat, Bob, Bill and Joel stayed with Rod and Pam Klundt in Palo Alto. The Klundt's were also with the AEC back in Maryland. Rod was now working on his PhD at Stanford University. I had several business meetings in the area that kept me tied up for several days.

At the conclusion of my meetings, June 30, 1977, the five of us plus Fifi, our mini poodle, 4 bikes, sleeping bags, camping gear and supplies departed Palo Alto for the GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE. We four guys got into the Vega and Pat passed in all of the gear for us to hold until we reached the starting point. When the car was loaded, Pat got in and drove. Upon arrival at the south end of the bridge, at about 5 p.m., we unloaded, took pictures and rode our bikes across the bridge to the other side. Again we took more pictures and repacked everything to be driven across the San Rafael Bridge. No bikes allowed. At the Richmond, CA end of the bridge we again mounted out bikes for the trip across the U.S. We made a vow that we would all complete the entire trip to Oak Ridge by bicycle. From this point we followed the CalTran bicycle tour maps that Rod Klundt had secured for us. Our destination for the evening was Concord, CA to spend the night with Bill and Dianne Kaspar who had transferred from the AEC Headquarters in Germantown, MD to the San Francisco Operations Office. The rush hour traffic was not bad. The weather was cool and we had a nice tail wind. I quickly found that the CalTran map and written instructions were not compatible with fast pedaling.

It is difficult to follow instructions such as: "Take San Pablo Ave from Berkeley to Crockett. Turn on Pomana St. (becomes Carquinez Scenic Drive) to Martinez. Carquinez Scenic Drive becomes Talhart St. turn left into Escohar St. to Marina Vista (becomes Waterfront Rd.)." Between Crockett and Martinez we missed a turn and took a scenic road up over a long steep hill. We then were kind of lost but by sundown we had managed to reach the center of Concord California.

We were sure that Pat was concerned about us because she had driven directly to the Kaspar's house in the Turtle Creek subdivision of Concord. We found a Service Station with a detailed map of Concord and located the subdivision and headed in that direction. Bill Kaspar had given me instructions about how to reach his house and cautioned me that it would be useless to ask anyone for directions because they would not know where his street was. I should have listened to him more carefully and taken better notes. By dusk we had found the subdivision and started riding the streets but could not find the correct one. We asked several people who were walking along the streets but they could not help. I saw a man come out of a house and head for the garbage cans. I asked him if he knew where the street was. He said no. I asked him if he would call Bill for further information? He replied that he did not live there  and that he was only taking the garbage out.

We continued to ride around and saw a lady in the garage with a Mercedes 450 SL and a Porsche 911. I asked her the same questions. She replied no, she had never heard of the street and that she could not call because she was cooking dinner. We thanked her and rode out of the subdivision to a pay phone and called Bill. This time I listened very carefully and took good notes. Bill's house was no more than three blocks from the places that we had asked the people for directions. At any rate the first short leg of the journey was over and we were reunited with Pat and Fifi. The Kaspar's home was truly an oasis in a hostile subdivision. California is known as the land of Fruits and Nuts. We met our share.

That evening we were invited to dinner at Roger Richter's home, another transplant from the AEC in Germantown, MD. Roger had a beautiful home in Richmond, CA not more than two miles from the off ramp of the San Rafael Bridge where we had started from earlier that afternoon. We drove over to his place. After a lovely dinner with an ever changing view of San Francisco bay we returned to the Kaspar's house for the night. Tomorrow we would really start our trip. A full days ride into the Sierra's and no planned place to stay.

Upon leaving the Kaspar's sanctuary we were faced with about 1400 miles of hostile country with no known friends or relatives until we reached Longmont, CO. Our one tie to security was Pat in the "Mother Ship." We set out early with great eagerness to accept the challenge. I personally was very concerned with the safety and well being of the group.

We went east from Concord past the foothills of Mt. Diablo toward Stockton. Joel's rear derailleur required some minor adjustments in these foothills. Bob proved to be up to the task and quickly accomplished the minor adjustments. With the exception of a huge dog, about the size of a small colt, which came bounding across a field toward us, the ride to Stockton was routine. At Stockton I again missed the CalTrans directions. We stopped and asked a man at a fruit stand for directions to Linden. He told us and asked where we were going. When we said Oak Ridge, TN, he pointed due South and said I think that Oak Ridge is over that away. We headed east toward Linden.

By noon, we were at Linden, CA 72 miles from Concord and had lost Pat. Per our prearranged plan, I called the local police and notified them of our location. Pat did the same and we were united in time for lunch.

After lunch we were supposed to head due north to Clements and intersect CA RT 88 to head over Kit Carson Pass. I was leading the close packed column of riders for a short distance and realized that we were continuing to head east. I saw a man walking along the road and stopped suddenly to ask directions. There suddenly was a tangled mass of 4 bicycles strewn across the road. I of course yelled at the guys for not being more alert. Later in the trip I was drafting Joel very closely. He saw a wrench on the side of the road and stopped suddenly. After going over the handlebars and rolling down a bank it became obvious to me that the lead rider also had a responsibility to those behind him. At any rate, our first accident was not too serious. Just a bent derailleur on Bob's bike, which he repaired and I had a skinned leg that would heal.

We were directed to the correct road to Clements and went on our journey. Bill had a flat tire but by mid afternoon we had reached Jackson, CA and after a brief rest and refreshments we tackled the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Along the way we were passed by many trucks loaded with cedar logs. We later passed a sawmill with hundreds of acres of stored lumber. The lumber was all about 3 inches square and did not look like it was useful for any type of building material. In Pine Grove California we stopped for refreshments and I asked a local resident what the weird sized lumber back down the road was used for. We found out that it was Western Cedar and was destined to become pencils. It was mind boggling to realize how much timber was required to simply supply pencils for this country.

We continued to climb the Sierra's and differences in the physical condition and determination among the riders started to show up. It appeared that Joel, the 15 year old, would be the slowest rider and would be the limiting factor in distance traveled each day.

By sundown we had reached the 3700-foot level and found a nice little motel to spend the night. While we did not camp out, we did have our first hot meal prepared over our trusty Coleman stove. Joel called home, as he would do every possible day during the trip. He was obviously homesick, tired and sore. The next morning after a camp fire cooked breakfast consisting of large servings of bacon, eggs, coffee, milk and bread we headed toward Kit Carson pass, about 8600' above our starting elevation at the Golden Gate Bridge. The pace was slow and Joel determined the pace. We set a target to have a ten minute rest stop at each 1000' rise in elevation. By noon we reached Silver Lake. There was a beautiful spot with picnic tables, running water and rest rooms all of which were used and appreciated. After lunch we continued the slow but deliberate climb to the top of the pass, which we reached by mid afternoon. After refreshments, rest and picture taking we headed down the mountain toward the Nevada state line. Bill and Bob led the pace and were quickly out of sight with the aid of gravity and a 7% grade. I held back some to try to keep Joel in sight but finally turned the bike loose and enjoyed the thrill of 40 to 50 mph down the mountain.

Bob, Bill and I regrouped about 10 miles down the grade to wait for Joel. We were concerned when he did not show up in a reasonable time but we were assured that Pat was behind us and would rescue Joel if he had problems. After 45 minutes to an hour we discussed riding back up the mountain to find out where Pat and Joel were. Before we actually started back we spotted Joel coasting down the hill with Pat in the "Mother Ship" close behind.

We were "one" again. Joel told his story of the front wheel vibrating so fiercely that he lost control on the 7% grade and ended up in a ditch. He then had a flat and the combination of the two mishaps took the hour or more. Bob swapped bikes with Joel for a while and on subsequent steep down grades he reached 45 to 50 mph and reported that the ride was smooth. We decided that Joel was shaking, not the bike.

In fairness to Joel we were all older and much more experienced on bicycles. In addition, the Saturday before we left Tennessee, Bob, Bill, Pat and I drove to the top of Clingmans Dome in the Smokies and we three guys rode down to Gatlinburg to gain experience in descending long steep grades.

After stopping at the Nevada state line to take more pictures Pat went ahead to Minden, Nevada to do the laundry and buy groceries. We had made several plans to reduce chances of getting separated and to insure rejoining if we became separated. Some of these rules were: 1) stay on the designated route and always stay in view of that route; 2) If it became obvious that we were lost to call the local police and notify them of our location, and 3) It was Pat's responsibility to find us. She could cover the area faster and easier than we could.

When we reached Minden, Nevada the town was not on the established route so we stopped at a roadside park and waited about 1/2 hour but Pat did not show up. I asked the boys to stay in the park while I rode into and through Minden. No yellow Vega. I rode back to the roadside park and we decided to ride on toward Carson City. When we got there, we could not find Pat. We parked in the median strip between the dual lanes of US 50 and waited. We took turns crossing the street to get refreshments. I finally called the Carson City police and highway patrol and notified them of our situation. After a long wait and more calls to local police I finally spent 95 cents to call the Linden police (14 miles back). Sure enough they had heard from Pat. She had finished the laundry and was back at the rest stop. They were helpful and said that they would notify her of our location and shortly we were united again.

Upon entering Carson City we found that the camp grounds and motels were all full. We finally found a flea bag motel on the eastern edge of the city and piled in. Pat and I went shopping and loaded up on Coors beer for $1.29/six pack plus other equally important necessities.

The next morning was Sunday and it started as it ended very badly. Bill had a flat tire when we inspected the bikes before leaving the motel. Within 5 miles he had another and we had a total of 4 within the first 15 miles of riding. I also goofed in reading the map and underestimated the distance between Carson City and Austin by 50 miles. After the initial four flats things looked good. The weather was nice and we had a good tail wind. The boys sang "100 bottles of beer on the wall," for many miles. Upon entering Fallon, Nevada we had lunch and it was then that I discovered the error in my mileage estimate. After riding 60 miles from Carson City to Fallon, I found out that it was still 114 miles to Austin via US route 50. Obviously we were not going to reach Austin that day. There was a place on the map called Cold Spring about 50 miles from Fallon that was within the afternoon riding range.

We went east at a good clip. I stopped at a business establishment to get information on Cold Springs. It turned out to be a brothel. Back in the saddle we were crossing Eight Mile Flat, watching dust devils spin across the salt flats and grain by grain build a large 600-foot-high wind sculptured sand mountain. There was a sharp crack, like a rifle shot and my bike suddenly felt like it was floating. I had blown a tire. This was my second blowout with a Pirelli tube and a Michelin tire. We stopped and removed the tire and tube but I could not locate the leak although it was so large that I could not inflate the tube. When the wind is blowing hard, it's difficult to spot a leak. I found a small pond of water from a recent rain and finally located the leak. The rubber had torn loose from the valve stem. We later found that these Pirelli tubes would fail in this manner if inflated to more than about 60 psi. We normally carried 80/85 psi in the tires for decreased rolling resistance. The water was so salty and the air so dry that the tube dried immediately and turned white from the residual salt upon removing it from the water.

The tube was replaced and we went on east but stopped long enough to take pictures and enjoy a short rest at the sand mountain. In this area we were crisscrossing one of the pony express trails. We stopped at each historical marker along our entire route from the Pacific to the Smokies.

We were still shooting for Cold Spring to spend the night when one of Nevada's finest pulled us over to warn Bill to stay on the right side of the road. I took the opportunity to ask the patrol officer about where we could camp. He said that the roadside rest area at Cold Spring was fine and there were pit toilets. When we were about 10 miles from the rest area, Pat and the "mother ship" went ahead to prepare dinner. When we reached the rest area, Pat was not there. It was not much of an area so we thought that there must be a better one up the road. About two miles up the road we reached the settlement of Cold Spring. It had a store, which appeared to be closed, a few trees and several trailers but no yellow Vega. We continued to ride. The sun sank in the west and we found nothing but barren country. We were still 30/35 miles short of Austin. So we stopped at the start of the grade up to New Pass summit.

At sundown the warmth of the sunshine gave way to a cold wind. We were all in shorts and were extremely cold. I unfolded a map and put in front of me and the wind was so strong that it held the map in place. This arrangement offered some protection from the cold until one of the boys would walk in front of me and block the wind. Then the map would fall. Tempers were short as we waited and waited for Pat and the mother ship. We could see car headlights coming for ten or 15 miles and long after dark one pair of headlights, belonged to the "mother ship" appeared. Pat was in tears. I was both relieved and very irritated. The boys took it in stride but proved to be incapable of erecting a 4-man umbrella tent by the light of a Coleman lantern. Fortunately, we also had a 3-man tent and a 2-man tent which were easily set up.

The food was reheated and we settled down to our first night in the wilds. After we had calmed down enough to talk, we found out that Pat had missed the rest area and had gone on to the settlement of Cold Spring. She had gained permission for us to camp there and to use their rest rooms. There were some large dogs there that were too interested in the food to allow her to unpack the car and move it within sight of US 50. She was sure that we would stop. She unpacked the tents, food and prepared a meal. After patiently waiting for us to show up and we did not, at sundown she repacked everything and retraced the route back to where she had left us. She then went toward Austin and could not believe that we had ridden so far. She stopped a car and asked if they had seen four cyclists up the road. Their reply was affirmative and further added that we looked like we needed help. That was an understatement. Our longest day for the entire trip (145 miles) ended peacefully in the cool Nevada night in the company of unknown numbers of rattle snakes and other critters.

The next morning July 4, our nations 201st birthday, we headed for Austin. Austin, (Population of about 350), is a charming speck of a mining town and home of the International Cafe where each boy ordered at least two complete helpings for breakfast. Then on to Eureka, Nevada. We stayed in a nice motel with friendly proprietors. The owner also owned a gold mine and worked it during the day. He gave the boys some beautiful chunks of turquoise that came from his mine, but no gold. The natives celebrated Independence Day by firing off a case of dynamite at each end of the city at sundown. Quite a blast for such a small town.

The next day we headed for Connors Pass, east of Ely Nevada. Joel decided that he was too tired to ride up the pass that evening and insisted that we stay in the KOA in Ely. I knew that if we did not reach the pass that night that the ride to Delta Utah the following day would be difficult. Joel held back. After he got tired of my "nagging," he took off at a high rate of speed. It was difficult for Bob to overtake him and get him back in the fold. It was then that I decided that Joel was really a strong rider and was merely lagging back as a way to get attention. It worked. I gave him lots of attention.

We reached Connor's pass that evening and we were finally successful in erecting the umbrella tent. It was nice to be able to stand up and change clothes for a change. We camped at the rest area at the top of Connors Pass, elevation 7700 feet. I talked with the highway patrol and he said that it was fine to camp there but advised us to be careful because a week before a gang had beaten up and robbed a couple camping in that rest area. He said that they would check on us during his rounds. I slept with a hatchet handy but nothing broke the still of the night except a couple in a camper that pulled in about midnight. Their presence provided some comfort in added numbers.

The next day had posed a big challenge from the day that I selected this route. It was about 130 miles to Delta, Utah with the last 87 miles without services or inhabitants. As it turned out the ride was routine and except a few flats, sore lips, sore rear ends and numb hands. A nice motel and restaurant provided showers, hot meals, telephones, TV and comfortable beds in Delta. The boys ordered double helpings for both dinner that evening and for breakfast the following morning.

The next morning, July 7, 1977, we enjoyed a beautiful sunrise before we took off early for Provo, Utah through Eureka. The day was beautiful and RT 50 was nice. I was delighted to finally get some sun on my left side. This elation was short lived when I realized that this could not be so unless we were heading south east. It finally dawned on me that we were heading in the wrong direction. A quick check of the map confirmed my suspicions. U.S. Rt. 50 had been rerouted and no longer went to Provo. To prevent retracing our path back to Delta we took a back road from Oak City to Lyndyl. Here we joined US Rt. 6 that used to also be Rt. 50. I was very concerned about Pat and rightly so. She finished the laundry and repacked the "mother ship" and headed for Provo on Rt. 50. She recognized that contrary to the map that Rt. 6 and Rt. 50 split with Rt. 6 headed to Provo and Rt. 50 turning south to join Interstate 70 near Holden. She followed Rt. 50 several miles and stopped to ask a crew working on the road if 4 cyclist had passed that way. They said yes and she sped on to Holden. She realized that we could not have gone that far. She asked other people if they had seen four cyclist and they said that no cyclist had passed that way. She returned to Delta and started up Rt. 6. About 11:30 A.M. she found us in need of water at the "Little Sahara" sand dunes. We had lunch in a roadside park that had picnic tables, rest rooms and small evergreen trees to provide shade from the hot sun. The park had dozens of cattle milling around and FiFi kept us entertained by spooking the cattle by barking at them.

After a good two hour rest we headed toward Eureka. We stopped at the courthouse where Joel tried to use the public rest rooms. He found them unsatisfactory and visited the town's two filling stations and rejected them. Meanwhile, the rest of us were chatting with a gentleman about the town and its history. Joel came back and asked the fellow if he knew of any other public rest rooms in the town. The gentleman told Joel to follow him and away they went. He took Joel to the Judges private chambers and rest room. As we talked, we found out that the man was the sheriff of Eureka. He was a delightful person. It seemed strange that Joel was so picky on rest rooms. The running water and the lack of corn cobs probably spooked him.

We headed for Provo and shortly after leaving Eureka there was a long down grade that dropped us rapidly to the Lake Utah elevation. In Provo we ate at an A&W and camped at the Silver Fox Campground.

The ride from Provo to Heber City, Utah was beautiful. Bridal Veil Falls was the icing on the cake. We stopped there and enjoyed the scenery, refreshments and rest area. We turned east on US 40 at Heber City and started the climb to Strawberry Pass, 8,000 ft. elevation. At the summit we encountered a light mixture of sleet and rain that felt like needles piercing my sun burned, and chapped lower lip. At Strawberry Lake the boys chased prairie dogs and with the aid of riding gloves and some rags they were able to catch three. They looked them over and then set them free. This stretch of US 40 was literally swarming with the little critters. One would be smashed by a passing vehicle. Others would rush out into US 40 to observe its fallen comrade. Splat - more prairie dogs smashed into the pavement. This was a continuing cycle. When Bob and I rode past the same spot 13 months later we did not see any prairie dogs. Cars and prairie dogs don't mix.

The ride down the grade from Strawberry Lake to Starvation Lake was fantastic. We lost 2500 feet of elevation plus we were helped by a 30-35 mph tail wind.

We pulled into a commercial campground at Starvation Lake and enjoyed their facilities. By this time we had been together for eight days and covered 1000 miles. All of the riders were snapping at each other and generally rather ill mannered. The operators of the camp thought that we were doing fine. They said that a group of 20_30 cyclists had stopped there a few months back and none of them were on speaking terms. At this point apparently we were not alone in our feelings toward each other. It is rather common among group cyclist on a long trip to grow tired of each others company.

The ride to Vernal, Utah was colorful and we paused there to buy some needed spare parts at a local Schwinn bike shop. We visited Dinosaur National Park and rode on to Dinosaur, Colorado to camp. We obtained permission from the proprietor of a drive-in cafe to pitch our tents behind his building. This proved to be very interesting. It appears that the steep hill behind the drive-in was the town's entertainment center. At sundown the place was covered with 4-wheel drive vehicles and dirt bikes trying to scale the hill. I was concerned that they would come tumbling down on our camp site because none of them could make it to the top. While this was going on with a back drop of a gorgeous sunset, all of the local children that were too young to drive, came over to our camp site with their dogs and watched us cook, pitch tents, eat our dinner and finally go to bed. They talked our ears off. We were the excitement in Dinosaur, Colorado that evening.

Bill Langston managed to ignore the noisy vehicles, barking dogs and playful children. He spent his time talking to young women at the drive in and enjoyed swapping yarns with them. Bob and Joel were more interested in the hill climbing vehicles. Pat and I were very busy keeping our eyes on the food and equipment and answering the questions of the visiting younger set. As darkness fell and the light of our trusty Coleman lantern took over, all the locals vanished just as rapidly as they had first appeared.

With a 135-mile stretch to Steamboat Springs, Colorado facing us the following day, we were up at the first light of dawn. We ate a hardy breakfast quickly and headed east. The boys counted more than 40 jack rabbits during the early morning ride. We enjoyed a good tail wind and breezed into Maybell, Colorado in time for lunch. We stopped in a very nice city park that had all needed facilities including showers. A shower in the middle of the day was really a special treat because the night in Dinosaur was very primitive. No showers or rest rooms.

Fourteen years later to the day, Bob and I retraced this section of the bike route. Little had changed. We did see lots of bicycle riders headed east.

We covered the 30 miles from Maybell to Craig in about an hour and a half, with the welcomed assistance of a good tail wind. Pat clocked Bob at 50 MPH on a long downgrade near Craig. After consuming a gallon and a half of A&W root beer in Craig we cruised into the KOA Campground in Steamboat Springs by 4:30 P.M.. Just as we were arriving a car pulled alongside and started honking and screaming young people were leaning out the window waving. It was two of the young women that Bill had met the night before in Dinosaur the night before. It was great to enjoy the showers again at the campground.

The ride from Steamboat Springs to Lake Granby, Colorado took us up Rabbit Ears Pass. It featured a seven mile stretch of 7% grade. Joel rode it nonstop but complained because Bill and Bob would ride ahead and be resting as Joel caught up with them. He said that it was unfair because they would sprint off again as Joel approached. He complained that he didn't get any rest. We crossed the continental divide twice in this area. Once at Rabbit Ears Pass, 9426' elevation and again at Muddy Pass, 8772' elevation. By sundown we had reached the Rocky Mountain National Park campground overlooking Granby Lake and Longs Peak. During the day we had met dozens of long-distance cyclists. They were all heading west.

After selecting the campsite and paying the camping fee, the three boys climbed into the open hatchback of the "mother ship" for a short ride up to our assigned campsite. I chose to ride my bike behind the car. The boys were holding on to their bikes as Pat drove. All of a sudden the front wheel of Joel's bike swerved and the wheel spokes hit the Vega's rear bumper. This ripped out several spokes. At the campsite Joel was heartbroken and too proud to let the other boys help him repair his wheel. After pitching the tents and starting dinner I offered to help Joel fix his bike. He quickly accepted. It was at this point that I found out that all 27" bicycle wheels did not take the same length spokes. My hundred spare spokes for a 3 x _ high flange hubs were all too short for Joel's low flange 4 x laced wheels. Joel was almost in tears to think that he had come almost halfway across the USA and would now have to ride in the car to Denver. At this point I reached into my bag of tricks and pulled out a new front wheel that I had brought along as a spare. I also had a new rear wheel which we didn't need. Joel was soon enjoying the beauty of our location.

After dinner we attended a lecture by the Park Rangers at an amphitheater. As we prepared to retire, we wondered how we would do in cycling over Trail Ridge where 21 miles of road were over 11,000 feet with a high point of 12,187 feet.

The night was cool and crisp. The next morning we had a good campfire cooked breakfast and headed toward the continental divide at Milner Pass and then on to Trail Ridge. The highest elevation that we would encounter. The scenery was outstanding. Although I had driven over this road dozens of times its scenic beauty had never had time to register with me as it did during this bike ride. All of us scaled the pass with ease. My only problem was kind of like the jokes on President Gerald Ford. "I had a hard time riding and talking simultaneously." At 10,000' above sea level my system needed all the oxygen that my lungs could provide just to maintain the slow but relentless pace. We reached Milner Pass by noon and stopped for lunch. After a short stop at the Lodge we continued to the highest point of Trail Ridge 12,187' above our starting point in San Francisco. As we passed this point we knew that from here to the mighty Mississippi that "it was all down hill."

We paused briefly to take pictures and talk to a cyclist from Boulder, Colorado. He was dressed in the standard cycling shorts, shirt and shoes and was riding a custom bike. We looked like four rag muffins by comparison. Last year he had ridden from Seattle, WA to Boulder. This year he had not taken any long trips but this was his 23rd trip from Boulder to Trail Ridge. The coast down the eastern slope of the Rockies was fast. The only stop was when Bill got a gnat in his eye. Very painful and could have caused him to fall. This is one good reason to wear glasses while cycling. On our way down, we spotted a travel trailer that did not make it. It was smashed to bits below the twisting road.

From Estes Park we started climbing again as we followed US 34 to Lyons. As we topped this pass and started down again we were riding into a fierce head wind rushing up St. Vrain Canyon. Instead of coasting we had to gear down and pedal like hell to descend the grade.

Before sundown, even after getting lost, we were at Pat's Dad's house in Longmont, CO. and we were really prepared for a couple of days of rest from the bicycle seats. We had covered 1400 miles in twelve days without a break and we were ready for something different.

We took time out to get parts to repair Joe's wheel and to do routine maintenance on all bikes. Each person was free to spend the two days as they wished. Pat visited with her Dad and her sister Jean. Joel's aunt and uncle from the Washington, D.C. area were passing through Longmont on their way to California. He spent his two days with his relatives. Bob helped a builder lay concrete blocks on Pat's sister' new house. Bill and I climbed Twin Sisters Peak and got caught in a mid July sleet storm. We were hit by showers of sleet and we would duck under trees to wait out the showers. The trail became slippery and upon reaching the peak we were faced by raging cold winds and a fierce storm. Thanks to a rock shelter for the Park ranger we were able to ride out the storm in safety and relative comfort considering that we were dressed in shorts and tee shirts. I wished that I could save this cold wind to mix with the hot winds that surely awaited us in eastern Colorado and Kansas.

At the end of the two days of rest it was very tempting to remain in Longmont for another day or so but realizing that Bob had to start football practice in 14 days we mounted our bikes and headed east. The first day out was absolutely the low point of the trip. Instead of cool weather, down hill and tail winds it was over 100 F with 30 mph head winds or cross winds. Shortly after leaving Longmont, CO. it was clearly brought to our attention that we were on the "back side" of our trip. A van loaded with teenagers drove by us slowly and "mooned" us from every available window. After that interlude, we found that instead of coasting down hills as we had expected, we ended the day in Last Chance, Colorado at an elevation that was higher than Longmont. We registered in the town's only motel because of threatening thunderstorms. I jumped into the shower, put shampoo in my hair and tried to shower. The water was so hard that the soap was useless and the shampoo turned into a sticky mess like syrup and would not wash out. I had to rub the dirt, suntan oil and shampoo from my body with a towel. It was at this point that I seriously considered calling the trip off. The next morning however I tried washing with Tide detergent. It worked. I felt better after that. Back in the olden days this place was the "Last Chance" for cowboys to water their herds before reaching Denver.

From Last Chance we continued east on US 36 through Kansas. Although we were losing elevation it seemed as if we would go down one hill and up two. Throughout Kansas we camped each night in roadside parks or in City Parks. Pat fixed great meals for three hungry teenagers and a doddering 50 year old trying to keep up with the teenagers. Bill started a couple of games while riding. He would swoop down and grab a sunflower blossom and toss it to Bob. He would toss it to Joel etc. After tiring of that game Bill started smashing grasshoppers with his front tire as he rode. It took skill. The critters would jump out of the way. Once he thought he had a big one and with all his skill he hit it. It turned out to be a large sliver of glass from a broken beer bottle. After changing his front tire and tube, we continued to ride east through Smith Center, The geographic center of the lower forty eight states. We were continuously buffeted by strong cross winds from the south and temperatures in excess of 100 F each day. The people in Kansas were nice but it is not an ideal place to ride a bike unless you happen to be riding down wind and we were not. The wind would blow so hard that it would blow filled coffee cups off picnic tables. If you held on to the cup it would blow the coffee out of the cup. When we turned due south at Hiawatha, for a few miles, the wind was so fierce, blowing across the wheat fields, that we geared down like climbing the steepest grade. Bob helped by leading the way and we drafted. Later on a native of Kansas told me that the wind doesn't blow in Kansas it "sucks." I agree.

When we crossed the Missouri River at Atchison, KS the winds died down. We skirted north east of Kansas City on State roads 45, 92, 10 and 13. It was along this stretch that I stopped for a closer look at the pretty weeds growing along the roadside. The leaves looked like bamboo. It was Cannabis

Sativa, Hemp or Marijuana (Grass). The boys were impressed. Bill cut down a 5' or 6' tall piece and trailed it along behind his bike. It fell off a few miles later and was quickly forgotten. I think Bob was even more surprised at the wild weed than when I took him to the nude beach in Zuma, CA a couple of years before. Unlike what other bike riders have written about the people in Missouri, we found them to be super, except those in the Rolla/ Ft. Leonard Wood vicinity. For example, the target for the day that we found the marijuana plants, was to camp at the Confederate Memorial State Park in Higginsville, M0. When we arrived, we found that camping was not allowed. We then headed for the town's only motel and found that it was completely filled. The proprietor of the motel suggested that we call the Chief of the Higginsville Police and see if he would allow us to camp in the city park. That call started things in motion. The chief asked us to stay where we were for a few moments and he would send out a police car to escort us to the park. In a few minutes Sgt. Freds showed up in a police car, welcomed us to Higginsville. He escorted us to a beautiful city park and suggested a place to pitch tents near running water, rest rooms, and a swimming pool. It was a little disconcerting when he pointed to the new building that was next to our camp site. He said that the building in that location had been blown away by a tornado a year before. Large thunderstorms were visible in the distance. The hospitality continued as we went to the pool to shower and swim. The showers were turned off because of a severe water shortage but after explaining that we really needed showers the attendant not only turned them on for us but he also offered tents, sleeping bags and food. The weather was even nice. No storm or even rain.

The night was peaceful and after a hearty breakfast we headed south to Warrensburg to reconnect with US RT 50 that we had left a couple of weeks before back at Delta, Utah. One may ask why we did not stay on US 50 and there are two answers to that. First, US 50 turns into I-70 in mid Utah and Western Colorado. We did not know if bicycles were allowed on the interstate. There were stretches that did not have parallel secondary roads. Second, we wanted to cross Trail Ridge and visit in Longmont, Colorado. It was good to get back on US 50. We followed it through Jefferson City to the Osage River where our Woodall's camping directory showed a campground. The proprietors were nice. They let us have a boat and the boys stayed on the river until bedtime.

For breakfast we walked to a country style café where each of the boys consumed about three normal helpings of eggs, bacon and pancakes. We headed south on US Rt. 63 to Vichy and St. James, MO. It was in the area of Vienna and Vichy (near Rolla) that we encountered the very hostile drivers. The drivers of trucks and cars would try to blast us off the road with their horns and being unsuccessful at that they would see how close they could come to us and yell obscenities or salute with one finger. It seemed rather out of place for a lady dressed for church in a brand new Olds 98 to pass us and give us the bird sign. I really do not think that she was signaling that the Missouri School of Mines was #1 in football.

St. James had a beautiful park that provided us a fine place for lunch, with nice rest rooms, water, picnic tables, swimming pool and the works. The St. James Foundation has established lots of parks and recreation facilities in this area. We turned east of MO Rt. 8 and paralleled to Merrimac River for some distance. While the river was zigzagging in a horizontal plane we were riding the rolling hills of the Ozarks in a vertical plane. Really beautiful country. Nice roads but the weather was really hot and humid. We continued through the mining district at Potosi to Flat River. After a night in a motel there we headed south on US Rt. 57 to Fredericktown, then MO 72 toward Cape Girardeau.

About noontime we had reached a small town near Jackson, MO and couldn't find a public picnic area. I saw a nice house with a well kept lawn and a beautiful maple shade tree. I walked up to the door and explained that we were cycling across country and asked if we could spread our lunch under their beautiful tree. The lady said of course and showed me an outside water tap that we could use. A few minutes later the door opened and out walked a gentleman with both hands' full of fresh home-grown tomatoes. He added them to our lunch supplies. We thanked him. He started the conversation by asking if we knew the name of the town that we were in. I said that we were about 8 miles west of Jackson, MO. He said yes but do you know the name of this town. Pat spoke up and said it is Millersville, MO. He replied, "you are correct, and I am Mr. Miller." He explained that his ancestors had migrated from North Carolina in 1803 and settled this area and he still had the old homestead.

By mid afternoon we were in Cape Girardeau and crossed the Mississippi River into Illinois. The crossing was not spectacular. Little traffic and a fairly short bridge. Once across the river we turned south on IL Rt. 3 to Cairo. The road was narrow, rough and hilly. The truck drivers were bullies and the people, in general, were not friendly. The roads had no shoulders. One truck came by me so fast and close that it blew me off the pavement and onto the gravel. Upon entering Cairo, Bob and Joel got in a tag game of squirting water on each other with their water bottles. The game continued and when Pat joined us the boys grabbed gallon jugs of water and doused each other. This was long before the football players started dousing the coach after a big win. Cairo didn't turnout to be our favorite town. We couldn't find a camp ground but did find a motel. While cooking dinner, I got covered with ticks. All of the sewage from the Ohio, Missouri and upper Mississippi meet at Cairo. Nope, even with a nice sunset, Cairo, IL isn't our favorite town.

We were all pleased to cross the Ohio River into Western Kentucky. After all Kentucky is next to Tennessee. We passed through Wickliffe and Mayfield. We then headed east on KY 80 crossing the Land Between the Lakes toward Hopkinsville. The bridges across the lakes were rough and I broke 4 front spokes. Joel broke some rear spokes so we stopped on the shore on Barkley Lake for wheel repairs. We reached Hopkinsville and found a very nice Motel. We were experiencing our only rain except the light shower as we crossed Strawberry Pass in Utah. We enjoyed a fast food dinner, some TV and showers. I really hoped that the light rain would stop.

The next morning the sky was heavily overcast and a light mist was falling. We headed down US 41 to Trenton for breakfast. Pat stayed behind and did the chores. The mist turned into light rain and then a steady hard rain. By the time we reached Trenton, KY we were soaked. We stopped at a friendly café and ate breakfast and drank coffee for a couple of hours until the rain slowed. The waitress was very nice and when we told her that we were riding bicycles across country she simply asked "What fur?" We watched for Pat but didn't see her. About 10 a.m. we headed for the KY/TN border at Guthrie. Still, hadn't seen Pat. We were reunited near Springfield, TN. She had passed us while we were in the café. We had put the bikes under cover to keep them out of the rain, so she missed us.

We skirted Nashville to the northeast toward Operyland and Hermitage. We followed old US 70 to Lebanon, TN. At that point I had to choose between 70N that went through Carthage or 70S that went through Sparta. Carthage was closer and I chose that route. We rode into Carthage after passing through Rome and several other small towns with continental names. We asked about camp grounds and they were about 10 miles out of the way. The town's only motel "The Cordell Hull" was filled but the desk clerk volunteered to make a few calls to see if he could find a place for us to stay. The Walton Hotel had room for us. We rode up, walked in and met the Greens that ran the hotel. They showed us our rooms that were up a long flight of stairs. Our room had a window air conditioner but the boys room wasn't air conditioned. It turned out that a TVA supervisor working on the Hartsville Nuclear power plants, nearby had the air conditioner installed. He was away at the time of our visit. The Hotel had two central baths for all guests to share.

I quickly claimed one shower and Bob grabbed the other. A few minutes later there was a pounding on the door and Ms. Green yelling to put the shower curtain in the tub. I yelled that it is. She then pounded on the other door and yelled for Bob to do the same. After we emerged from the showers we found out that Bob took a bath. He filled the tub too full and got in. He immediately had a cramp in his leg and the sudden muscular jerk caused a tidal wave to leap the lip of the tub and send water cascading through the floor into the lobby below, disturbing the guests watching the hotel's only TV. When I went down, they were still catching the water in buckets and mopping the floor.

After everyone had their turn in the shower we asked the Green's about a place to eat. She said that she would fix us up something. We declined because we felt that we had already caused enough trouble. They told us of a restaurant a couple of blocks away. I tried to lock the doors and there were no locks or keys. I had a couple of thousand dollars worth of camera equipment, plus tools, clothing and 4 bicycles. I asked the Green's what I should do about the doors to our rooms. She stated "Oh you can leave them open or close them." We closed them and walked away.

After dinner we returned to our rooms and found everything as we had left it and none of us were molested or robbed as we slept.

The next morning we went down to the dining room and Mrs. Green asked us what we would like. We each ordered eggs, sausage, hot biscuits, gravy, coffee or milk etc. Mrs. Green then cooked it and brought it to our table. All Super. The bill was like $2.00 each. As we ate, the Greens and other regular guests talked our ears off. Before we left, we took pictures of the Hotel and the wonderful Greens. We left with fond memories of a real once in a lifetime experience.

The next morning we headed for Oak Ridge, TN via Cookeville, Wartburg and Oliver Springs. We arrived at 6:00 p.m. (3:00 p.m. Pacific Coast Time). We were met by Bill Langston's mother, who had driven down from Maryland, Joel Brown's family, friends and grandparents and other relatives.

We opened bottles of Champagne and toasted our 24-day 2800 mile ride. We had grown much closer together but were ready to be apart for a while. After the trip was over and we had our rest from each other, there exists a closeness among us that can only be achieved by having shared a monumental experience.

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