THE TRIP: Part 2

I've probably never ridden more than ten miles at a time, and I stick to mountain bikes. I don't like riding in the city, in the middle of traffic. It's too dangerous. People drive like maniacs out here. My neighbor told me that during one of his rides two girls got hit by a drunk driver who swerved into the bike lane. They're in a coma. He wonders why I won't join him.

It all seems silly now. Life hangs by a thread. It'd be foolish to try and recount every single brush with death we've had over the course of this trip. Between the weekend warriors in their rented RVs, and the Kentuckians whose behaviors behind the wheel can only be explained by Meth, at some point you just stick your head down, push forward, and hope for the best. We probably also shouldn't have ridden at night so damn often.

We left late in the season. Very late. Crossing the country on a bicycle in the fall is not generally advised, but what can you do. We left Portland on September 1st. Montana, Wyoming, Colorado... those places get cold in October. The days get shorter too. We usually wait for the sun to come up, which means we don't start riding as early as we should to make it to our destination by nightfall. Sometimes, the sun doesn't come up, and we're greeted by rain, snow, or hail. Those days are fun. I just start counting when it gets too rough out there. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... I don't stop until we reach our destination, and, if I lose count, I just start all over again. Dan said he hadn't realized he was biking with Rainman.

It works though. The other day, I received a message from this crazy girl we crossed paths with. She's biking from Canada to Mexico. Said she got caught in a crosswind in the middle of nowhere and thought she was going to die. But she remembered what I said. She blanked everything out, started counting, and kept on pushing. Said it saved her. Cool.

We ourselves get stuck in forty mile an hour headwinds in Wyoming. We're leaving Jeffrey Dahmer city -- don't ask -- and we're riding at a snail's pace. It's exhausting. By Dan's estimate, we won't reach our intended campground before midnight. The gas station attendant, where we stop for lunch, tells us a truck overturned up ahead.