To the Coast!

A few weeks before reaching Eugene, we’d planned to take a detour from our trip in order to fly down to San Diego to attend my grandma’s memorial service. The logistics for this seemed complicated, but actually fell into place very well. We’d planned to check with a local bike shop,  but George and Alice offered to store our bikes and extra gear for us, and we took a bus to Portland, spent a day there with a Warmshowers host, then flew to San Diego for a few days with family. It felt very odd and a bit surreal to be back in big cities, traveling without our bikes, and living normal life in normal houses!

We retraced our plane and bus route back to Eugene, and picked up our bikes in the afternoon. After approximately 7 hours of sitting in various forms of transportation earlier in the day, we were ready to get moving, so decided to start riding the 35 miles to Triangle Lake, where our maps said there was a campground. Biking in the evening, as the air cooled, was really pleasant – and it was nice to be back on the bikes as we entered the final stretch of our trip! We got to the tiny lakeside town around 7pm, and… no campground and lots of no trespassing signs. There was a church on the edge of town with lots of lakefront land, a family was camping there and told us they were just visitors renting the spot but pointed us to the pastor’s house next door. I can’t believe this was our first time all summer needing to knock on a stranger’s door about a place to stay! Steve, the pastor, called his neighbor and got permission for us to camp on their waterfront spot – a small lawn with a view of their dock – and let us use the church restrooms and kitchen. It ended up being a beautiful spot to watch the sunset over the lake, and we felt incredibly lucky and amazed once again at the kindness of strangers.

Back on the road after leaving Eugene
Our beautiful unexpected campsite at Triangle Lake

The next morning was a pleasant 40 miles through sunny pine forests and farms down the valley to Florence, which is ON THE COAST! Florence is a cute touristy seaside town, and we celebrated by getting seafood at a restaurant on the pier, although it’s technically a bay and not the true ocean. We were warned in the local bike shop that the next stretch of Highway 101 – which we’d follow all the way north to Astoria – was the worst, narrow shoulders and curves and wind and distracted cars. It was beautiful, soaring cliffs and fog drifting over the green hills giving glimpses of the ocean below, but cold and so windy, there were times we could barely move forward. We were going to stop at a store/campground that was on our map, but there was no store and we needed dinner, so we pushed on, dragging because we hadn’t really eaten enough that day. We finally got to Yachats, an ocean vacation town, went to an awesome little brewery/farm-to-table restaurant and looked up hotels. Camping in the cold fog just didn’t sound fun. We found a motel with a weird little lighthouse room with twin bunk beds, but it was cheap and dry and warm! We swam in the hotel’s basement pool and cooked our mac’n’cheese with our camping stove on the bathroom floor, and slept like rocks.

More blackberries!
Arriving in Florence
Beautiful coastline
Our tiny lighthouse motel room
Gourmet motel bathroom cooking…

Due to enjoying the comfy beds, we didn’t leave til 10 the next day. Cold and dreary weather is not motivating! Our route led along the beach for a while, and we trekked down across the sand with our bikes to get pictures by the water. Realizing we truly went sea-to-sea with our bikes felt pretty incredible. We passed through a lot of cute beach towns, stopped at Rogue Brewery in Newport, and planned to camp at a state park near Lincoln City but once again it was cold and foggy so we opted again for a hotel. Our tolerance level for toughing it out clearly plummets when it’s cold and wet!

Tires in the Pacific Ocean, we really went coast to coast!
Detours on Highway 101 due to landslide damage
No caption needed

We ate breakfast at the hotel and left earlier than the day before. Our route was hilly but beautiful, including a detour inland from Highway 101 which brought us sunny pine forests before returning to the fog of the coast. I got stung by a bee that flew under my helmet strap and ended up with a swollen cheek – this was my second bee sting while biking incident of the trip! Robert somehow seems immune. We passed Cape Wakanda, where beautiful rock formations shrouded in mist came in and out of view, and passed through the town of Cannon Beach with it’s iconic Haystack Rock. Finally, we stopped at the Tillamook Creamery for the tour, cheese samples, and ice cream. We meant to go a few miles further, but we hadn’t factored in that the Oregon coast on weekends during the summer is a vacation destination, and every hotel was either sold out or super expensive, so we found a tent site at an RV park near Tillamook. We cooked pasta sitting in the cold mist, making us both a bit grumpy.

We found some sun!
Cape Wakanda
Haystack Rock in Cannon Beach
All the cheese samples!

With the scarcity of hotel rooms, we went ahead and booked rooms for the next two nights in Astoria, the official end of the TransAm route, and it was surreal to think that we had only a week left of biking and needed to start thinking about what would come after. We spent a good chunk of the next morning sitting at our campsite working on job things – telephone interview for me and response to a job offer for Robert. We didn’t leave until nearly 11:30 with 70 miles to go to Astoria, not the best planning! We made good time, though, along the flat beachside parts, lots more touristy little towns and then some scenic cliffs. We went through Cannon Beach with its distinctive Haystack Rock – and amazingly, had sun for much of the day! It was exciting to come into Astoria after so long anticipating it – we entered from the south and had views of the huge Astoria bridge and the colorful town perched on the hill of the peninsula, with large freighters in the Columbia River beyond. It was cloudy but with that beautiful golden evening light shining on the water. We stopped for burritos then biked down to the hotel along the waterfront, stopping to venture out only a large pier for views and to gawk at the sea lions piled on the end, barking frantically at us.

Rush hour on the bridge heading into Astoria
So many sea lions

We spent the morning of our rest day sitting in the hotel lobby overlooking the ocean, working on planning and drinking lots of coffee. The historical signs told us that Lewis & Clark camped at the overlook where our hotel was located. We headed into town for the afternoon to visit a bike shop and explore, and thanks to it being the weekend of the Astoria Regatta, we joined an enthusiastic crowd to watch the marine parade of Coast Guard ships and local boats before getting a wonderful seafood dinner. We got soaking wet biking back to the hotel in the rain, enjoyed the hot tub and then to my chagrin found that the laundry room closed at 9pm, so we were unable to wash our completely dirty wardrobe. Between this, and the emotions of nearing the end of the trip, I was a pretty grumpy person when we headed to bed.

Astoria has great bike paths!
Marine Regatta boat parade

Heading into the next day, we were geared up for a week of finding our own route up the peninsula, now that we were no longer on an ACA route. We’d initially considered crossing the four mile Astoria bridge to the western coast of the Olympic Peninsula and going around that side, but as we’d researched we realized that route would be very remote, with limited services and lodging, and most likely very wet. Instead we decided to follow the river east and follow a more central route up to Puget Sound. It was a pretty pleasant ride from Astoria, winding along the Columbia River through wet forests filled with ferns and moss. We had several climbs but none more than 600 feet of elevation gain, and passed through several small towns. We got to take a tiny ferry over the Columbia to an island covered in farmland before connecting to the other side by a bridge, where we wound through neighborhoods to the larger town of Longview. We had to stop to look at the map a bit more since we no longer had the convenience of a pre-made GPS route to follow.

Our last state line crossing
On the ferry across the Columbia river

We planned to make it to a campground north of the town of Castle Rock, but shortly before entering town Robert got a flat, and upon further inspection of his rear tire, noticed cracks at the base of each spoke all the way around the rim. After a roadside discussion of how risky it would really be to continue riding with the tire in that condition, we decided to play it safe and stop in Castle Rock for the night. Since a repair would require getting to a larger town, this effectively ended our trip – it was still sinking in as we slowly rolled into town and tried to figure out the best way to get a ride from there the next day. It felt rather anti-climactic to all of a sudden just be done. At first we arranged for my mom to drive down and pick us up, since we were headed to her house, but serendipity and the kindness of near-strangers showed itself again when Gary, a cyclist we’d crossed paths with briefly in Kansas and who’d been tracking our trip on Strava, saw a comment from Robert about our technical difficulties. He and his wife just happened to be on the southern WA coast and was going to be driving back to the Seattle area the next day, and offered to swing by and pick us up. He even rigged up a rooftop bike rack out of wood that morning to make it work! We traded lots of bike touring stories on the drive, then finished out our biking by riding on to the ferry from Edmonds to Kingston to meet my mom.

The cracks that ended our trip…
Gary and his bike rack to the rescue
One more ferry

We spent several days at my mom’s house recuperating and planning for our next big step – the move to Denver to start our new jobs in just a few short weeks. We packed up our bikes to send them on to Denver, and felt a mix of bittersweet feelings as it sunk in that our TransAmerica voyage, this incredible journey of pushing ourselves, experiencing new places, and meeting so many people, had come to an end. It’s taken way longer than we’d planned to finish writing about our trip – expect one final post with a summary of statistics and things we learned along the way, and thank you so much for reading!

Eastern Oregon

Entering Oregon was an exciting milestone, the last state between us and the Pacific Ocean. It was also one of the states we spent the longest time in, and the varied terrain we encountered there was incredible.

During the stretch from Hell’s Canyon to Halfway, the desert morphed into pine forests, a welcome break from the dusty heat. After a campground dinner of quesadillas, we once again decided to forego the sleeping pads to help with morning efficiency in packing up. This got easier the more we got used to sleeping on the ground, but definitely led to some repositioning to get away from rocks digging into our ribs at times! We still struggled to get up, leaving mid-morning after stopping at the grocery store for breakfast. We explored a strange metal silo/dome structure on the edge of town, startling about 7 deer who were hanging out inside it. We never did figure out what it was, so if you know, let us know!

View from Halfway, OR

Strange structures call for strange pictures

It was a 6 mile steep climb then a 6 mile fast descent to Richland, where we got an assortment of food from the sparse grocery/liquor store and sat on a bench in the shade for nearly an hour and a half, reluctant to head into the next stretch of 90+ degree temperatures and no services for 42 miles. It was hot and dusty and brown, but thankfully very gradual climbing for most of it. We kept a decent pace, stopping for water every 5 miles, trying to stay hydrated while also making our water last the whole stretch – we managed to make it last until about 4 miles outside of town. Our destination that night was Baker City, where we opted for the cheap hotel room with breakfast at the attached restaurant and walked over to the Main Street/historic downtown for burritos and beer at a recommended brewery. Everything nearby had closed by 8pm, so we trekked to Dairy Queen a mile away for Blizzards before sitting down with the map to plan our final days through Oregon. Anticipation of another hot day with minimal services made us both irritable so we didn’t make much progress.

Long, hot roads


We passed many references to the Oregon trail in these parts.

Sunset in Baker City

The next morning, after eating breakfast at the hotel diner, we tackled the 67-mile stretch of hills and no service that I was sort of dreading. To our happy surprise, though, our surroundings changed to pine forests covering the hills, a stream flowing alongside us, and three not terrible climbs followed by long meandering descents. Atop hill number 2 we stopped at a campground at Bates State Park for water and spent 15 minutes taking the best nap ever on a picnic table in the shade. Around 5pm we made it to Prairie City, stopped at a grocery store for chocolate milk and met three other cyclists heading our same direction, Robert, a teacher from Maryland, and two Canadians, Jamie and Nick, who all also bought chocolate milk. Only on a bike tour would there be a circle of five adults all standing around drinking milk together. In John Day, we set up camp in a field at the town RV park, found the showers, and ate dinner with our new acquaintance Robert at a brewery in town.

So much better than desert!

Cooling off at Bates State Park

So glad we’re not trekking through here on a covered wagon…

We snuck out early the next morning, found some breakfast, and then tackled the long slog through hot desert once again. We had 30 miles of downhill first, a deceiving start to the day, then began a long 24-mile climb, with temps in the 90s and no shade to be found. I was struggling – it’s almost a panicky feeling, when the going is hard but you know that you have to keep going to get anywhere that you can stop! It was a winding road in the hot sun, cars whizzing by not always giving us space, and on one turn I hit gravel and slid, falling over into the road and scraping up my elbow, and sending Robert into the ditch to avoid crashing into me. The fall shook me up a bit, and it was a miserable afternoon, but we finally made it over the pass and sailed down into the tiny town of Mitchell where we stayed at the most wonderful hostel at the local church, run by Pat and Jalet, the pastors of the tiny congregation there. They started Spoke’n Hostel when they realized so many TransAm cyclists were coming through this town that really has no where else for people to stay, and it is an incredible place of hospitality. They’ve transformed the sanctuary into a dorm with lovely bunks all set up with curtains, lights, power strips, cozy chairs everywhere, a full kitchen downstairs with coffee and breakfast, a shower building outside, and everything curated so beautifully and thoughtfully. They were a really nice couple who we so enjoyed chatting with. It was a full house with the 3 guys we’d met in John Day, Miles who we’d met in Wyoming, another couple who are librarians biking across the country visiting local libraries, and 3 archaeologists staying there while working in the nearby Painted Hills. We ate at Mitchell’s brewery/restaurant – even the tiniest of  tiny towns in Oregon have breweries! – before taking Pat up on his offer to drive all of us out to the Painted Hills National Monument in the church’s old school bus, where we watched the sun set over the colorful formations.

Tree full of shoes. Not sure what the story is here…

Winding up the canyons

so. hot.

So happy to finally see this sign!

Somebody must drive a Tesla through Mitchell…

Personalized welcome signs on each bunk at the hostel


Painted Hills National Monument

Pat, pastor and manager of the Spoke’n Hostel

We got up earlier to beat the heat the next day, with an 83 mile ride ahead of us, starting with coffee and oatmeal and chatting with Miles over breakfast. It was a cool morning and the big climb was in the first 16 miles – so much better than the day before! We had a long downhill through the forest to Prineville where we stopped for lunch. It got hot for the rest of the day as we detoured from the TransAm route in order to go to Bend for a rest day, and the rolling hills left us very tired by the time we arrived at our Warmshowers host’s place. We stayed with Alex and John, a couple about our age who happened to be from Minnesota. Bend was a great place to take a day off – we ate good food, tried breweries, went tubing down the river through town, went to REI, and enjoyed the nice bike paths. We both decided we could very happily live in Bend – such a beautiful location and everyone we met seemed incredibly happy, relaxed, and friendly. Multiple times throughout the day we were asked how we were and where we were from and had real conversations with genuinely interested strangers!

Big mountains coming into view!

Yay, good food!

Alex and John

We decided to take a shorter day after leaving Bend, first heading 24 miles to the town of Sisters, a gorgeous ride through a wide valley with views of snow-covered peaks. We checked out the farmer’s market, found lunch at the co-op, and sat at the library for a while to catch up on internet things. We finally headed out again around 3:30, and saw the ACA tour group again rolling into town. We weren’t sure how far we’d go, but Alex in Bend had suggested camping in the national forest past Sisters. The climb up to McKenzie Pass was gradual and shaded by pine forest, so we made it to a campground just a mile from the top. Much of the last 5 miles was all burned areas from the previous year’s wildfires, black trunks and dirt amidst mounds of sharp volcanic rock. It was otherworldly. We found a campground around dusk, filled with Pacific Crest Trail hikers, and ate a dinner of pancakes and jerky and went to bed with no rain fly on the tent as it was nice and clear.

The Three Sisters

Burn area from 2017

Our campsite

We woke pretty early as it got light, feeling gross with no shower after the dusty ride the day before – we’d been pretty spoiled by nearly always staying places we could shower on this trip. It was just a mile to the top of the pass, through the incredible landscape of jagged lava rock in piles everywhere, and visible flow patterns around islands of trees, and the peaks of the Three Sisters in the distance.  This was our final mountain pass of the trip, the last set of mountains between us and the coast. We stopped to walk up to the observatory at the top, and Robert flew his drone around for some video of the area. The descent on the other side of the pass was steep switchbacks, with the flora drastically changing to ferns and mossy pines, undergrowth, feeling like the Pacific Northwest all of a sudden with the shady forest of grand trees. It was a cool descent with fun curves to navigate, and we pretty much coasted the 25 miles to McKenzie Bridge, where we were flagged down by some guys on fat tire bikes yelling “we’re bike people too!”, so we stopped for some food and to chat with them. The rest of the ride was beautiful, riding Highway 126 along the river, but with a lot of cars and not much shoulder. We stopped a couple of times to cool off in the delightfully cold river, and there were lots of cabins and resorts all along the way – clearly a popular vacation spot.

Riding alongside walls of lava rock

Another view of the Sisters

Final pass of the trip! It’s basically all downhill to the coast from here…

Just happened to catch a road biker finishing his climb, bottom right corner

Now this is what I think of when I think of Oregon…


Our surroundings suddenly changed to suburbs when we reached Springfield, just outside of Eugene, where our Warmshowers host for the night, 72-year-old George, met us on his bike and guided us back along a river bike path to their place in Eugene. This was pretty impressive when we learned he was still recovering from a broken femur from a bike crash in May! He and his wife live in a 1930s house in a historic neighborhood, and we camped in the backyard and enjoyed a BBQ dinner with them, listening to stories about George’s experience riding the TransAm in 1976, the first year of the route’s existence.  Without knowing it, we had actually seen his picture from that ride at the Adventure Cycling headquarters in Missoula. One thing we were interested in doing on our day off in Eugene was white-water rafting – and lo and behold, George was a retired river guide and when he heard of our interest, he called up a friend and got us two spots on a raft trip the next morning. We rafted down the same McKenzie River we’d biked along the day before, and it was a blast. Our day off ended with trips to the Co-Motion Cycles factory, a brewery, and dinner with George and his similarly-aged neighbor – who knew this trip would include hanging out with a couple of septuagenarian friends! The small world of bike touring presented itself again when we recognized Kyle, the cyclist from South Africa, having dinner with his Warmshowers host at the same pizza restaurant. We’ve never run into more people we knew than by criss-crossing paths with others on this trip!


George and Alice in Eugene

Crossing Idaho

Our few days spent crossing Idaho, one of the states we were not at all familiar with, ended up being an unexpected favorite for both of us. Leaving Missoula, we had to backtrack about 14 miles to turn west and resume our route. We quickly entered the Lolo National Forest and started up Highway 12 to Lolo Pass, our final crossing of the continental divide.  It was a long 30 miles of gradual uphill surrounded by dense pine forests. We stopped at a gas station for ice cream around 15 miles in, then for an overpriced lunch at the Lolo Hot Springs grill – mostly because it was hot and we really wanted to sit inside for a bit! We crossed into Idaho and a new time zone at the top of the pass. For some reason, this climb was not nearly as fatiguing as some of our Wyoming and Montana descents – at Big Hole Pass the week before, I was really struggling so Robert ended up putting my front panniers on his bike to hopefully help me go a little faster – he often ends up having to wait for me when we’re going uphill. Lolo, however, was better, and at the top of the pass we found a nice visitor center with friendly rangers, wifi, water and tea and hot chocolate, and exhibits about the Lewis & Clark and Nez Perce trails which passed nearby. I thought they did a fairly good job of honoring the native stories and acknowledging the injustice perpetrated by the explorers.

Lolo National Forest

Lochsa River

It was an absolutely gorgeous 12 miles downhill along the river to that evening’s stop at Lochsa Lodge – truly wilderness feeling, and one of the prettiest places we’ve seen, with new steep walls of pine woods revealed around every curve of the river, and the water sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Lochsa Lodge, a campground and restaurant, lets cyclists camp for free on their lawn, so we set up camp and met our neighbors Houston and Heather, another cycling couple in the first weeks of their trip heading eastbound. We enjoyed a beer in the lodge restaurant and investigated the showers, but when we found that they cost $5/person we decided that wasn’t worth it and walked down to explore the river bank instead, where I ended up dunking my head in for a refreshing shower substitute! The evening light was breathtaking as the day cooled.  We cooked a dinner of quinoa, peas, and sardines, then attempted to work on planning our last few weeks’ route, but with the lack of working wifi or cell phone reception had to abandon that for the time being.

River near the lodge

We had a slow start the next day, as Robert had come down with an upset stomach and hadn’t felt well all night. We let the dew-covered tent dry in the sun, chatted more with Houston and Heather, and finally got going. This was one of the most remote stretches we’d had so far, 65 miles with no services other than a few forest service campgrounds, and  88 miles to the first real town. The entire day, though, was downhill along Highway 12 along the Lochsa River. It was a hot day, and we made frequent stops for snacks and water and a dunk in the river to cool down. We’d been warned about a 5 mile stretch where they were re-paving half the road and shuttling bikers through the narrow area, but when we met the flagger she motioned us to go down the road a bit further for the shuttle pickup but we never saw anyone so just kept going, and soon made it all the way through the construction zone. We heard about some other TransAm-ers a day ahead of us who, determined not to skip riding any miles of the route, had to either make a dash for it ignoring the construction crew’s instructions, or wait  until the end of the workday, so we felt rather fortunate to have somehow snuck through!

65 miles of this!

65 miles in we hit the town of Lowell, a tiny diner surrounded by a few scattered houses, and gratefully stopped for burgers and huckleberry shakes. Never have I had so many huckleberry flavored things as in Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho, and I’m a fan. Why don’t they sell huckleberries other places? Along the river here, there were many houses on the far bank with gondolas on wires suspended across the river as their only access, something we’d never seen before for access to a private house. We pushed through the final 23 miles to the town of Kooskia, where we camped under the picnic pavilion in the city park along the river. Both very tired, and with Robert still not feeling great, our dinner grocery outing ended up with us getting to the register and realizing we’d grabbed juice, chocolate milk, kefir, and electrolyte drinks and no solid food! The kiddie fountain worked for a quick rinse and we collapsed into the tent, only to be startled into alertness around 11pm when the sprinkler system roared into activity in the grass all around us, but thankfully missing us in the pavilion.

Who needs real showers when you have splash pads?

Our refuge from the sprinklers

During our routine donut stop at the grocery store the next morning, we saw Megan, one of the leaders of the ACA group, and learned they had stayed in the last town and quickly caught up to us due to their much earlier start. We ended up riding with several of them, including meeting the executive director of Adventure Cycling, Jim Sayer. We enjoyed chatting with him about bike touring experiences and how the organization is promoting younger people getting involved. We hardly even noticed the climb up Lamb’s Grade, a switchbacking road with our steepest climb since the Appalachians! (Just kidding. I definitely noticed.) After cresting the hill, our view changed drastically as we meandered through rolling farm fields for a while, hit the town of Grangeville for lunch, and then descended a crazy highway perched on the side of the hill, with a 7% downhill grade and a strong crosswind, into the Salmon River valley. Partway down Robert’s chain also came off, necessitating a stop on the shoulder to get it back in place. We’d opted for the more direct new highway 95 rather than the switchbacking older 95 that the route advised, and after that white-knuckle descent could see why the other road may have been a better choice! We started seeing blackberries and crab apples along the road, and also encountered a few snakes. The rest of the day followed the river as the canyon grew narrower and narrower. We’d been ambitious with our mileage, aiming for the town of Riggins, and due to forgetting about the time change back to mountain time we got there not long before dark. It took some searching and phone calls to track down the RV park owner to figure out where we could set up a tent, but she finally showed up. Her husband asked about our trip and kept telling us “that’s so badass, you guys are badass!” Our campsite at the RV park sat on the bluff looking right down at the roaring Salmon River, so we did some exploring before walking into town for dinner at a local brewpub, one of the only places still open, where we chatted with the friendly bartender and tried to figure out the next day’s ride.

Up Lamb’s Grade chatting with Jim Sayer from Adventure Cycling

Did we go back to Kansas?

Giant downhill near White Bird

Starting to see blackberries!

Giant cherries? Small plums? We’re not sure

Salmon River Valley

Campsite view in Riggins was pretty perfect

It was another 80 mile day to our Warmshower host’s home for our final night in Idaho, so we tried to start early. After so many hot days, the shady canyon was surprisingly cool for the first few hours! The variety of terrain we passed through in one day again surprised me – the narrow canyon, a stretch of gorgeous mountain meadows surrounded by national forest, then finally open high desert with rolling hills for the last 20 miles. We met another eastbound cyclist, neither of us can remember his name but we definitely remember him, as he was riding in only a speedo bathing suit and unbuttoned dress shirt – not the typical bike tourist attire! Our hosts that night, Bob and Leslie, lived outside the tiny town of Cambridge. A high school teacher and retired professional cyclist, they welcomed us to their pleasant home and offered us some of Bob’s home-brewed beer, and we spent a delightful evening chatting with them about travel, politics, and life in Idaho. I feel so fortunate to have had so many encounters on this trip with such interesting people in random places who we otherwise never would have run into – this is definitely one of my favorite parts of traveling this way.

Typical breakfast

Gotta stop to admire the geological features

45th parallel – we’re even with Minneapolis now!

In ranching country now

Bob and Leslie

We also had an impromptu photo shoot with their friendly dogs

Leslie made us eggs, bacon, toast and coffee in the morning before we headed out. We stocked up on Gatorade at the gas station in town (and were chased by the first dog since Kentucky) before beginning a very slow slog up the winding road towards Hell’s Canyon against a strong headwind. The hills there were so brown, all brown grass and scrub grass, and for a while the road was covered with giant black crickets, many dead and others that would frantically scatter with inefficient hops as we passed, often running into our bikes or our shins. We met an eastbound cyclist named Bob from Alabama – our encounters are more rare now as the summer progresses and the majority of eastbounders would have already crossed our path at this point. The road in Hell’s Canyon winds up and over a ridge and down into the canyon along the reservoir, and the dusty hills rising steeply from the reservoir, crisscrossed with dirk trails, were stark and desolate, but beautiful in a way, with the contrast against the vivid blue sky. It was very hot. We stopped for shakes and an extended rest in the AC at the lone cafe at the bottom of the initial descent into the canyon, then meandered along the reservoir, taking frequent picture stops to record the unique landscape. To our surprise, we found plentiful cherries and blackberries growing along the road. At the end of the reservoir we crossed the state line into Oregon – the last state between us and the coast! The last 15 miles was a long, hot climb out of the canyon, with a stop at the one other store along the way where the friendly cashier filled our water bottles. We ended the day in Halfway, OR, where we camped at the RV park, thankful for showers and food. On to the second-to-last state!

WiFi in the wilderness, thanks to Idaho Power

Entering Hell’s Canyon

So many beautiful stretches of road in this part of the country

Another gourmet campground dinner where we bought way too much food

Western Wyoming!

Leaving Jeffrey City, we stopped at the cafe again as we were leaving to try the fabled giant pancakes we’d read about on other cyclists’ blogs. Although the place opened at 7am, I’m not sure how it was worth it for business as we were the only ones there and had to wait for a few minutes until a man wandered out of the kitchen area to take our orders. We recognised him as one of the guys at the bar when we’d stopped in the afternoon before, and I’m pretty sure he was either hungover or still drunk! Anyway, we finally received our not-quite-as-epic-as-hoped-for pancakes and headed on our way.

Apparently it was a day for misadventures, because a few miles into the 59-mile stretch of empty Wyoming desert that stood between us and Lander, I suddenly heard a snap and realized that my rear shifter lever was no longer doing anything when I moved it. We stopped to investigate and found the cable had snapped. There’s not much you can do to repair that without more tools and parts than we had, so we had no choice but to push on, making do with 3 gears instead of 27! With the bike stuck in a higher gear I had to stand up to pedal up the bigger hills, which was exhausting, but in general I think it made us go faster than we otherwise would have! The terrain changed drastically as we left the high desert plateau and descended into the valley to Lander – from dry and brown to rolling foothills with bigger mountains in the distance.

Descending into Lander

Of all days to have this happen, though, the timing couldn’t have been better – we’ve had so many stretches of this trip with no bike shops for weeks, and we were headed into a town with several. In Lander we headed straight to Gannett Peak Sports, which caters specifically to TransAm cyclists with on-the-spot service, comfortable couches, WiFi, and free ice cream bars and beer on tap. Both our bikes needed new chains and cassettes (the rear gears) so we got that taken care of while we waited. While small, Lander’s Main Street has a quite an outdoorsy hipster feel, and we spent the rest of the afternoon at a coffee shop and an outdoor store until it was time to head to our Warmshowers host’s house. Our hosts in Lander were Aven and Josh, a couple about our age who moved to Lander from South Carolina so she could take a nurse practitioner job on the nearby reservation. They had just recently moved into a beautiful 100-year-old home a few blocks off Lander’s Main Street, and despite already having friends staying with them for the 4th of July (we’d just missed Lander’s big celebration), they graciously invited us to join them for dinner.

Gannett Peak Sports

Catching up on journaling in the Lander Bake Shop

I think every person we have stayed with on this trip has had a dog.

Our hosts in Lander

We left early the next day for a long trek to Dubois riding through the Wind River Reservation, home to members of the Shoshone and Arapahoe tribes, following a beautiful valley of lush ranch land and then climbing to some high plateaus. The river grew bigger and more tumbling as we followed it upstream, and closer to Dubois we entered a canyon with striking red rock cliff faces, where we saw a bighorn sheep grazing by the river.

Encountering some eastbounders on the road!

In Dubois – a small and very western-looking town full of log buildings, a giant skull framing the entrance to the laundromat, a bighorn sheep museum, and the “world’s largest jackalope” – we were welcomed by the Episcopal church, which hosts cyclists in their community room. We were joined by Miles, who we already knew, and Randy, another cyclist who was moving by bike from Denver to Bend, OR. We were able to shower at the laundromat’s coin-operated showers, which is a genius idea that I think more towns should adopt! We’d noticed posters earlier in the day advertising the Dubois Rodeo happening that night and couldn’t pass up the chance to attend a small town Wyoming rodeo, so we spent our evening at the rodeo grounds set against the canyon wall as the sun set. By the time we went to bed another 5 guys had arrived at the church, three eastbound TransAm-ers and two brothers following a different route around the US, so it was a crowded little room with everyone camped out on the floor! Thankfully there was only one snorer.

They let us secure our bikes in the old town jail – now known as the bike jail!

Entrance to the laundromat in Dubois!

The next day did not start out great. We knew we had to spend the first 30 miles climbing Togwotee Pass, the 2nd highest pass of our trip, and go through a long stretch with no services, and I awoke dreading the climb. Then we tried to pump up our tires with the pump installed in the church parking lot, which wasn’t working and ended up deflating my front tire completely and put us both in a bad mood. Some days, I feel excited about exploring the next stretch, but there are moments where I just don’t feel like gettin back on the bike and feel a strong longing to be settled again somewhere and back to normal life, and this was one of those days – I felt on the verge of tears for the first few miles. As we started up the gradually climbing road through the foothills, the sky ahead was filled with a row of foreboding dark grey storm clouds, and a few raindrops fell. We were lucky, though, that the storm was heading a different direction and we soon were back to sun and hot weather. When we reached the top of the pass, looking forward to the long descent, we were met by a strong headwind that slowed us down so much that we had to pedal hard even going downhill – one more frustration on a difficult day. As we came around a curve, though, all of a sudden we could see the jagged peaks of the Tetons come into sight across the valley, giving us extra motivation for the last windy miles across the valley to Grand Teton National Park.

Storm clouds before Togwotee Pass

Finally over the pass!

We planned to camp at Jenny Lake, and were a little worried when signs at the park entrance said all the campgrounds were full. The benefit of traveling by bike though – when we arrived, we found the hiker-biker campsites nearly empty, tucked back in the woods close to the lake! Jenny Lake was beyond beautiful – set right up against the face of giant mountains, surrounded by pine trees and meadows full of wildflowers. As we were setting up our tent I heard a rustling in the trees about 100 feet away, and a black bear came walking down a log and ambled away. We were reluctant to leave the next morning, and took a long walk on the trail along the lake to take about a million more pictures of the mountains in the morning light. This place definitely made our list of spots to come back and explore in the future.

The next day’s biking, after a late start due to a flat tire, was entirely in national parks – from Grand Teton NP, then entering Yellowstone in the afternoon. Yellowstone is notorious among cycle tourists for its crowded, narrow roads with no shoulder, filled with distracted RV-driving tourists, so we were a little apprehensive. Thankfully, though, we entered in the afternoon on a Sunday, so most of the traffic was headed the other direction out of the park. Once again we found easy hiker-biker camping at Grant Village, one of the main park centers. This is definitely the way to see crowded national parks without having to make a reservation a year out!

We tried to get an early start the next day to beat some of the traffic, following the road from Grant Village to Madison, making stops at sights along the way and crossing the continental divide for the 7th and 8th times of the trip! We dutifully made a stop at Old Faithful, where we watched the eruption from the lodge balcony while eating a disappointingly small overpriced lunch. We went to the visitor center store in search of more food and were totally overwhelmed by the crowds and the prices, which felt a bit like Disneyland, but ended up sharing a quart of ice cream which was the best deal in the place! For the rest of the day we stopped at the multiple geysers and hot springs located along the route, happily zipping in and out of the parking lots on our bikes bypassing the cars waiting in line for parking – we kept seeing the same people over and over again so I think we were progressing just as fast as the cars! This was my first time in Yellowstone and the uniqueness of the geologic features of the park was pretty incredible.

Old Faithful

Steaming hot springs water flowing into the Firehole River

Best parking spot in the place!

We ended in West Yellowstone, the town just outside the west entrance of the park, where we met longtime local residents Carol and Drew – Carol is the sister of one of Robert’s former coworkers, and they were amazing hosts, welcoming us with food and beer and a comfortable bed. Carol was going to take us hiking the next day in the park, but unfortunately they both were not feeling well the next morning but she insisted we take her car to go explore on our own! It was amazing how fast we could retrace what we’d biked the day before, and driving allowed us to see much more of the park than we could have otherwise. We stopped at more geysers and hot springs, saw some bison, and took a hike along the south rim of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone (realizing how tired we were when our 2 mile hike completely wore us out!). We finished out the afternoon with trips to the bike shop, the grocery store, and a coffee shop, having made the most of our day off the bikes before setting off the next day into Montana.

Carol and Drew

Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone

We saw a bison! Thankfully from the car, not on bikes.

Steamboat Geyser, the largest in the world when it goes off (which has been happening more recently)

Carol and Drew’s friendly lab Dillon, who was reluctant to give up his bed for us!

New Time Zone, New Terrain

Eastern Colorado initially pretty much looks just like Kansas, but with the growing sense of anticipation that the mountains are coming soon. The first day we passed through tiny dusty towns one after another, fields sometimes with cattle but often just dirt. I read in another blog that many of these communities have sold off water rights to the larger cities, so without the ability to irrigate the towns are dying and everyone moving away.

Towards the end of our second day in Colorado, after staying in the church in Sheridan Lake, we noticed a change in the feel of the landscape, now scrub brush plains dotted with cactus and sage, distinctively western feeling. And finally we got a glimpse of the mountains in the distance! That day we’d planned to go 88 miles to the town of Ordway, where we could camp in yet another city park. We’d left early and made good time, and although we were really hot when we rolled into Ordway, but after lots of ice water, burgers and shakes at a diner (and sitting in the A/C for over an hour), we looked at each other and thought “It’s 5pm, we have a tailwind, and the next town’s only 18 miles away!” and rode on to Fowler. This was a record distance for both of us at 106 miles – it’s crazy how much difference flat terrain and a helpful wind can make! We camped in the playground of an RV park once again surrounded by playing children, as well as a few friendly dogs who came over to check us out.

Friday’s ride into Pueblo was an easy ride along a highway with a wide shoulder. After 11 days of biking without taking a rest day, we were ready to take a break, and instead of staying in Pueblo, decided to go up to Colorado Springs for a day to stay with a family friend who’d offered to host us. This proved to be a more complicated plan than we had thought, as our initial idea of getting a rental car was thwarted by the fact that we’d unwittingly arrived in Pueblo on the same day as a classic car convention, and there was not a single rental car to be found! We found a host on in downtown Pueblo willing to store our bikes for the weekend – one problem solved – and went with the backup plan of getting tickets for the Greyhound bus for the hour ride up to COS. With some time to kill before our bus, we meandered around Pueblo’s pleasant old town and river walk, stopping for giant fresh sandwiches and some local beer. The Greyhound station lived up to the stereotypical reputation for sketchy characters hanging around, and we were dismayed when no bus showed up, and looking online learned that our bus was delayed over an hour. However, when I contacted Pat, our friend in Colorado Springs, to let him know of the delay, he generously told us he’d just come pick us up – an hour drive we’d been trying to avoid him having to make! We were very thankful, though, and once again blown away by the generosity of friends along the way on this trip.

Pueblo’s downtown riverwalk

Mural in Pueblo

Yay for healthy food!

We spent two nights in their comfortable townhome, catching up (I hadn’t seen this family for 10+ years!) and enjoying the air conditioning and comfortable couches. A college friend of Robert’s came down from Denver to meet us for brunch on Saturday and we borrowed the car to run some needed errands while in a town with Target and REI, but our energy level was pretty low and we did a whole lot of sitting! Sunday morning Pat drove us back down to Pueblo and we started off again, refreshed and very ready to finally get to those mountains looming in the distance.

Pat Braker, an old family friend from years ago and our host in Colorado Springs!

First time driving a car in 6 weeks…

After Pueblo the terrain drastically changed, with plateaus and ravines and the beginnings of foothills leading to larger peaks, although our route stayed on the flat plain. The views of storm clouds moving across the valleys and gathering over the peaks were beautiful. That day we made it to Royal Gorge, an impressive natural canyon formed by the Arkansas River, but the suspension bridge, gondola, zip line, and myriad other attractions have turned it into a slightly disappointing tourist trap. We were shocked at the campground prices – one place quoted us $49 for a tent site – and settled for the $30 KOA, where we found our Dutch friends Hans and Eefke at the site next door, as well as Uwe, a German Lutheran pastor biking the TransAm as his sabbatical. We took advantage of the free mini-golf, where I think we were the only players over 12, and sat and talked with Uwe for a while about our countries’ respective politics and issues. It was clear we weren’t in the plains anymore when the temperature dropped to the 50s when it got dark, and we climbed shivering into our sleeping bags!

Heading towards the mountains!

Climbing to Royal Gorge from Canon City

Our campsite at the Royal Gorge KOA

Evening activities

In the morning we biked the 4 (mostly uphill) miles to the gorge visitor center itself, hoping for a decent view without paying to walk across the suspension bridge but couldn’t see much and were pretty disgusted by the pushy up-selling of overpriced tours and souvenirs in the visitor center. The climbing started soon after getting back on route, a steady grade through incredibly gorgeous valleys, ranches of green pastures and streams and bigger and bigger peaks coming in to view.

The one overlook without having to pay!

So. Many. Pretty. Views.

Climbing towards Guffey

It was hot and slow progress, though, and we were very ready for a rest when we reached the tiny town of Guffey, a mile off route and uphill but the only town for 20 miles in either direction so a necessary water refill spot. Several people had told us to be sure and stop here to see this quirky little town. We first got lunch in the cafe, where we were the only customers and it felt more like we were just guests in the home of the couple who owned it! They told us about all the other cyclists who’d stopped there recently. The town is only a couple of blocks long, and somehow they’ve made it so all the buildings are log cabin style, old or new, and it feels like stepping back in time to the old west. We’d been told to make sure to go to the Guffey Garage, a former mechanic’s shop where Bill, the proprietor, runs a collection of guest cabins, a bunkhouse, and a town museum, and has been welcoming cyclists since the 1976 inauguration of the TransAm route. It’s hard to describe the random collection of memorabilia, old cars, signs, and randomness filling the building and yard – a few pictures will have to suffice! Bill welcomed us by offering us cold water or a Bud Light in a koozie made of an old green bean can, and told stories of the town (where the mayor is a cat named Monster), how he got started hosting cyclists, and how there’s too many tourists now that they got “discovered”! He gave us the key to the museum/dance hall, where we explored the memorabilia of the town’s unique personality, including their Flying Chicken Contest every 4th of July. It was a surreal, incredibly fun little stop in the middle of our day, but we dragged ourselves away to push on to Hartsel, the next town, also maybe 3 blocks long. The wind really picked up for the last section, and altogether between the elevation gain and the wind it was a hard day. We camped behind the cafe/saloon in Hartsel and ate buffalo burgers in the bar, as locals sat around chatting and old-fashioned cowboy country music blared.

The Guffey Garage

Bill and friend

Guffey museum/dance hall

We were told these were real horses that a local rancher had to put down!

The next day, I started out with some trepidation, knowing we’d be tackling our first big pass, over 11,000 feet – after how slow I was the day before I was a bit worried! The climb to Hoosier Pass was actually a much more manageable grade than the earlier climbs, and after passing through Alma, the highest incorporated town in the United States, we chugged up 4 miles of steady climbing, the views becoming more and more stunning as we gained elevation. This week, as we entered the mountains, I’ve found my enthusiasm for this trip returning – there were times in the last few weeks, when the distances seemed unending and I didn’t particularly like the areas we were traveling through, where I’ve wondered if this trip was worth it. But pedaling up that pass, realizing that we got all the way up there from sea level under our own power, was pretty incredible.

Camping behind the store in Hartsel

Approaching Hoosier Pass

One of our frequent picture breaks!

11,539 feet, we made it to the continental divide!

Views from Hoosier Pass

At the top we met several other bike tourists who gradually arrived, as we one after another took pictures with the Continental Divide sign. The descent down to Breckinridge was some of the most fun riding I’ve ever done – coasting down winding curves, the green valley lined by towering rocky peaks stretching ahead of us. We coasted through the town of Breckinridge with every possible type of touristy and outdoor store on its manicured Main Street, and then got to ride 10 miles of beautiful paved bike paths winding their way to Frisco, our destination further down the valley on the edge of the Dillon Reservoir. There were SO MANY PEOPLE on bikes, running, walking, bike paths leading all over and between the towns, all in a valley that looks like paradise. We checked in to our hotel and then explored Main Street, continuing to marvel at the views of the cliff faces towering above the town. Much of this valley reminded us of parts of the Swiss Alps that we explored last September.

Breckenridge bike path

After Frisco, our ride was mostly downhill, with new views around each curve continually providing new things to look at as we passed through a national recreation area. We are stopping much more to take pictures now! We passed through several small towns as the landscape got hotter and drier, including one where the supposed convenience store marked on our map turned out to only be a liquor store where the owner refused to let cyclists fill water bottles from the tap. A couple in an SUV who happened to also be stopped there overheard this, however, and graciously offered us the water in their Nalgene bottles to refill our own. Kind gestures like this truly do overshadow the rare unpleasant interactions we have with people! The temperatures got up to the high 90s by mid-afternoon, and we almost stopped our day in the town of Kremmling, where an overpriced RV park let cyclists tent camp on their lawn. After downing a half gallon of orange juice and a pint of ice cream outside the Family Dollar, though, with the sun becoming less intense, we continued to Hot Sulphur Springs, getting to ride through a beautiful but slightly nerve-wracking canyon due to the sun setting and the road not having a shoulder. Cars in Colorado have still been decently considerate, but definitely don’t give us as much space as in other states – too many tourists distracted by the views! We camped by the river in the city park, in the company of five million mosquitos which drove us into our tent early.

Bike path along the Dillon Reservoir out of Frisco

More bike paths in Silverthorne!

New panoramas around every corner

Green Mountain Reservoir Dam

Canyon before Hot Sulphur Springs

Mosquito-filled yet picturesque campsite in Hot Sulphur Springs

Our plan had been to end in Granby the next day, Thursday, as Friday morning my dad was going to drive over from Estes Park, about 2 hours away through the national park, to pick us up so we could spend a day off with them. This morning, though, as we procrastinated facing the mosquitos, we realized that we were only 10 miles from Granby, and would have a lot of time to kill to wait for a pickup the next morning. I texted my dad, and somehow everything fell into place – he was free to come pick us up this morning instead! So here we are at his house in Estes Park, after a beautiful drive over Trail Ridge Road through Rocky Mountain National Park. We’ll take two days off here and get dropped off back on our route on Sunday morning, ready to tackle the rest of the West!