Saturday 5 Aug:

I was overwhelmed. How does one plan for temperatures around one hundred degrees, and temperatures in the forties? How much food should be brought and how much will be bought enroute? What would be done in spare time? Would any bike failures be consistent with past experience, or would I want additional tools along "just in case?"

Stuff was strewn all over the living room and dining room in Carpio. Peter was methodical and precise in deciding what was necessary and what was not, having been through one CANDISC and several backpacking expeditions. I let him make the food decisions, but I did try to piece together a wardrobe based on my year round commuting experiences. Dad stayed out of our way, except to push some metric wrenches on me that he'd found useful. I added them to my base commuting tool set, along with a chain tool.

Okay, backing up a bit. CANDISC, Cycling Around North Dakota in Sakakawea Country, is an annual bike ride over seven days totalling in the range of about 420 miles, give or take a few depending on the route. It starts and ends at Ft. Stevenson State Park on Lake Sakakawea, near Garrison, ND. This was the third year of the ride and about 200-250 cyclists participated, up from about 100 the first year in '93.

Peter's my brother and at the time lived in Seattle. Our folks lived in Carpio, ND, northwest of Minot twenty-five miles. Peter and Dad had biked on CANDISC in '94; I'd had to back out because of knee problems. This year our brother-in-law Todd was joining the three of us. But, Dad had to pull out a week or two earlier because of some (undiagnosed) atrial fibrillation problems.

Peter's backpack was heavy. My bags were heavy. I was glad this was a supported tour, else I would have to pare down the load; I couldn't fit it all on my bike.

We cruised into Minot later in the afternoon to pick up Todd, stopping at the mall to pick up some straps for my bags and tape for an ankle that had been bothering me for a week. Todd and his equipment weren't ready. We helped attach Dad's rack to Todd's bike, using some screws pilfered from Janet's (our sister--married to Todd) bike for the lower mount points, and baling wire for the top mount points. It seemed an appropriate method for a farmer's bike. I was itching to get some duct tape in there somewhere, but it wasn't needed for this trip.

We got to Ft. Stevenson State Park just as the evening orientation was winding down. Our names were on the list, along with Dad's. We had them cross his off. Peter gave Todd and me our orientation while we set up the tent. I think he summarized it in a couple of sentences, one of which was "the route markings are painted on the road." That was good enough for us; we figured we'd just rely on his vast CANDISC experience to get through the logistics. It paid off right from the start.

Last year Peter and Dad camped under a light pole, I think in order to have something to chain the bikes to. They found that it was like trying to sleep in the middle of the day. This year the tent went between lights as evenly as possible.

Dragon flies were out in full force, keeping the skeeters at bay. I hadn't seen so many in action before. And with the setting of the sun, they were gone. The mosquitoes regrouped and attacked. We crawled in the tent and called it a day.

Sunday 6 Aug:

It wasn't a restful night, with the mosquitoes whining in the tent, the anticipation of what lay ahead, the lights of the campground burning brightly, and little padding underneath our sleeping bags. Most of the camp had packed up quietly before we got moving. But we had all day to get to Hazen, and weren't prepared to do any racing. (We must have been extremely sound sleepers, or everyone was a little more relaxed back then. These days the commotion and zippers and plastic bags and sometimes talking start pretty early and the noise is hard to ignore.)

A last minute errand before taking off was for me to take our three registration packets and CANDISC T-shirts back to the car a half mile away. I grabbed the three plastic sacks and took off on my bike. Somewhere along the way one of the packets slipped out of my hand and into the spokes of the front wheel. It locked up, flipping me over the handlebars. Fortunately I hit the ground first and my bike landed on top of me; it was all right. I had some scrapes and sore joints, but nothing was broken. In the past five years I've ridden several thousand miles fighting traffic and weather, having close calls due to each, but it was out in the middle of nowhere with (fortunately!) no one else around that this happened.

I had to spend a few minutes at the car to regroup. I noticed a brake lever took a hit and needed adjusting, and the computer face actually got scraped before the bike settled down. Peter and Todd were confused and I guess a little angry when they finally saw me coming, only to detour toward the restroom. I figured I should mop up the blood running down my arm so as to minimize what my biking glove would soak up. They weren't impressed with the delay, until I finally joined them and simply held out an elbow toward them.

We left the park around 8. Three miles down the road I thought the week was over for me. Peter had to stop to make some saddle adjustments, and he told me to take some ibuprofen. I didn't refuse, which was a smart move. My body eventually limbered up to the point where my knee and hip weren't complaining with every pedal stroke.

We bucked a hot wind for most of the day. We got a late start and were in the last 25%. That meant that the sag wagon was circling overhead (er...ahead to check on cyclists and back to check on cyclists) like a vulture, which was a little unnerving. We kept giving it the (bloody) thumbs up, meaning we were still joyfully plugging away. The best rest stop of the day was a tent set out in a field about halfway, right where we turned east for a few miles, catching a slight break from the relentless wind. Peter, being used to Seattle's weather, was wilting a bit in the heat. We sat on the haybales in the shade for a while. It was pleasant. Lunch was in Stanton, and Hazen was another hour or so down the road. Being at the tail end of the riders in Stanton meant no waiting for food, but the selection had been reduced a bit. The rest stop was in the community center, in the shade, and again was much appreciated. The ride to Hazen was mostly west, so once again we had some respite from a straight headwind.

All the good shade trees had been taken so we pitched our tent in the sun and relaxed the rest of the day. An excellent spaghetti feed was served for supper.

Monday 7 Aug:

Again, a hot head wind, and some pretty good hills today. The best I can remember were heading south out of Beulah. Some bonus scenery was some old mining equipment placed along the highway. We stopped and admired the dragline buckets sitting there. I'm not sure how many cyclists the largest one could hold. As we did some more climbing, our little peloton of three was shot by a TV crew from some local station. They didn't wrap up filming when we passed, so we figured we weren't the material they were looking for. We turned with the wind about fifteen miles from Hebron, had lunch three miles later in Glen Ullin, and hi-tailed it into Hebron from there, averaging an easy 20mph. Signs had been set up along the way mimicking Burma Shave ads. We were clipping along fast enough that we each had to read a line and then combine them after we were past.

Again, no shade for the tent in the city park. I came back from the shower to find one of my tires had blown. I'd heard rumor that that could happen in the heat because of the increase in air pressure, but had written it off as a myth. Welllll.... It was the same tire that had gone flat the week before, and I tried a new-fangled patch on it: glueless. Guess what gave way in the heat? And there was enough gunk from the patch on the tube that it was ruined; I wasn't able to patch it with a "real" patch. On with the spare...

We took a walk down main street to see what there was to see. I was also interested in finding a local, as Alida, a good friend from grad school at NDSU, had grown up in Hebron. I did find someone who knew her on my first try. I wasn't surprised. I got a little update and found out that she was living in Dickinson. Somewhere along the line, or maybe back at the park, we got souvenir mini bricks, as Hebron is known as the Brick City for its brick industry. We wondered how many pounds of bricks the baggage truck hauled around the rest of the week.

The supper was picnic fare with sandwiches, beans, salads, etc. The whole wheat buns disappeared before the white buns were even touched. Some educating could be done about our tastes!

Hebron is on one of Burlington Northern's mainlines, and the city park is practically on the mainline. Trains didn't run during the day because of the heat affecting the rails, and they made up for it at night.

Tuesday 8 Aug:

The forecast we received the day before wasn't good, so we got up around 5:30, if I remember correctly. That was very early for us, but has since become the norm for arising on other CANDISCs. We weren't the first ones up. Lots of riders were going to try to beat the wind. It was our first experience breaking camp in the dark. We somehow managed to lose a tent stake and we knew it was missing, but from what I recall, we never found it. Later in the week we did find another, so the net result was no loss. We had somewhat of a tail wind the first few miles, but the road surface had been ground off and a new layer of asphalt had yet to be applied, so we couldn't take advantage of the wind. For whatever reason, they hadn't ground off the center of the road, a strip not much wider than the center line. As the road parallels I94, traffic was light and we and everyone else rode down the center as much as possible.

By Dickinson, forty miles into the trip and 8:30 Mountain Time, we decided to take a break at the Donut Hole, a little bakery Peter and I have frequented before. It was right on the route so we watched the bicyclists ride through town as we gorged ourselves.

The wind was from the west when we got going, and picking up speed. We went at our own individual pace from there. We briefly regrouped at the rest stop about fourteen miles away from Belfield. I figured the wind was manageable, but the sky sure looked like it was threatening to rain, and wind-driven rain in our faces was sounding miserable. We took off, again splitting up. Two miles down the road the wind picked up to its full intensity. I looked down at my computer and almost panicked when I saw "6 mph" on the flat. I was pushing hard in my low gear, and having problems with the gusts. But then I realized that it was only 9:30, and there was a lot of daylight left when it came down to it. It took me two hours to bike the last twelve miles, a new low for me. The winds were blowing cyclists into the oncoming lane, so those who hadn't left Dickinson were told to take the sag wagon. Several who had left Dickinson took the sag wagon, or pickup, or whatever anyone who stopped was driving. Even the natives were complaining that it was a bit breezy.

I arrived in Belfield, greeted with cheers from the few cyclists who were already there. A wind break of trees provided some shelter for our campsite, and the sun was trying to shine a bit. (The rain never materialized!) I got our bags and didn't quite know what to do next. I had no idea where Peter and Todd were, nor if they were toughing it out or catching the sag wagon. Peter showed up a bit later, and he said Todd was out there too. Peter had to walk a bit to loosen up some muscles, but otherwise fared just fine. Todd pulled in on his own after a while, and we felt like we had accomplished something.

We didn't do much that afternoon (aside from the fact that there wasn't much to do in Belfield). Peter and I spent a good portion of the afternoon reading. I was reading my first book in years and thoroughly enjoying it as there were no interruptions from little kids. Somewhere in there we did take in a meal or two at the Trapper's Kettle, and a stop at Dairy Queen. The Trapper's Kettle was a neat restaurant. I don't remember anything about the food, but the decor was westernish, with lots of cedar used throughout. The tables fascinated me as there were old small game animal traps inset along with native rocks, etc., all covered with epoxy for a smooth surface.

Wednesday 9 Aug:

More wind, but downhill into the Badlands and Medora. The only road from Belfield to Medora was I94, and yes, it is legal on most of I94 and I29 to ride a bicycle. We stopped at a scenic overlook/interpretive center. Peter was ready to go on a hike, but Todd and I weren't feeling up to it. I don't remember if he took a walk or not.

We camped a mile west of Medora. We weren't sure what to do when we got to the campground, as we'd beaten the luggage truck. It eventually showed up, being towed, as it had suffered a breakdown of some sort enroute.

We'd purchased the package deal, including tickets for supper, the Medora Musical, and a few things in town. That's where we headed after pitching the tent (and skipping showers since there was no hot water). We ate dinner at the Chuck Wagon, and headed down the street to the miniature golf course. I can't remember if Peter or Todd won, as it went down to the last hole. I choked on a hole halfway through and never caught up. There was also a one man play called "Bully" about the life of Teddy Roosevelt that we attended. And an ice cream shop called out to us as we walked by. And so did a taffy shop.

Supper was good and the musical excellent. We didn't get to bed until about 1 and were up at 5, so the night was short.

Thursday 10 Aug:

This was the big day, mileage-wise. The air was cold when we woke and we didn't have long-fingered gloves. Remind us to bring those on the next trip. Peter had an old pair of cycling shorts he alternated between hands to keep them somewhat comfortable. Before we reached Belfield, he realized he didn't have them any more. He wasn't going to turn around and search the ditch.

The day went smoothly. I had ambitions of taking the additional loop into the North Unit of TR park in order to do the optional century (100 miles) ride, so left Peter and Todd behind. I made a stop in Grassy Butte at the museum to surprise the mother of an Alexander friend of mine. I hadn't seen Dorothy in years, and with my beard, she didn't recognize me right away.

I skipped the loop and continued on into Watford to wait for the others. When they showed up, we decided to head to the farm (owned by Todd and Janet, and with his parents living there), and have the fathers come pick up our bags. The farm was east and the wind was from the NW, so we got a little assistance.

Mom, Dad, Linda, Brian, Melissa, (my family) Janet, and Krista (Janet and Todd's young daughter) came to the farm for supper, the latter two to also spend the night. It was late when we got to bed, but we could sleep in a bit because we'd already covered some mileage for the next day.

We did find out from Mom and Janet that there had been a segment about CANDISC on the Minot local news, and we were the featured film footage. Janet's comment was something like "I didn't even recognize you and Peter as you looked like well-oiled machines compared to the third cyclist! It was then I realized it was Todd, and I had to check the video tape to see if the other two were you and Peter." Thanks, Janet. It was nice that after one day we still looked better than we felt. :-)

Friday 11 Aug:

Friday turned out to be a really long day. The wind was supposed to switch to the NW or so, so we weren't in any hurry to get going the next morning. Instead, it stayed from the ESE and picked up speed. We hit the trail heading into it.

We were biking somewhat near the Missouri River, cutting across the drainage field. Hills were long and steep, and very picturesque. We stopped at the Four Bears Casino for dinner, saving the crossing of Lake Sakakawea for afterward. The bridge is roughly a mile long, and quite narrow (and replaced in '05!). To make matters worse, a Pow Wow was being held in the area so traffic was heavy for that. To make matters even worse, an RV convention was being held in Minot, so the traffic was heavy with these monstrous machines. But nerve-wracking as it was, we made it across in one piece each.

We rolled into New Town and had twenty miles left. We were tired of biking. We were tired of wind. Our butts were sore. Our legs were sore. The grease from the cafe wasn't sitting well. Again we split up, with me in the lead. We had a bunch of rollers the first nine miles, going up and down, up and down, never seeming to end. The last put us on top of a hill in which we could see where Parshall was, eleven miles away, and into the wind.

Peter caught up to me somewhere in that stretch, and with a "My butt's so da*n sore!", pushed on. I latched onto his rear wheel and we took off, passing a few other disheartened cyclists along the way.

Janet had dropped our bags off on her way back to Minot, and we found them right away. (She also dropped off some of Todd's mother's rolls at the top of a climb out in the middle of nowhere. They were greatly appreciated!) The showers were at the school, and they hadn't turned on the boiler yet for the school year. The showers were, uh, quite refreshing. Todd refused to take one, but finally broke down after supper and took the plunge.

The group picture was taken that evening, with almost everyone wearing their CANDISC t-shirts. Ours were back in the car, with one in a ripped up sack.

Late that night a thunderstorm moved in, so we got to use a tarp I'd picked up to cover the bikes. Actually, I'd gotten up in the middle of the night at Todd's farm to put the bikes in the garage out of the rain, so Peter felt obligated to get up and mess with the tarp; I let him; Todd was completely out of it.

The rain had stopped by morning.

Saturday 12 Aug:

They'd promised a tail wind, and it looked like we'd get some today. We had to fight some fierce mosquitoes while packing up, which either sped up the process or hindered it. The riding was nice for the first half, but then the wind switched, and we rode in some light rain for a few miles. The road was wet all the way to Garrison after that. We rode the last few miles again in rain. Peter and Todd stopped at the building that the bags were in, and I headed for the car. Half a mile from the car, the battery in my bike computer died. I suspected it might on the trip, but wouldn't have guessed that it'd be that close to the end.

We packed up the bikes, and headed into Garrison for the last meal--another spaghetti feed. They had a BIKES game going (BINGO), and Peter managed to win a pair of biking gloves. That was sort of ironic in that he'd left his in his car, so had taped some foam rubber to his handlebars for the week.

So, with full bellies and tired legs, we took off. We dropped Todd and his bike off in Minot, and he said the bike still sits in the same spot in which he placed it. Mom, Dad, and Linda were having lemonade and cookies on the porch in Carpio, so we joined them and filled them in on the week. Dad had lots of questions! It would have been nice if he could have answered them by coming along.

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