Our Journal:

WE MADE IT...EL FIN DEL MUNDO!!!!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 01:05:00 +0000

On, February 10, 2008, around 11:00 pm, the three members of team A2A arrived in Ushuaia, finishing their 15,120 mile journey with an amazing 137 mile day to the bottom of the world on the island of Tierra del Fuego, Patagonia, Argentina...Thank you all for helping to make the dream possible...

Riding for the New York Giants...Posted by Spoon

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 14:45:00 +0000

Hello everyone,
I hope this finds you all healthy and happy. Here`s a little story about my Super Bowl weekend.
Wow!!! What a game. A couple things made it even sweeter for me. Over the course of the playoffs we had been in more and more remote areas through Argentina, so it got harder and harder to see the games. The first one I had no chance to see. The second one we busted our asses for, but when we got to the town we wanted we could not find a TV with it on. So we we hammered all week and got into a town just before the Green Bay game and had it on in our hotel room. It was great, we had pizza and beer, the whole 9 yards. And that was a great game. So the Giants are in the Super Bowl and we had 2 weeks to get to a town big enough that might have the game. It´s not easy to find "Football Americano" down here in Patagonia, they don´t give a shit about it. So anyway, we had been killing miles at this point already, We just rode 720 miles in 6 days to see the Green Bay game. Then we looked at the map and the only town that looked good for the Super Bowl was way down the map. The boys, Jake and Duncan, are both from NY, but don´t care as much as I do about the Giants. They were a little doubtful about our goal. But I just kept saying "we got it". So we are doing pretty well, 2 days out with 215 miles left, the other guys are looking a little tired. So I told them they did not have stay with me, but they kept saying, "no, no, we´ll try". That night I stayed in a hotel and they camped out, they are saving money. I asked them to meet me early so we can get a good jump on the 215 we needed, but they were a little late. So I left them a note and left without them. That first day I had great traveling conditions. No real wind, The wind can be really bad down here. And riding by yourself is so much easier and faster. So that day I ended up with 171.74 miles, beating my old best day by 40 miles. The other guys ended up with 142, which was 10 better than the previous best. But the next day the wind picked up big time, the worst we´ve seen on this whole trip. A cross wind of 50 to 70 mph. It was crazy! But I only had 55 miles to go and I knew the road went with the wind for the last 20. So I battled through the wind and got to the point were I had the tail wind and did not pedal again all the way into Rio Gallegos, "Super Bowl town" as we called it for those 2 weeks. The tail wind was amazing. It pushed me up to 40 mph across the flats and even got me up the few small hills I had, I was passing cars in town, all without pedaling. I got into town with 4 hours to spare. But Jake and Duncan didn´t make it. They got beat down by the wind and said screw it and hid from the wind the best they could behind their bikes and trailers in a ditch, until the next morning. I found a cheap hotel and a nice cafe with a sweet big screen plasma TV. No one else was there. So I was jumping around and yelling at the TV all by myself. The girls who worked there were laughing at me. And my boys won! That made it all well worth it. Now we just have 5 days left to Ushuaia to win our own Super Bowl.
I´ll be home around the 15th of Feb. I hope to see everyone sometime soon after that. Montgomery (my home town) is putting on it`s 35th annual People´s Prom (big dance party) sat. May 31st. This year it looks like Jake´s (my teammate) family's band (The Christine Spero Group) will be playing. I would love for all of you to attend and meet the A2A team. We may even do a slide show the night before.
Keep in touch.

Ride on,
Spoon

WHAT I MISS MOST...POSTED BY DUNCAN

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 14:07:00 +0000

I have been away from Tahoe for almost eight months now and this is what I miss. I miss the Tahoe snow. The deep snow. The Sierra cement that sticks hard to the steeps. Avalanche Control mornings at Alpine Meadows. Driving to the mountain when its still dark out, only to deal with a shit ton of snow. Those are good times. The California Sun...Not the Patagonia Wind. Chicken wings. Jamie style, hot, with blue cheese and a pile of paper towels to wipe my grill. Lots of beers at the Chamois in the late afternoon. Saki too, and Bridgetender burgers with waffle fries. American style. I miss epic single track. Missing Link and Dirty, Dirty Harry. I miss mornings that start out at the Dam Cafe. The smell of bacon and breakfast burritos. I miss Dexter(don´t run away again). Sierra Nevada brews. All of the crazy odd jobs we take, trying to stay afloat in Tahoe. Skiing and swimming in the lake in the same damn day. I don´t miss the CHP. Emerald Bay and Donner Lake are missed too. The TRT and PCT. 7-11 snack stops like every single day. Rubicon Deli sammys, and Front Street Pizza all the time. I miss floatin the Truckee slammin buds in the sun. Full moon mtn bike rides or tours on snow. I miss the friends that push it all seasons and get me fired up to charge. I miss Stanford Rock kicking my ass into shape year after year. And I know I´ll miss this adventure and these places and these times because they´ll never happen again. Ever. So, I´ll ride hard and when its time to chill, I´ll make sure that I do that right too. And, of course, I miss Lua and ride for her every day. See you all soon. I hope it keeps snowing on you all. Duncan

A clarification for all the readers of this blog

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 19:47:00 +0000

For anyone who may have been confused by the journal entries in this blog over the last several months, here is a clarification...Sam Skrocke, one of the four original team members, separated from the team in Guatemala in late September 2007, continuing on solo to pursue the goal of Ushuaia, Argentina. Sam recently finished the journey. The other three team members---Jake Spero, Duncan Sisson, and John Witherspoon---are currently in northern Patagonia, Argentina, working their way south to Tierra del Fuego, where they hope to finish by February 12, at their eight month mark. We apologize for any confusion and hope you all have enjoyed the stories from us all. Thank you...Biking for a Better World and the A2A team.

Fin Del Mundo!

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Sat, 12 Jan 2008 18:42:00 +0000

January 11th was a very difficult day it was very hard to stay on my bike. I kept stopping, most of the time to take pictures but also to just sit down on the side of the road. I had less than thirty more miles to Ushuaia, the place I have been working so hard to find. Only now I didn't want to go there anymore. I thought about turning around but I didn't know where I would go. I wasn't ready to be finished. I had to talk myself through the motions of standing up walking to my bike and picking it up off the ground. While throwing a leg over the frame I would tell myself that I will do this because I have been cursed with the will to do so. Three more hours would pass by while my moods and the anfractuous path I was on would sweep upward into the clouds only to plummet back down again. Then there is was, just a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean but I instantly knew that my road was about to end. I am still trying to disentangle the thoughts going through my mind right now while I revel in the shadow cast by the enormity of the task I have just completed. Above all I am very happy to be here and not to have to ride my bike tomorrow. I will have some time to mule it over while I take a week off before a bus will transport me north to Mendoza. Once there I will immediately start getting my paper work and permits taken care of before piecing together the logistics for my upcoming climb. I hope to be climbing by the 21st. and be back in home by the 2nd. of Feb. The journey is not over yet but completing such a giant portion has given me reason to reflect and think about all the people that have supported me in my endeavor. I want to thank you all again for your help and for your thoughts. Sam-
The good, the bad, and the insane
The best:
Contry: Columbia, The food was great. The people were friendly respectful and had pride in their contry. The roads were fun and chalanging. The mountains were huge and the landscape gorgous. The citys were clean and historic and a blast. It's true eveyone rides a bike in Columbia

Region: The Yukon, it was some big country, wild and untouched. The lakes and rivers were beautiful. The people were interesting and say things like "givin yer!"

City: Iquique, You have to see it to truely understand its beauty, absolutly amazing setting for a city. I was blown away.

Town: Bariloche, Nestled in the Andes it overlooks the Largo Nahuel Huampi and is a hub for travelers from all over the world.

Village: San Ignasia a true oasis in the center of the Baja Peninsula

Establishment: The Breakfast Club in Whitehorse, Canada.

Campsite: Swinging from a hammock three feet away from a 400ft. cliff with the waves of the Pacific ocean crashing below, El Salvador.

Month: June, finally getting started, the Dalton Hyw. and Alaska, The learning period.

Week: Oct. 3 thru Oct. 9, Five contries in seven days was absoulutly unreal.

Day: 8.10.07, The City Ride, Riding into San Francisco with the crew from Tahoe.

Night: Watching the rain and lightning storm in Playa Azul.

Part of my Day: The first 60 miles.

Moment: crashing into Jake on the Elliot Hwy, after celebrating completing the Dalton

Dinner: Moose and Carabou ribs at George Myers home in Fairbanks, Alaska.

Lunch: The meal prepared by Evelyn in Pangor, It just dosen't get any better, Really!

Breakfast: Matt's parents house in Lofal, Washington. Eat Fish, Wear Grundens!!

The Worst:
Contry: Peru, I'm convinced that evey one in the desert is grumpy. Everyone tries to take advantage of the tourist, it smells and the drivers were the worst.

Region: Can't think of one, any one of the regions in peru but the were all the same.

City: Retalhuleu, Guatemala, Oscar, the manager of the hotel would insist that he escorted us outside of the hotel. There were armed guards at the entryways of the resturants and you had to buy supplies through locked caged doors.

Town: Can't think of one.

Village: Nadame, Nicuragua, Nothing was really bad about this place it was just tough to see the poverty.

Establishment: Can't think of one.

Campsite: Some sand dunes I picked out north of Lima, I slept right on the top of one and woke up crippled from the uneven ground I had chosen.

Month: Nov. 14th. thru Dec. 14th, The endless desert, with its relentless winds and heat.

Week: 8.29.07 thru 9.04.07, Being sick in the desert with the heat and the agruments.

Day: 9.27.07. The day the team broke up, and the dream died.

Night: Can't think of one.

Part of my day: Doing dishes.

Moment: When I realized that I had left my bank card in the ATM machine a few days earlier.

Most generous host: George Myers, hands down, without a dout he is the man.

Most memorible expireance: Lying on the bow of the Roxy under a full moon, stairing up at the sails glowing in the moonlight as the waves rocked the mast back an forth across the stary sky while sailing to Columbia.

Most insane day: riding over the Astral pass in winds that would knock me over or worse blow me clear across the rode into the shoulder on the other side. This would happen without any notice and I can only thank my guardian angels that I never got hit by a car.

Favorite meal: Ceviche

Most interesting meal: Gunnie pig

Most memorible person: Joseph Willits, the only man that can stop a speeding Sammy.

Most insane Person: The guy whos name was stolen by the U.S. goverment so I don't know it either. He wrote the song "hound dog" for Elvis Presly when he was six years old along with a whole lot more impressive feats.

Favorite people I rode with: Jenavi and Joanna, you two will make a great couple.

Favorite people ever: Mom, Dad, thanks for the love. Mike Tebbutt, thanks for helping me through the hard times, Paula Fernholtz, thanks for the support. Lindsay Simon, my number one fan. George and Sharkra Myers, thanks for the help. Tim, thanks for keeping us on the grid. Jill Sherman, thanks for the inspiration. Pete Woodring thanks for the backing. Paul and Carmen Day, thanks for the basecamp. Alastair Dick, thanks for being strong. Mellisa Kruger, thanks for keeping me conected. Russ Roper, thanks for helping us out of a jam. Rough start kennels, thanks for the adjustment. Kieth Larsen, thanks for the lift. The Breakfast Club, thanks for the memories. To the guy who hooked it up in Haines Jct, thank you. George and George, thanks for the laughs. Kim and the girls in Jade City, thanks for the warmth. Mamma Z and the Dease lake girls thanks for celebrating our independance day even though you are Canadian. Trevor, thanks for the condo in Whistler. Jim, thanks for the trailers. Thanks to all the city riders, Rachael, Chris, Tim, Pete, and the others I can't remember. Jamie thanks for the organization. Ryan Salm thanks for the exposure, Dillie thanks for the wisedom, Chris thanks for the motavation, Joseph thanks for making life a little more tolorable, Pete thanks for the San Fran tour. Joe thanks for the San Diego tour. Shannon thanks for the surfboards, Troy thanks for the running around. Ruben thanks for the belay. The Willits family thanks for the day. Captain Ulf and Christina, thanks for the voyage. Coco and the boys at the firehouse, thanks for the safe place. Mike Tyson, thanks for the beers. Ivan, thanks for the sweetness, Beatlegues and the gang in Pisco thanks for the lesson, Marrion, thanks for the kindness, Roberto, thanks for spending the time, Evelyn, thanks for everything. Ohmarr, thanks for the perch. Trey and the Tucan, thanks for being the light in the darkness. Maria, Rose and Dianna, thanks for the shelter. Thank you to everyone who opened threir homes to me. Talkeetna Air, Thanks for the discount. Forty Below, thanks for the warm feet. Cliff bar, thanks for the fuel. Smith optics, thanks for the shades.

Lovin' the border

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 16:58:00 +0000

Soaking up the green foothills of the Eastern Andes

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 16:53:00 +0000

A la frontera de Argentina!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 16:49:00 +0000

Jake beginning descent to Tupiza, Bolivia

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 16:45:00 +0000

Lunch under a tree

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 16:41:00 +0000

Flash-flood surprise!

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 16:36:00 +0000

A high-altitude desert landscape in Central Bolivia (4,500 meters)

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 16:33:00 +0000

Duncan celebrating life!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 16:29:00 +0000

Bolivia at last

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 15:57:00 +0000

To the border...Posted by Jake...1.7.08

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 00:52:00 +0000

Heavy black clouds fill the evening sky to the south. They stand in contrast to the pale, sloping, open land all around us. The impending storm is the last thing we need as we try to finish our day. Every few minutes I see huge bolts of lightning striking down to the desert. I listen for thunder to see how far away it might be. I can even make out the lines of raindrops falling from the clouds in some spots. The wind is blowing into our faces lightly, telling us about what lies ahead. Different types of cacti pop out all over, silhouettes in the distance. Some, closer to the road, show off beautiful red and white flowers blooming off their tops. Doesn't look like land that sees much rain. I catch myself scanning it all for too long, then hitting a rock too hard or ending up on the wrong part of the road. A dustcloud in the distance tells me there is a vehicle coming soon. It is quiet and lonely on this road in southern Bolivia. I have time to think about everything.

The storm is right in our path as we slowly creep closer, stirring up dust under our wheels. For over an hour I watch the dark mass float across the sky. The dirt road stretches on and on, and with each big sweeping turn I try to figure out how long it will be until we are under the storm. I picture us scrambling to set up tents, already wet, dreading a night of sitting in them waiting out the storm, thinking of Argentina and the border we can't seem to find.

The road is so slow I can't believe it. My hands and back are sore from the washboard. All day long we are searching for a good line in the road, moving from one side to the other, trying to avoid the sharkfins of rock and the bone-rattling bumps. We have been going gradually uphill all day, but I have no idea what elevation we are at anymore---somewhere between 3500 and 4000 meters. The map tells us Tupiza is just under 3000 meters. It's our last town before the border. I know that somewhere there will be a descent. Maybe its just around the lonely, rocky, barren peak in front of us. Maybe not. We don't have elevation graphs now like we did through much of the Andes. But I know there's still at least 30 kilometers to the town, and we're running out of daylight quick. Tupiza is our destination for the day, around 100 kilometers from the little town of Cotagaita where we had woken up to a new year.

But earlier when we stopped for lunch around four o'clock with only 30 miles under our belts after five hours of pedaling, I'd written Tupiza off with a sigh. There was no way we could make it. I couldn't stop looking at my watch. Too many kilometers...not enough daylight...no love from the road. We were going to be stuck in the desert for the night, short of our destination, foiled by the road and the terrain again. And no good dinner on board. Things were not looking good. My attitude had gone sour at that stop. Not making Tupiza meant not making Argentina the next day, as we had planned...domino affect against us. And we'd already had to change our three day plan from Potosi to the border after hitting the dirt roads and facing a bunch of mechanicals. Things slowing down. Plans blowing up. I didn't like it. Too many miles remained today. It would be impossible given the roads.

Our day had been broken up and slow from the beginning. Only ten kilometers out of Cotagaita, the flat, dirt road ran into an area that had been doused by a flash flood from the rain during the night. The road was gone.under a knee-deep, 100 foot wide flow of muddy water, people and vehicles on both sides trying to figure out how to get across. There was only one option for us. Take off our shoes, unhook the trailers, hoist them over our heads, and hike them across the water, returning for the bikes. We each trudged across the river four times to transport our rigs. It was a scene---a crazy experience to have on New Year's Day. It was a slow process. We even hung around to cheer on a bus driver as he barrelled the giant machine through the river. But, between all that and the slow, difficult roads, the day had become dragged out and tiresome. Now I knew we'd be stuck in Bolivia for another day, dreaming of the border we'd been pursuing for almost seven months, with a demoralizing and torturous road sitting between us and it. It just wasn't fair.

Pondering all of this, I had sat with my back against a tree, looking out across a desolate stretch, a few mud huts in the foreground and one drunk guy singing to himself. I was gnawing on a piece of bread with butter and jelly on it, and then an apple, all the time smelling the dried-up, questionable can of something-that-was-supposed-to-be tuna fish that I'd dumped out on the ground to make sure I wouldn't have to eat it. Spoon did the same and Duncan never even thought about it. The tuna situation had become ridiculous by now. Food in general had become difficult in Bolivia. It was rough not being able to find anything that filled us up in the little tiendas through the mountains. It was getting to me. I wasn't speaking to the boys, who scrounged for snacks to call lunch on the other side of the tree. We were all disappointed about the way our day was going, me the most at this moment. But this had become a typical scene in Bolivia by now. We were used to it. There was always something trying to slow us down, and this unexpected, desolate 200 mile stretch of beat-up dirt roads was doing a good job of it.

I brought my negative feelings out onto the road. Morale was low and it hit me hard. We rode with some space between us for a while. I pedalled in silence, wondering how it could have become so hard to get miles---to get to our border. After some time in the saddle, looking out across my surroundings, I came around. Of course the Argentina border wouldn't come easy. Why should it? Almost seven months thinking about it as we moved down the road. It won't just appear. It won't be given to us. We chose the line. Now we have to do it. We decided to spend weeks up in the mountains, at high elevations, fighting rain, hail, cold, rough roads, steeps, ascents and descents. The 200 miles of dirt road wasn't specified on our map. No one told us. It was a surprise. Now we had to deal with it. "Suck it up, Jake!" I thought. "It's our line. Be patient and it will end. Negativity helps nothing. Turn your mind around." So I did.

Duncan was now riding close to me on the other side of the road looking for a good path. He was probably thinking about the same things. I decided to break the silence.

"What did we eat for lunch in Alaska? I asked him.
"Peanut butter and jelly bagels," he said. "And Clif Bar and trail mix."
"Oh yeah. Man, that was good," I said, longingly. "We got nothin' now!"
"I know. It's ridiculous," he said, and we kept pedaling over ruts and bumps at 5 mph, looking ahead at the storm up the road. "Spoon's back a bit. He told me his knee is starting to hurt from biking out of the saddle because his ass hurts so bad."
"Yeah. He's not doin' too good with that today. Maybe we should hold up a minute."

He caught up, and when we asked him how he was doing, he groaned without a word and kept going. No one was happy. But we all had to keep going.

Around a corner, a huge climb appeared. Duncan was ahead. I know we all thought the same thing. "This is ridiculous. That thing into a storm at the end of a day like this. Great!" No choice but to climb it. Just pedal. So we did. Luckily, I felt good. I'd finally accepted the day for what it was and felt ready for whatever we were about to face.

At the top, Duncan and I waited. Spoon summitted not far behind us. He was not happy. I could see it in his face. He dropped his trailer to park the bike and it started to fall over, as they do sometimes. He finished the job by kicking the whole rig to the ground. Duncan and I looked at each other silently. We were like, "Whoa."

"How you doin', Cuchara?" Duncan asked. Not a word. He picked up his bike and sped off down the hill. He was headed right into the storm with a vengeance. We followed. "Maybe this hill will bring us right to Tupiza," I said. That was a best-case scenario, almost like a far-fetched wish. But it was the only thing that could get us there in time. I prepared for a dirt descent on old, worked tires, with tired bodies and minds, right into a storm. Perfect!

We rattled down the roads, winding through the mountains on ridges along a deep canyon. The bright red rock against the dark clouds looked incredible. Trucks blew past us as we concentrated on the road and tried to hold it together. I was on my brakes so much that my rims heated up, and I needed to stop for a minute. My hands were killing me from getting beat up so bad on the handlebars. But the views were incredible, and it still hadn't rained on us. The descent continued on for so long. Over 20 kilometers and more than a half an hour later, we saw a welcome to Tupiza sign and couldn't believe it. Spoon was waiting there, smiling. He was better. The descent had cured him. He loves to go fast.

It was getting dark and the storm was now to the west. We'd never gotten under it and had miraculously made our town, set deep down in the canyon, surrounded on all sides by dry, red rock mountains. It was a cozy little haven for us. We cruised through the town, casing the joint as we always do, looking for places to eat and maybe to sleep. We were tired. We had been on the road since 9 in the morning and it was almost 8 o'clock. I was so happy to have made it to another island after being convinced we would be stuck out in it for the night. Now we would make the border with one more day of riding. Argentina was starting to seem real.

One more long day finally brought us there. The arch over the road said "Bienvenidos a Argentina." I am happy to say that I am writing this in a city well into the north of Argentina, a city called Salta where we have found the South American summer. We are now in the foothills of the giant mountains and we are revelling in the fact that we can say we rode our bikes from Alaska to Argentina, just like it says on our stickers. We did it. It feels good. Already there are more stories I'd love to post here. Stories about our final ascent to 4000 meters just into Argentina where we faced icy rain, covered in all our gear trying to stay warm and had to hide under a bridge for 12 hours. The descent through the Quebrada de la Huamacha. The quick change in climate from dry desert highlands to lush green foothills filled with butterflies and fireflies, chirping birds and soft grass, lakes and inviting, tree-covered hills. It is warm and humid and alive all around us. We are happy to be here peadlling through the summer.

But the story for now is about getting to that border, about what it took to piece together that section of the line we chose---a line that ran across these powerful, all-consuming mountains called the Andes. From Cusco to Puno and Lake Titicaca, La Paz and Bolivia, we explored the roads. For much of the time they were flat. We cruised along the altiplano under the sun and watched the clouds, hardly believing we were over 12,000 feet. Other times, roads were steep and challenging and it was harder to breathe near the summits. There were all sorts of roads and situations and experiences we three understand. We made some memories. We have learned about the culture of the people by being in it. One night we camped near a little place where about twenty people live. A woman made us dinner on her clay stove in the front of her dwelling, smashing tomatoes and peppers with a rock to make a picante sauce. I played flutes with the kids and we took pictures and showed them. Duncan gave one of the older fathers a headlamp and one of the kids ran around with it excitedly. We answered their questions and recalled stories while they gave us beer and a Bolivian liquor called sangani. It was a beautiful experience. I enjoyed looking up at the stars that night before drifting off to sleep.

Other nights we spent far from anyone, way out in it all, talking to each other and listening to the quiet. On the roads we saw women carrying babies on their backs in colorful sacks they tie around their shoulders, all wearing the traditonal clothes. People working their land with homemade plows and oxen. Herds of llama and vicuna roaming the land...donkeys, horses, chickens, roosters, dogs, animals all over. We saw little towns and cities, met all sorts of people. It's always exciting. It was one phase of this long voyage. We talk now about Alaska survivors...things we find in our stuff that was in Alaska with us. The trip has had so many phases. And we're still in it. Our bikes have taken on personalities. We have learned about each other, about situations, about hardships and challenges. We have changed as we have lived it. We loved the mountains. It was a special part of our voyage.

We are one step closer to Ushuaia all the time. Now we will experience Argentina, as we pursue the southernmost city in the world and wonder what it might be like to one day finish this journey. I know it will be interesting as it unfolds. We are accustomed to life on our bikes...life far from home. But we miss home as well, and dream of the day we return. And I am thankful for having made it this far. We have been blessed with good luck and I thank whatever force is responsible for that and pray for it to continue.

I'll let one dream lead to another.

No time now!

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Sat, 29 Dec 2007 15:05:00 +0000

I know I said I would write when I was in Bariloche but things happen, fortunately good things happen. I can't find the time to do this properly so I won't even try. The important things are that I am having a blast, I am in Argentina(yeah!!), and will finish somewhere between 14 and 24 days. Just depends on how much more will happen!!

Alaska to Argentina!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Wed, 26 Dec 2007 15:54:00 +0000

Merry Christmas!!
I've made it into Argentina. The last few weeks have been increadable and I will write more when I get to Bariloche.

Feliz Navidad to all...Lake Titicaca and Bolivia in background

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 23:58:00 +0000

Cuchara and Jake at Abra la Raya, altitud 4,338 m

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 23:52:00 +0000

Spoon taking it all in at Machu Picchu

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 23:46:00 +0000

The team in a sunny river valley

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 23:37:00 +0000

Duncan above a huge valley in the Andes

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 23:29:00 +0000

Duncan spectating at the annual festival in Puquio, Peru

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 23:22:00 +0000

Jake and Spoon rebuilding in Pisco, Peru

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 23:06:00 +0000

Tracing our line....Posted by Jake 12-17

noreply@blogger.com (Biking for a Better World) — Tue, 18 Dec 2007 00:59:00 +0000

We are following a line which began at the Arctic Ocean. The line has been in my head for many years. It stretches all the way to the tip of Argentina. It has come alive for me as I have pedaled down it. Now it is real. I can see now there are many ways to draw this line with a bicycle. And I see us tracing our own line as we go, improvising, figuring it out day by day. Spoon, who has spent all his life in search of lines on skis, said to me once, many months ago, "I've always wondered when I'd find the ultimate line. I guess this is it."

Leaving Lima, one thing was for sure. It was time to go to the mountains. The pieces of the puzzle had been stacking up for weeks, lying out in front of us asking to be linked together. First there was the experience in the lifeless desert of northern Peru, slugging across the desolate land into the wind, sucking up the long, lonely stretches day after day. It took focus and determination. I wouldn't trade our time in the desert for anything. But it made me want something different. We needed a change. Chile would present a lot more of the same terrain and conditions. Duncan and Spoon felt the same way. The idea of many more weeks of desert was not inviting. But the idea of traversing some of the most spectacular mountains in the world was starting to sound better.

I always assumed we would ride the coast of Chile. Our line was coastal. It made sense. That's what we planned. We were always concerned with choosing the quickest, most efficient line. It was the nature of the mission in the interest of doing all the miles in 8 or 9 months. People always talked about the Bariloche route from Chile to Argentina way down south as being the easiest, most convenient way to cross the Andes by bicycle. We all looked forward to experiencing Chile and riding that pass. That was the line we saw looking at the maps for years while we planned. Two years ago I flew from Lima to Cuzco and watched the dry foothills grow into green giants through the window of a big plane. I thought about how difficult it would be to bike it. I wondered if the roads were even rideable. It inrigued me, but I ruled it out for this trip in my mind. "Too hard and too much time," I thought. I scouted some of our route on the Peru coast. I saw the desert. That was our route to Chile.

But as we accumulated more and more maps, elevation charts and guidebooks, asked advice, and analyzed carefully each and every consideration, our line began to pop out at us. We love the freedom of being in complete control of our route. We're the bosses, and if we screw up, we screw up together. We stewed over all the information we had. We talked about it for hours. We wanted to make the right decision. "We get our ass kicked either way," Duncan said. "Desert with wind and bland scenery, or ridiculous climbing. It's choosing between two evils, but the mountains sound better right now. It would be cool to see both sides of Peru. We've seen the desert. Let's go see the mountains."

It all became clear. Of course we had to cross the heart of the Andes, right through its gut, to see the amazing culture and breathtaking views, to explore the lands and ruins of the interesting ancient people, to breathe the cool, thin air as we pedaled into the clouds. Looking at a map of the continent, I finally saw the line we were meant to ride. It went from Lima to Cuzco, south to Puno and Lake Titicaca atop the altiplano, into Bolivia to La Paz, and south to Argentina, descending out of the giants. Nearly six months and 11,000 miles in...we had been training for the Andes the whole time! It was meant to be. It was a challlenge we were ready to take on. A mechanic at one of the bike shops in Miraflores, Lima, showed us his maps and charts and drew the line through the sierra with his finger. Then he traced the Chile coast line. "Here...we say...bikers which choose coast are chickens," he said in his broken English, smiling. We returned to the shop two days later, and he immediately asked us which way we were going. "Nasca to Abancay to Cusco," we told him. "Ahhh...the most difficult!" He was excited to hear that we had chosen to take on the mountains. "Wow! You are crazy men," he said, laughing. "Que bueno! Suerte, mis amigos."

We prepared for our last stretch before the big turnoff. We had a few more days through the desert on our way to Nasca. One of our stops was Pisco, the city hit hard by an earthquake back in August. We arrived there late in the day after a lot of miles. The town was up and running, but through a big mess. It seemed like there had been a big initial response to the disaster, but not many continued efforts. It was sad to see how levelled the place was. Even the huge church in the centro area had collapsed in the middle, leaving only the two main pillars. There was a big tent set up between them and we watched people pray under the makeshift church on the evening we arrived. The streets were filled with piles of rubble, and families lived in tents where their homes used to be. We biked around for a little while, exploring, thinking about how hard it must be for these people to live through such a tragedy.

We volunteered our time the next day to help a woman build a shelter where her kitchen used to be. A local guy we met told us he knew someone who could use some help, so we decided to take a day off from pedaling for it. In the morning, she pointed at a pile of bamboo full of rusty nails, a shovel, and some old tools, and showed us a ten by ten spot that needed to be levelled. At the end of the day, she had a new place to make some food. We had made the woman's life a little easier. We felt like we´d done something to help. But there was so much more work to be done. It was overwhelming. But we biked away knowing we tried to do something, even if it seemed small. Now it was time to turn our attention back the mountains awaiting us to the east.

Two days later, we arrived at the junction of the notorious road to Cusco. A sign showed the city was 660 kilometers away. We stoppd at it, threw a sticker up on it, and snapped a couple pics. We were all nervous. But we felt ready, and anxious to see how hard it would really be. The elevation charts showed an elevation gain of over 11,000 feet in 50 miles. The approach out of Nasca was a mellow gradual uphill through the desert. But after 15k, the climb began. Big sweeping switchbacks wound through the dry, sandy, rocky foothills. The sun beat on us and made us sweat hard. Trucks passed us and we followed the road by watching them fade off into the distance through the hills. "Is that the blue one that passed me fifteen minutes ago, way up there on that ridge? No way! How could the road get up and over there?" But it would. Maybe an hour later I would recognize the spot. Still climbing. "Okay, look for a new goal around a new turn, that's all." Duncan and I pedaled together for a lot of it, revelling in our bad-ass decision to do it. Our new word was "bolster." "We just bolstered our line," he said. "The judges can't believe how we bolstered and they're flashing tensd right now. "Don't get me too fired up right now," I said. "I need to keep it mellow so I make it."

Patience. The mountains require special patience. On that first day we finished our day, 7 am to 6 pm, 7 1/2 hours spinning time, 46 miles, with an average of only 6 mph---a new A2A record for sure. We had gotten what we asked for. In Colombia, the Andes took us by surprise. But we were prepared for this, so it wasn't so bad. We rode accordingly, conserving energy and breath, focusing on short term goals and not our arrival in Cusco or Argentina.

We found a campsite overlooking an immense valley as it began to get dark and cool off. Changing into our warm clothes and setting up tents, we watched the sun set. Oranges and reds lit up the clouds. It was a great moment. We were silent as we took it all in. We felt so far from everything, so peaceful alone up in the bare mountains. There was no one for fifty miles in either direction, and very little traffic. We were over 12,000 feet, near the pass at 4330 meters. It was cold. My hands were going numb. We cooked dinner and crawled into our sleeping bags at 8 pm, waiting for the sun to return and warm things up so we could ride to the top.

In the morning we summitted after another two or three hours of big, slow, leg-burning, arcing switchbacks. Near the top, we saw herds of vicuña, alpaca, and big furry, llamas---the only life in sight. The land flattened out and great wide expanses of the dry, brown altiplano opened up before us. Icy ponds of water reflected the sun and the road stetched on in front of us for miles rolling across the high plains. It was like another planet. I started to feel a slight headache deep in the back of my skull as I cranked on my pedals, so I slowed down my pace. When we finally stopped for a lunch snack, I layed down in the dirt next to my bike just off the pavement. I felt weak. I didn't feel like moving, talking, or eating. My breathing was slow and deliberate. The air was thin and I could feel it. I closed my eyes and did nothing for fifteen minutes. Then I pretended I had an appetite, forced down some tuna and mayonnaise on bread and some fruit, and we began the descent.

The air warmed as we dropped thousands of feet very quickly. The road was rough and dangerous. I was trying to control my speed a lot with my brakes. We took one more short break in a grassy area. A stream of clear water gurgled through some big rocks below us. We threw rocks into it and wondered how much of the elvation we gained we would keep losing as we dropped farther into the valley.

A few more k down the road, one of my worst fears finally came true. I was between Spoon and Duncan. We were coming up on a turn. I remember hearing, click, click, and, boom! Like a gunshot. I had just enough time to realize my front tire had blown up. My handlebars turned to the left as the rim hit the road. I went over the bars, curled up for a tuck and roll. I hit the pavement at about 25 mph I think. I slid off to the right, my bike and trailer continued sliding straight. My shoulder and helmet had hit first. The rest of my right side had touched down after that for the slide. When I came to a stop, I layed in one spot, wondering if anything was broken, wondering how bad I was messed up. My helmet hit the ground pretty hard. But I hadn't loss consciousness and I knew that was a good sign.

I heard Duncan. "Jake. Are you all right? He said it calmly. "Yeah, I think I'm good," I said, without moving. He was dragging my bike out of the road. I started to move my shoulder and neck slowly, and eventually stood up. I had some scrapes and roadrash on my ankle and knee, hip, and shoulder. My jacket was torn up near the shoulder. The three layers there saved my skin. I couldn't believe it. Everything seemed pretty good. Spoon had come back up the hill a bit and was examining my bike. The sidewall in the tire had blown out, exposing the tube. The high pressure tube hit the brake pad and exploded. The rim skidded on the road and I lost control. That's what happened. It happpened fast, but I understood it. Spoon was trying to bend the edges of the rim back in to shape with a leatherman, at least good enough so it would hold a new tire on. I was using an old but unused tire we found in Lima---the only tire that was the right size for our wheels in the whole city. We had purchased four of them. We never thought they were so suspect as to cause such an incident. Duncan was right behind me when it happened. He watched the whole thing. He couldn't believe how long I slid for, but said he knew I was all right because of the way I hit. So I had that going for me, which was nice.

I was so lucky to be able to ride away from it. I was shaken up and beat up, but happy we were not forced to hail down any help. The wheel was rolling with a new tire. Spoon volunteered to put it on his bike and ride the 40 k to Puquio---the next big town where we might be able to find a new wheel. My altitude headache had been bolstered by the crash, and I had no appeteite even though we hadn't eaten a great meal in more than a day. It was not fun to ride, but I knew I had no choice and I wanted to get to the next town to figure out a plan and maybe find a bed to rest in.

In a small town a few k later, we stopped and I felt tired and hungry. I told the guys I wanted to eat. We parked the bikes out front and went into what seemed to be a small restaurant. I ate some lomo slatado and drank an Inca Kola. I was feeling a little better. After the meal, I returned to my bike. My camera and Ipod had been lifted out of my handlebar bag. They were together and easy to get at. I always take them with me. Never leave it. But I'd forgotten them in my haste to get a meal and rest my beat up mind and body. I couldn't believe it. I sat on the ground and put my head on my knee. Everything was blowing up in my face at once, just as I was beginning the biggest challenge of my life across the mountains. Was this a sign? Was someone trying to tell me to give up? I was down in the dumps. I didn't even want to ride to the next town. The negatives were stacking up against me. The guys felt bad for me, but there was nothing they could do to help. They just told me to get on my bike and ride. I didn't want to. I said 11,000 miles was enough. I'd done my best. "I'm catching the next bus to the closest airport," I said. I was flipping out. Then after a few minutes I sat on my seat and started pedaling. There was really nothing else to do. I knew that. But I was so mad at myself for letting my guard down. And I was so mad and deep in thought about the crash. I was unlucky to have crashed, but lucky to have ridden away from it. If it had happened at a higher speed or in a different place, the results might have not been so favorable. And the camera and I-pod were just material things. It wasn't the end of the world. I pedalled slowly, my mind working so hard and jumping back and forth to so many different ideas, rationalizations, thoughts. One minute it seemed pointless to push on, the next I was fired up to finish the trip regardless of any stumbling blocks. That was the test of this whole thing after all. Before long we were in Puquio. We found a hospedaje and checked in, and I layed in a bed, looking at the ceiling, trying to understand it all, trying to relocate my fire.

We made some quick decisions in the next couple hours. There was no new 700 wheel in Puquio. The best option was to put Spoon on a bus back to Nasca, 155 k backwards on the road we had just ridden. Spoon left with the wheel and Duncan and I found some dinner. It all happened so fast just like everything always does for us. Two little girls sang us traditional Peruvian songs while we ate. Two barefoot young boys came into the restaurant off the sidewalk out of the cold. We let them finish the food on our plates. They scarfed it up. They were so hungry. It was hard to watch. Puquio is a poor town in the mountains. The streets are beat up, and the town is rough, but there is so much culture alive in it.

The next afternoon found us at EL Rueda up on the hill. There was a dance competiton that occurred only once a year in the bullfighting ring. It drew a huge crowd. Teams of dancers, male and female, dressed up in bright-colored traditional garb speckled the dusty stage. Colors flew every which way as they moved in unison, setting up pyramids and scenes, tossing around props and releasing doves into the air. Traditional drum and flute music played behind them and the crowd went wild at the climaxes, oohing and ahhing their efforts. They whipped off routine after routine in the sun, stirring up a dust cloud. It was an amzing experience. I was so happy to be there, so happy to have ridden my bike into the beautiful mountains to be a part of it all.

The weekend in Puquio revived me. But my experience of dropping so low taught me once agian how difficult this all is and how important it is to stay focused through anything. It took two days for Spoon to find a new wheel and return, and then we were ready to continue our push to Cusco. We hoped to do it in five days. I write this from Cusco. We made it. The road went over 13,000 feet three more times on the way here, and dropped into huge valleys twice more. I never thought I could ride my bike up hills like these. I am proud of the team for making it here, for fighting the climbs for hours on end and doing whatever it takes to meet our goals. We are determined to trace the line we chose. We go from the cold, brutal highlands to the warm, cozy river valleys, traversing the mighty landscapes. One of the river valleys we followed for nearly 150 k, cruising gradual downhill right next to the river, through epic cnayons, huge rock faces stretching up into the sky. Some of the views don't even seem real. It is so big. Sometimes we see the clouds above us and an hour later we are in them. One night we came up short on a summit east of Abancay and had to set up camp in the cold rain at a very high elevation. We had been climbing for five hours and could still see the city we started in, its lights glowing as the night fell across the land. We cooked dinner under a tarp tied up over the bikes and crawled into our damp bags and tents in the rain to wait for morning, when we would finish the climb in the foggy, damp cold air, fully bundled up in everything we own. Two hours later we were in a sunny, grassy valley, resting in the shadows of the huge peaks, wearing shorts and jerseys feeling hot. It's amazing to experience these climate changes on a bike.

We have been acclimating to the high elevations and getting accustomed to endless climbs. From here in Cusco at over 11,000 feet, we stay pretty high as we cruise south along the altiplano. It seems the worst of it is over. Bolivia and Argentina are in our sights. The mission continues until one day we hit a sign that says, "Welcome to Ushuaia." Then it will all be over. Sometimes I wonder about that day while I pedal. Other times I forget about it. I cannot know the end of the line until I see it. Until then I'll enjoy my time on the epic line, watching it come alive with each sunrise and sunset.