tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37112260962394182242024-03-05T00:27:13.198-08:00THE (BARE) BEAR BOXERSTales of the Mongol Rally 2012Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-56172889853845987892015-05-18T14:23:00.000-07:002015-05-18T14:23:00.244-07:00Last Post for Now<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Okay, it's now about two weeks later, but I want to finish writing the rest of this down before I forget most of it! After that bakery I left for Big Sky Brewing. It was closed, so I decided to find a quick bike ride nearby. The quick bike ride I decided on ended up being a 3000 foot climb up a mountain. I rode until I started running into snow and excessive downed trees, but I was 90% of the way there. If I had thought to bring my hiking shoes I would have continued to climb to the top.<br />
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Big Sky Brewing is fantastic, they actually give out their samplers, which is the correct way to get as many people trying your beer as possible. After getting a sticker and some coffee for Malcolm I traveled onward.<br />
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I found a great road in Idaho, ended up following a river in places, through deep canyons in others, and ended in an enormous mountain valley just before the desert started. Most of the roads in Canada I ended up on were very open, and even with lax speed limit enforcement there weren't a lot of entertaining drives. This road was entertaining.<br />
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I was so distracted by the drive that I ended up traveling far later in the day than I'm usually comfortable with. I found some potential campsites but they were all sketchy in one way or the other, or more likely were private property and completely fenced off. Eventually I found a place close to my goal for the next morning, Craters of the Moon National Park, and set up camp.
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The stars ended up being particularly good that night, I've been captured by high humidity the entire trip so to finally have a clearer sky.<br />
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The next morning I did some speed-tourism on the park, which was a really neat geologically. I basically ran up the main trail to see the crater, and did my best to remember a few geology terms that at this point I've totally forgotten. Still it was a neat place to check out.<br />
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On the way out of there I found that if I drove quickly and efficiently I would be able to make it back to Colorado that night to see my sisters before their trip to California, and my Mom for Mother's Day. I decided to go for it. The next 9 hours were a combination of strategic speeding and efficient pit stops through Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, and finally Colorado. I made it back for a nice Italian dinner with the family, and slept in a real bed. The trip was done, but hopefully I'll be able to look back on this blog and remember how fun/painful/educational it was.<br />
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<br /></div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-91783061424683300792015-05-18T13:52:00.001-07:002015-05-18T13:52:56.708-07:00Jasper and Banff<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Alright, there's been a long gap since I wrote stuff down unfortunately, I've been moving too quickly. Wednesday morning I woke up early and got to the Fort Nelson visitor center when they opened. The very helpful worker there gave me a bunch of information packets for the area and I found one specific to mountain biking. I headed towards Prince George, it would be a long day to get there but I had a couch when I did. Along the drive I saw a turnoff for wildlife viewing, and decided to take it.<br />
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I followed the signs but after the first couple I didn't see any viewing area so I kept driving. Turned out to be a neat road with several bridges over some very scenic highway turnoff streams and ponds.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/2UpYe3DJZS/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A video posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-05-06T01:48:43+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">May 5, 2015 at 6:48pm PDT</time></div>
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After following the road for approximately 15 miles I ended up giving up and turning around. I found that the turnoff for wildlife viewing was closed, and only a few hundred "meters", whatever those are, away from the highway. It wasn't a total loss though, I let Yogi run alongside the car to get some exercise.<br />
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Once I arrived at Prince George, I mooched off the visitor center wifi and met up with a friend I had met in Prince Rupert. We had dinner and some beers at a place called Nancy O's. The next morning I washed my bike at a manual car wash to get some of the dirt and crap off, and had a bunch of extra time, so I washed my bike again. Miho looks better dirty anyway.<br />
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The next day I was off towards Jasper. I got distracted at a scenic turnoff, turned out to be the waterfall that was the upper limit of the salmon run, where they stop to spawn. I knew I was getting close to Jasper when I saw some enormous mountains on the horizon. Mount Robson was the first that made me stop and see if there were any trails. The visitor center (I'm loving these places) pointed me towards a nice trail that ended at an enormous lake surrounded by snow capped peaks. It was incredibly scenic, and ran along a turbulant river the whole length as well.<br />
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After getting back I kept moving towards Jasper. I found the Overlander Trail, which would be a total of 30 km, on top of the 16 km I had already ridden. I decided to go for it, if Yogi could survive this plus Mount Robson he'll officially be some sort of mutant cybord super dog. The trail ran along the large river, with some scenic overlooks as well as a nice clearing where an older settler built some now delapidated cabins. Naturally Yogi did fine, he chased deer a few times, and had enough energy at the end to chase some off near my car.<br />
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After some beers in downtown Jasper, I slept at Whistlers Campground which was the one campground open. It came with free wood, and I was hopeful that the clouds clearing up would give me my last opportunity to see the Northern Lights. I stayed up pretty late, and woke up fairly consistently through the night, but I didn't see any lights. At least I got to see them in Iceland!<br />
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The next day I moved on to Banff. The park started with some enormous mountains on either side that looked sort of like larger but flatter versions of Boulder's flatirons, except you're surrounded by them on either side. These mountains get larger and higher in altitude until you're driving through the Columbia Icefields, which contain several enormous glaciers. One seemed to be an enormous wall of ice several hundred feet high, perched atop a large cliff another 500 feet tall.<br />
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Along the way there was a group of goats in the middle of the highway, apathetically watching cars as they passed. They seemed too easy to hunt, maybe they're more afraid of people on foot? <br />
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I decided to go a little out of the way and see the town of Banff. I found a trail that circled the eastern part of town. After getting massively lost at the start of the trail I got back on track. I was hoping that the trail would go near a river as the map suggested, but it turned out to be near a river in only the map's perspective as the trail ran along the side of a huge ravine with the river a couple hundred feet below.<br />
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After sampling Banff Brewing Company I continued on south towards a hot spring that one of the rangers recommended. It was well worth the long dirt road to get there, it was a very natural hot spring with basically just a few rocks moved around to create the pools directly next to a pleasant river. It reminded me a lot of the hot spring along the Kern River in California. After spending way too much time there I continued on the road where some of the other people at the hot spring were camping. It was a nice spot right next to a small lake.<br />
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The next day I escaped that dirt road with only mild damage the underside of the Miata, but I think a stray rock might have finally done-in the bike tire damaged by exhaust/stupidity. I drove on to Kimberly, where I heard there was some good biking. After getting a nice new tire, I rode along Magic Line, probably their premier trail in the area. It was great but consistent rocks made it the first time I was really missing a rear suspension. I thought about doing another ride in Cranbrook farther south but I decided to keep moving and get into the US.<br />
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The border crossing guard was more suspicious than normal, when I said I was from Colorado he needed to see my registration for my California registered car. Once satisfied I wasn't driving a stolen car (from Canada?) he let me by. My first stop was Whitefish, where I tried out a few breweries including the Great Northern Brewing, Bonsai Brewing, and Tamarack Brewing. I decided to have dinner in Tamarack, I needed a non-camping meal.<br />
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I ended up camping near another lake, if you could call it that. Flathead Lake seems almost large enough to call it an inland sea. The next morning I had breakfast at a small bakery and that finally catches us up! Today I'm heading to Missoula before hopefully camping in Idaho.<br />
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</div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-69478641155999303772015-05-18T13:13:00.001-07:002015-05-18T13:13:47.068-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Tuesday, I've been looking forward to Tuesday. I visited a place a lot of people have been pointing me to, the Liard Hot Springs. On the way I saw some wild buffalo! The only other time I had seen some in the wild might have actually been on Catalina Island, so it's neat to see literally herds of them roaming around Canada where they're actually indigenous.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/2R5OGMjJV0/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A video posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-05-05T00:09:23+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">May 4, 2015 at 5:09pm PDT</time></div>
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Once I get to Liard, I arrive to an empty parking lot, and walk the long boardwalk across a marshy landscape until I arrive at a small building. The hot springs are a set of two pools, on one side are the steps into each pool, a wooden overlook and some changing rooms. Besides that structure on one side the hot springs are entirely natural.<br />
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I step in to the right side, and it's burning hot. Apparently the farther right you go the warmer the temperature. I start on the left side, which turns out to be the most natural side of the springs anyway. It's incredibly relaxing, and just about the perfect thing for me at this point. There's a small back channel to explore, the spring's water level is set not by a stone or concrete wall but what appears to be a glorified beaver dam. The bottom of the pool is entirely natural rock and dirt. It's an incredibly relaxing place, and after spending way too much time there I decide to book it for Fort Nelson, setting me up to get past Prince George the next day.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/2R5bvGDJWL/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A video posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-05-05T00:11:15+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">May 4, 2015 at 5:11pm PDT</time></div>
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Along the way, I notice a car stopped on the side of the road. This generally means they're tourists looking at something. I think it's probably another buffalo, but I'm surprised to see an enormous Black Bear! I've never seen one of them in the wild either. It would be the first of at least half a dozen I would see on the drive to Fort Nelson.<br />
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A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time datetime="2015-05-05T05:42:42+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">May 4, 2015 at 10:42pm PDT</time></div>
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I decided once I got to Fort Nelson to just find a campground in town, it was getting late and I wanted to charge everything up anyway. </div>
Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-84444557083856206092015-05-15T08:59:00.001-07:002015-05-15T08:59:36.958-07:00Convertible+Bald Eagle+Turboprop+Alaska=burning the crap out of your leg<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Monday started so well, after leaving Haines it seemed like picturesque day to leave, with the sun out, the top down... As I was leaving the town I passed the airport, and a turboprop was landing just off my left, while a Bald Eagle soared just overhead, I'm literally not making that up. After a very scenic drive along the Chilkat River, and then through some high altitude snow capped peaks, it was back to the normal Canadian wilderness. Driving through the US, the geography is occassionally interrupted by desert, mountains, monstrous cities, but I feel like the variation is somewhat less drastic in Canada. 12 hours of driving can be very monotonous.<br />
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While most of travelling is seeing incredible new places, meeting new people, trying new things, and everything that people glorify it to be, sometimes you spill boiling water on your leg after 12 hours of driving, and go to bed hungry and cold. Monday was such a day, and I'm hopeful tomorrow will be better. I'll meet some new friends and catch up with old ones, and my if my destination tomorrow wasn't what it is I would probably be more discouraged. That said, sitting on a couch with some delivery pizza and binge watching Netflix sounds pretty enticing at the moment.<br />
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<br /></div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-59467684125149766742015-05-03T09:44:00.002-07:002015-05-03T09:44:39.320-07:00Haines, Alaska<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After getting some new tires at Whitehorse I was on my way south towards Skagway Alaska along the Yukon Highway. The plan was to do some mountain biking in Carcross and then hitch a ferry to Haines to meet up with Erik, and old college buddy.<br />
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I found an incredible spot to camp, but it wasn't entirely legal. It was actually at a seaplane base, with an incredible view of the mountains. It was also covered, and could have been my first night sleeping tent-less. After reading at least until 10 PM waiting for the sun to go down, there was still a suspicious amount of traffic on the road, as well as some cars that stopped to see what I was up to. I decided against camping there and moved on, but the stop was well worth it.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/2JkMbADJei/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-05-01T18:31:44+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">May 1, 2015 at 11:31am PDT</time></div>
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I ended up sleeping at a rest area, and carried on pretty early. After arriving in Carcross, I found a map next to the Visitor Center of the local mountain bike trails, and headed to one of the trailheads. After mounting up and starting off on one of the trails, I quickly ran into snow, and after seeing the deep mud and thick snow on some of the more shadowed trails I decided to pack up the bike and head to Scagway earlier than planned.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/2JkNmODJel/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-05-01T18:31:54+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">May 1, 2015 at 11:31am PDT</time></div>
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As I approached the border to Alaska, the landscape quickly changed to what, if I was a snowmobiler, would appear to be some type of utopian paradise. There were immense lakes covered in several feet of snow, surrounded by large rocks mostly covered in more delicious pow, with diminutively picturesque trees dotting the landscape. It was surrounded on all sides by enormous snowy mountains. As the road gained in altitude, I entered the cloud layer, which spoiled some of the views unfortunately.<br />
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The border back to 'Merica was pretty uneventful. I was instinctively more careful about my speed near the border, I've come to realize how tightly those are patrolled. Canada's speed limits always seemed relatively optional, but in the US that's never been the case. I wasn't in a huge hurry anyway.<br />
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Scagway is a cool old mining town, tucked right into the end of a large waterway. I picked up a hiking/biking map after getting my ferry ticket, and having a few hours to spare I set off to find a good trail. I was quickly distracted by the city itself though, there was a lot of neat little stores, and after finding out there was a disk golf course and a brewery I decided against riding.<br />
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The disk golf course itself was really neat, tucked away behind some trees at a corner of town. Back in the woods a couple was corralling their team of sled dogs, and Yogi skiddishly met a few. I did a couple rounds before heading back to town to catch my ferry and make lunch.<br />
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The ferry ride itself was gorgeous, the waterway was surrounded on all sides by snow capped mountains. I managed to get some work done on the ferry when I wasn't taking way too many photos. I met a couple I had seen earlier, it was the people with the dog-sled team that Yogi had met earlier! Turns out they're from Colorado, and super nice people. They were heading up to a glacier in Alaska to give tours for the summer. They signed the car before we needed to get off the ferry.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/2KJUJvDJTl/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-05-01T23:56:06+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">May 1, 2015 at 4:56pm PDT</time></div>
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Once driving along Haines, I had the top down and the scenery was probably among the best I had seen yet. The views were gorgeous, the sun was out, and I ended up needing to stop for pictures at almost every opportunity. At one there was an older couple with an enormous camera and a set of binoculars looking into the bay. I followed their lead and saw a large pod of Orca whales swimming maybe a half mile off the coast. I followed them for about 10 minutes as they were leaving the bay for the Pacific.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/2KJT6jDJTh/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A video posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-05-01T23:56:04+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">May 1, 2015 at 4:56pm PDT</time></div>
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Haines is a great little town, and after trying to track down my friend Erik for a bit I decided to wait at the local brewery. Everyone there seemed to know not just Erik, but each other. Their beer was also great, way better than Skagway's, and they have at least 5 aged beers I have to try before leaving.<br />
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Erik got an Aerospace Engineering degree with me at CU and now lives an incredible life here in Haines. He's building a house just outside of the city, but currently rents a sweet house right off the bay. He has a boat right there to catch fish, a wood burning stove, really cheap rent... seems like an incredible setup. After some beers and a couple frisbee golf rounds (literally right next to the brewery) we left to get some food and went to the Friday night open mic night. Almost everyone I met earlier at the brewery was there, seems like they have a really cool community here.<br />
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The next day I tried to climb Mount Riley just outside of Haines. Pretty quickly me and my new bike were put to shame after I ran into pretty thick mud and large roots on the trail. I decided to stash the bike at my car and try again on foot. The vegetation is much more green and thick than I thought, it could have easily been Oregon or Washington. The mountain just barely got to the upper tree line, but the trees shrunk enough up top to provide some killer views of the mountains and the bays. Yogi got way more dirty than usual walking through all the mud, he's going to need a good bath when I get back to Colorado.<br />
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Afterward I met up with Erik at the house he's building. I mostly helped him raise a wall and move some stuff around. The house is going to be gorgeous, there's great views of the mountains on both floors, plenty of space, the property itself is gorgeous... I'm pretty jealous and definitely going to mooch off his couch again once he's done.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/2NRtDPDJdv/" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_top">Erik's new mountain view in the house he's building in Alaska</a></div>
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A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time datetime="2015-05-03T05:07:08+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">May 2, 2015 at 10:07pm PDT</time></div>
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After getting some supplies in town we head back to make breakfast burritos using some meat from a goat he hunted (again, so jealous of his life). The following morning I wake up to probably the best conceivable view to wake up to (that doesn't involve two X chromosomes), and that catches us up until now. I'm heading off today back south, but my immediate direction is north because the geography forces me to, not that I'm complaining there's some more mountains up that way!<br />
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<br /></div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-60662798625785830502015-04-30T14:39:00.002-07:002015-04-30T14:39:51.567-07:00I was due for a problem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So what I said about speaking too soon about surviving the Dempster? I spoke too soon. Just 44 miles after leaving Eagle Plains, I had a flat. I had over 180 miles of rough dirt road to make it back to pavement, much less a tire store another 300 miles from there. I don't have a spare tire and wheel, just a doughnut. I had kind of hoped that if I had a flat, it would be early on. The snow likely concealed some short of sharp rock.<br />
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Looking immediately at my tools, I did have a jack, the spare, and a wrench, so it would first appear like I had all the tools I needed to keep moving. If there's another flat though, I'd need a tow, which would likely be more expensive than the car. I jacked up the car, and immediately ran into a problem. The wrench that came with the car was the wrong size!<br />
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Luckily, I bought a small tool set at Home Depot before leaving Tehachapi. I opened it praying there was the right socket size. I know it's a metric 21 mm, and my set goes to... 19 mm. But! There's a 7/8 socket, and it fits over the nut but with a lot of wiggle room. I've played this game before, and if you torque it too much the nut gets stuck in the socket.<br />
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I really carefully undo each nut, and luckily I was able to get the wheel off. Did I mention it's snowing? I mount the doughnut, lower the car, and the tire deflects almost completely. The thick rubber on the spare made me think it was inflated, but it was almost completely flat.<br />
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Luckily I also brought along my trusty tire pump that served us so well in Mongolia, and it worked great... up to 40 psi of the recommended 60 psi. It would have to do! I strapped the flat tire to my hood, which I chose partly because I thought it looked cool but it turns out it tends to block a little bit of my visibility, well a lot actually.<br />
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Just to get a feel for how isolated this place is, the process for changing the tire took over an hour, and not a single vehicle passed me, either way. Yogi was happily wandering around the woods until I was done.<br />
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The rear tire likely went first because I worked the rear tires a lot harder on track days than the fronts. This also means that the rear-right tire is just as likely to fail as the rear-left. I decided to at least make a small change so that I can say I tried if/when the other tire fails. I lowered all the tire pressures to 25 psi to try to lower the contact pressure with rocks, maybe that would help.<br />
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I kept moving, and on snow with almost bald all-seasons and a spare tire, the rear end really wanted to oversteer in every corner. The spare also was so narrow it really wanted to stick itself into ruts and stay there. I ended up "edging" the right side of the car to save the rear-right.<br />
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It probably took me an hour or two longer than the way up, but I finally escaped Dempster without any additional problems. Luckily I didn't try to go much farther than the Arctic Circle, a Jeep driver told me a bit past it there's a river crossing, and due to the rain and snow it was about 3 feet deep.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/2HOlhGjJSB/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">A little dirtier than before</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-30T20:44:27+00:00">Apr 30, 2015 at 1:44pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I had a nice lunch at one of the Tombstone Park overlooks before heading back towards Whitehorse for a new tire. I stopped at a nice lake for the night. I decided this might be my most northward opportunity for the Northern Lights, so I decided to set an alarm at 2 AM, and set up a big pile of firewood to keep me warm. I woke up to a bright tent, but unfortunately it was lit by the moon more than anything, no northern lights! Maybe the next night.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/2HPAsnjJSq/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-30T20:48:09+00:00">Apr 30, 2015 at 1:48pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I'm here in Whitehorse now getting 4 new tires, they were all due for replacement anyway. From here I'm going to head to Haines, Alaska to visit a friend, and then finally back South. </div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-30731579712684954462015-04-29T08:07:00.000-07:002015-04-29T08:07:04.901-07:00The Arctic Circle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
With the sun coming up so early, it's impossible not to wake up at a reasonable time without feeling like you've wasted all morning. I've also found I don't really feel cold until I need to pack everything up the next morning, lots of exposed digits and sub zero temperatures don't mix well. After getting the car packed Yogi and me were on the road towards Dawson, a small mining town.<br />
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Along the way, there were some really nice views of the Yukon, but I didn't see any wildlife except for these really neat falcons. I tried to stop at a few trails, but they're still all snowed in. I feel bad for Yogi, he's going to be fairly un-exercised for a few days while I make it North. After a few more disappointing trailheads I decided to make an attempt to book it north and then head back South so I can get back to Mountain biking in warmer temperatures.<br />
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Once at Dawson, I refuel, get some cash, and then fruitlessly try to find some wifi before I decide to get out of dodge and get on the Dempster highway. This is the highway I've been looking forward to/fearing the entire trip. I mentioned it to one of the brewers at Wheelhouse in Prince Rupert, and his reaction was "that'll destroy your car". I took the lonely road to the start of it, and set off, only to immediately see a sign stating that the next gas stop was 370 km away. Under my normal driving habits, this is longer than the range of my car. There was a gas station at the start of the highway, so I topped my tank off to the brim, and hoped that the road's surface wouldn't degrade my milage by too much. I'd be a filthy hypermiler if it meant I make it to my goal.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/2DAQ_0jJQ8/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">This is probably a bad idea...</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-29T05:22:21+00:00">Apr 28, 2015 at 10:22pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I set off and was immediately disappointed at the road surface, in that it was exactly what I was expecting. It was a rough dirt road, with many exposed rocks and sand, I could barely maintain 40 mph. At this rate, it would take me roughly 5 hours to get to the Arctic Circle, my loafty likely unrealistic goal. Not only that, my tires aren't exactly new after several track days, so any sharp rock could puncture the tire. I was also thinking back to when I first packed the car, I knew I had a spare, but I didn't know whether I had a jack and the right tire iron size.<br />
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Nevertheless I pressed on, hoping that the weather would clear and the road would improve. Magically, it did temporarily. The weather cleared just before Tombstone Park, which turned out to be incredible. The road took me far above tree line, and I was quickly driving among snow capped peaks. Because of the low tree line the peaks are shorter than they seem, but they still looked large an imposing especially compared to a pitifully small Miata.<br />
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I decided to put the top down, which ended up being the correct choice. The air was cold but felt good while properly bundled up. It would be the best part of the Dempster, by a long shot.<br />
<br /><blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/2C_my3jJQe/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-29T05:16:35+00:00">Apr 28, 2015 at 10:16pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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The car's rattles and squeaks kept getting worse, so I finally put a concerted effort into fixing some of them. Turns out 90% of the noise was coming from two sources. The first was solved by rolling up my Buff and shoving it into one of the convertible top's hinges. The second was solved by shoving a sock in between the roll bar padding and the convertible top. Suddenly my car seemed quiet and composed in comparison, but it still complained loudly whenever I hit a large bump.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/2DAiXcDJRa/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-29T05:24:43+00:00">Apr 28, 2015 at 10:24pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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Suddenly the road darkened as I drove under a layer of clouds, and the road started gaining in altitude. The road surface itself started degrading to the point that I couldn't go much faster than 30 mph or I felt the car would fall apart Blues Brother's style. I found that if I drove on the far extreme right and left sides of the roads, there were less rocks and pot holes, but you run the risk of getting carried off the road by a large rut if you're not careful. I decided to call this method "edging".<br />
After over 5 hours of traveling, with an average speed of just about 40 mph, I finally reached the next fuel stop with some margin. The hotel/gas station/bar/restaurant/shop was currently being run by a solitary gruff German woman, and after a beer and some gas I kept going north, enough light at 11 PM to keep me going for at least a couple more hours.<br />
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As I approached the arctic circle, more and more things on the car seemed to be complaining. It was probably my heightened awareness, fearing that something would go wrong just miles from my goal. But as the miles went by it became less and less likely. 8 miles to go... that oil temperature seems strangely warm... 7 miles... oh that wheel bearing is making that funny sound again.... 6 miles... huh is the left bearing making the same sound now? 5 miles... it suddenly occurs to me why people travel to Hawaii so much, it's awesome there... 4 miles... I can't believe there's still dusk remaining at midnight...<br />
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Suddenly, I'm at the arctic circle. There isn't a huge monument, just a small wooden sign. It was still very cloudy, very windy, and very cold, so I decided against putting up my tent and instead decided to sleep in my car, my first time doing so on the trip. Pictures could wait until the next morning. I celebrated with a beer Kristina and Ryan gave me in Seattle, and it was worth saving until now. I had a slight hope that the clouds would clear up so that I could see the Northern Lights for the 2:30-4 AM period when it's actually completely dark, but with the last clear pockets closing up I decided to get a few hours of sleep before heading back south.<br />
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I woke up surprised by about an inch of snow on the ground. What this meant, in the short term, was that I needed to do some doughnuts. In the more long-term, it meant I was driving back on the Dempster in the snow. It was also my first time driving the Miata in snow, maybe any rear wheel drive car actually. Just an inch of snow, rather than closing up bumps or pot-holes, ends up just concealing them. The drive back would be even slower than the pitiful 40 mph I was able to average yesterday.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/2D7eK9DJYO/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">Made it! Somehow!</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-29T13:59:42+00:00">Apr 29, 2015 at 6:59am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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After a crawl I was able to make it back to Eagle Plains, the refueling station. And that's where I am now! Waiting on everything opening up so I can get some fuel. The tentative plan is to stay in Dawson tonight in a real bed, and get a good night's rest before heading down to Haines, Alaska via the Top of the World highway. If I can survive the Dempster (maybe I shouldn't speak so soon) I can survive that highway right?<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/2D7kbOjJYh/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-29T14:00:33+00:00">Apr 29, 2015 at 7:00am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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</div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-11376297651652463852015-04-29T07:48:00.000-07:002015-04-29T07:48:10.665-07:00Yukon Brewing or Bust<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This morning I woke up to what I thought were water droplets on my tent, but once I examined them closer I found they had actually frozen! I did my best to shake them off, and after filling up and getting breakfast I was off northward. The road followed a lake, crossed some rivers, but was mostly through either burnt or thinning forests. As I move north, the trees begin to look more like Dr. Seuss trees, very scraggly and thin, definitely responding to the harsher temperatures and weather. I saw some Caribou for the first time! Next up is Reindeer and hopefully a bear at some point.<br />
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Eventually I arrived at the 37 junction with the Alaska Highway. I asked the gas station attendant if there was any good biking trails nearby, and she said there was a "wicked" trail near Lucky Lake, about a 20 mile detour in the wrong direction, which sounded fine by me. It turned out that this trail was only 2.2 km long, and after beginning to take my bike off I decided I'd just run it instead.<br />
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Turns out this was a good choice, the trail was sandy until the snow took over all the way until a river. I was being overly optimistic by wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I ran through as much snow as I could but eventually it was too deep and I had to walk. I saw lots of interesting footprints, one was likely a moose but I'm not sure. The river was almost entirely frozen. It looked like a bunch of icebergs had a traffic jam and the water was just flowing around them all.<br />
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A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time datetime="2015-04-27T21:55:05+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 27, 2015 at 2:55pm PDT</time></div>
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Once I got back to the junction I found some wifi and discovered that there was a brewery in Whitehorse called Yukon Brewing, but it was very far away and if I hurried I could make it there before they closed. I booked it the entire way there, and ended up covering a lot of ground. I should put more breweries off until the last minute. I felt a little bad though, my first long stint on the Alaska Highway, and plenty of good views but I was in too much of a rush to stop.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/1_oU8WDJWk/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-04-27T21:55:27+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 27, 2015 at 2:55pm PDT</time></div>
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The brewery was worth the effort though, I ended up mixing a six pack and got a lot of good advice from the bartender. Unfortunately the hot spring/campground I was hoping to check out was closed, so it might have to wait until my journey back south. As a result of it being closed, I was traveling north later than I usually like to. I ended up stopping to make dinner at a river, and then moved on another 15 miles or so to camp. I figured a bear would be less likely to want to get into my trunk if he hadn't just gotten lured there by dinner smells,<br />
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I was hoping to find a rest area, but as the sun was going down I decided to just stop on the road and pitch a tent in a field. Turned out to be one of my most scenic camping spots, hopefully a Mounty doesn't come to shove me out of it!<br />
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<br /></div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-19479864844232790042015-04-29T07:33:00.000-07:002015-04-29T07:33:12.089-07:00Driving/Recovering<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Monday was lame, well as lame as driving through the wilderness of Canada can be. I drove through rain basically the entire day, hoping to take advantage of my healing knee to get some good driving hours completed. Almost all views were spoiled by clouds. Not the cool kind of clouds that give you cool perspective and depth, the lame ones that obscure almost everything. The variations in weather, climate, and vegetation at different altitudes is really startling though. One minute you'll be driving through fairly dense forest with budding deciduous trees, the next minute you'll have climbed a few thousand feet and the temperature will have dropped, it's snowing, and even the conifers are having a tough time clinging to life.<br />
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I passed several gorgeous lakes, and stopped at one to make dinner. I'm increasingly worried about bears, not for fear they might take my food or damage the car, but rather that they'll damage my new bike in doing so. I'm prepared with some bear mace to fight them off and the stupidity to do so. I'm currently at around 58 degrees north, so only another 8 degrees before I hit the Arctic Circle, if I make it that far.<br />
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I did finally make it to the Yukon! So there's that, the goal for tomorrow will be Whitehorse, a small but relatively large town.<br />
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The Miata's rattles are getting increasingly annoying, consistent, and maddening. I'll probably spend some time ditching some more interior panels to track a couple down. The bike rack's bolt keeps loosening, allowing the rack to sway but it's not in danger of falling. It's more concerning that that swaying would create some contact pressures and fatigue the metal. I'll have to tighten it up tomorrow before I drive farther north.<br />
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I'm currently writing this in a tent at 9 PM, and the sun has just barely gone down. There's at least another hour of twilight. At some point I'm going to need to check out the Northern Lights, hopefully the weather clears up soon to let me. It's been cloudy fairly consistently since I was in Whistler, with only some brief hours of sunlight. </div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-82314421924684271412015-04-26T09:44:00.000-07:002015-04-26T09:44:02.728-07:00An Awesome Pointless Detour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I ended up at a camping spot right next to a nice lake, but unfortunately the weather didn't really clear up. I didn't have to setup or tear down in the rain, but the tent definitely demonstrated it was worth every penny.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/14cnykjJVC/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-04-25T02:58:29+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 24, 2015 at 7:58pm PDT</time></div>
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The next day I was off to Smithers for more biking, and the road west took me closer towards the mountains, a welcome relief from the more arid rolling hills. Once in Smithers I saw a biker riding through town. My normal approach is to ask a local bike shop or information center for trail recommendations, but seeing this biker I decided the best plan was to just follow him.<br />
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After a while I thought this was getting awkward and decided to just be a normal adult and ask him for a recommendation. He immediately pointed me to the nearest trail "network" that he was heading towards, a term I've come to despise but I thought I would give it a try.<br />
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While examining the (very confusing) map for the system some helpful bikers, Matt and Erin, came to my aid. They gave me some recommendations, but also offered to just let me follow them around, which I happily accepted. Two other bikers Brian and Zach met up with us, and we rode up the mountain.<br />
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The network they've developed is really extensive and amazingly well maintained. The new bike handles the climbs really well but it's going to take me a bit to get used to the new tire size. They've got a sweet widget that effectively lets you spin a wheel to decide what trail to go on! There were also a lot of other people enjoying their Saturdays on their bikes, definitely a healthy bike culture in that city. Having a ski area in town also helps bolster those sports.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/16reT4jJdR/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-04-25T23:46:44+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 25, 2015 at 4:46pm PDT</time></div>
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The trail uphill was pretty easy going, but on the way down I would find that there was a good reason everyone but me had a full suspension bike. The Trek handled it pretty well but i think less tire pressure would have been better over the roots and small rocks in places. It got pretty steep at times, and I chickened out by walking in a few places, but unfortunately not on a feature over a large log.<br />
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There was a narrow plank up a 3 foot high log, and unseen on the other side was the descending ramp actually turned to the right slightly. I ended up tumbling off the left side, and jammed my leg into either the bike's frame, the ground, or both.<br />
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I was able to make it down to the bottom without any problems, but it's definitely going to be sore for a couple of days! Matt and Erin both gave me some recommendations on where to check out next. They said the drive to Prince Rupert was incredible, and that there was a brewery there. It was out of the way, but whenever someone mentions and incredible drive and a brewery I pretty much have to check it out.<br />
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The drive was as great as they said it was. There was still snow on a lot of the peaks, but I think the warmer temperatures at lower altitudes and near the coast allowed the aspens and other deciduous trees to start blooming down below sooner than the rest of the country I've seen so far. The route followed a large river, and was a broad sweeping highway.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/16rd1ODJdQ/" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_top">Smithers, CA</a></div>
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A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time datetime="2015-04-25T23:46:40+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 25, 2015 at 4:46pm PDT</time></div>
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Yogi's still afraid of loud noises, so he's never been a huge fan of driving, but he's starting to get comfortable enough to almost sleep in the car. I'm sure by the end of this trip it'll be no problem for him.<br />
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Prince Rupert is a nice quaint town, lots of nautical architecture and history. I stopped for a couple pictures near the water hoping to find their seaplane base, but eventually had to give up and found the brewery.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/17noAWDJYA/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A video posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-04-26T08:32:21+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 26, 2015 at 1:32am PDT</time></div>
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Wheelhouse Brewing is a really great place, the owners were serving great beer, the people were very friendly, and they let Yogi roam around the building. Everyone signed the car, and after some free samples of a grapefruit ginger beer we all ended up heading over to a sushi place in town. I went with a wonderful girl from Prince George Lindsay, Lindsay's friend Lindsay, a local legend that payed for our dinner Tim, and co-owner of the brewery Ronnie. Ronnie told us some pretty amazing stories about the region, and I gave them some beer in exchange for dinner and the company. Pretty late I headed to the local hostel to get some sleep, eventually.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/17np53jJYC/" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_top">Wheelhouse Brewing Company in Prince Rupert, British Canada, a worthwhile detour</a></div>
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A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time datetime="2015-04-26T08:32:37+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 26, 2015 at 1:32am PDT</time></div>
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Now I'm off back East, then heading North again to get to some higher latitudes. </div>
Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-55920073365741630322015-04-24T18:50:00.000-07:002015-04-24T18:50:15.276-07:00Throwing Money at the Problem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After doing some more bike research online and running some errands, I decided that I would head to the reasonably sized city of Prince George to buy a bike, if I was going to at all. I drove the three hours north I would have driven anyway and headed to the closest bike shop once I arrived. Over the course of the day I headed to 4 different bike shops, rode at least a dozen rides, did a lot of online research... basically all the stuff necessary to convince myself that this wasn't what it was, an impulse buy. Finally, I settled on a ~$1000 Trek X-Calibur 8, which had the best components for the money, an air shock, rode extremely well, and I wanted it. I'm an adult I can do what I want.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/14OxoijJeP/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">I got a new rear derailleur, and bike</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-25T00:57:29+00:00">Apr 24, 2015 at 5:57pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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They helped me swap the pedals, do some last minute checks and then I mounted the bike to Miho. Last thing to figure out was what to do with Futility. I decided someone should be able to find it a good home, but after the last few days I didn't really care, I just wanted the bike gone. I decided to leave it next to a dumpster and if someone wanted it, so be it.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/14OwoyDJeM/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">Someone will give her a good home, right?</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-25T00:57:21+00:00">Apr 24, 2015 at 5:57pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I was on my way out, and suddenly my $50 Harbor Freight bike rack seemed comically inadequate for the task at hand. Whereas before I would have likely laughed had the rack snapped off and dragged across the ground with my bike grinding its way to a halt, with my new bike this would not be acceptable. I drove along, worrying every minute that the bike would be damaged by a rogue rock, corroded away by rain, or contact the ground the moment I hit a large bump. The rear tire was also hanging worryingly off from the left side of the car, creating the possibility that if I or someone else drives too close to that part of the car, the bike would likely be damaged or destroyed. The bike lock was putting load at the middle of some spokes, potentially bending them irreversibly. I never worried about any of this with Futility, but now I was adamantly worried something would go wrong. And then, suddenly, I smelled the faint odor of burning rubber and immediately stopped and inspected the bike.<br />
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When initially mounted, the bike was nicely elevated from the ground, and spaced a decent distance away from the back of the car. However as I drove along, the front tire of the bike started shifting forward, and as it did so it got closer and closer to the exhaust pipe. As I was driving along, the front tire heated up and melted enough to produce a bump on the side of the tire as the tube expanded into this weak point, but luckily I stopped in time to prevent it from actually getting damaged.<br />
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I immediately reassessed how I was mounting the bike, and started rearranging the entire setup. I decided to remove both tires, and place them on the rack separately with the frame. I liberally applied duct tape to prevent the frame from scratching the wheels, and added a bunch of redundant ropes, straps, and the bike lock itself. I also added tape around the expensive derailleur. It seems to have solved every problem, but we'll see.<br />
<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/14OymMjJeU/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">Problem solved</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-25T00:57:37+00:00">Apr 24, 2015 at 5:57pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I'm on my way to the place recommended by the bike shop, Smithers. I didn't end up having time to ride today, but hopefully tomorrow morning I can get an early start and get a ride in there on the new bike. And, hopefully that tire isn't too damaged from my incompetence. I'm currently driving West, hopelessly trying to escape this poor weather. Hopefully it'll clear up somewhere so I can have a relatively dry camping spot. </div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-36943351657435547112015-04-24T18:28:00.000-07:002015-04-24T18:28:28.220-07:00I've Finally Named My Bike Futility<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I started the day with a bunch of chores, laundry, charging stuff, organizing the car, buying some supplies, before heading out to... The Museum of Flight, one of the best aviation museums in the world. Some highlights were the SR-71, walking through a Concorde, and seeing the Gossamer Condor II. There was also the sailplane that currently holds the highest unpowered altitude record at around 51,000 feet.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1vrWKqjJY6/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-21T17:13:59+00:00">Apr 21, 2015 at 10:13am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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After that I headed to Paseo, a Caribbean sandwich shop and had a deliciously messy roast pork sandwich, and then headed to Stoup, one of the better local breweries. And then just to put me in my place, I got a parking ticket. I thought we were friends Seattle!<br />
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I did some chores at Kristina and Ryan's before meeting up with them to head to Elliot Bay to get a burger and a beer before heading to Beer Junction. It's a local bar/beer store, so I stocked up pretty well for at least my first week in Canada.<br />
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The following morning I said goodbye to my wonderful hosts, admired Miho after her free Seattle car wash, and decided to head straight for the border to take advantage of the clear weather. Along the way I found an amazing breakfast burrito in Bellingham called Burrito King. I should have known a college town would have a good burrito place.<br />
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Pretty quickly I was at the border, where the border guard gave me a couple weird looks based on my car and asked tough questions accordingly, but once satisfied let me by. Immediately going in to Canada, I think they built up a lot of impressive infrastructure close to the border, there's no way their entire road network is this nice.<br />
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I no longer had any cell data, so I would be relying on a rough map and dead reckoning. I was immediately lost when I hit Vancouver and ended up downtown, a place I was hoping to avoid. I parked next to the bay to find out where I was, and when heading to the water to get a bearing immediately saw at least a dozen seaplanes. I had randomly stumbled onto the Vancouver Seaplane Base. I basically ran down to the water to take as close a look as I could, and watched at least a half dozen take offs and landings.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/10w8AFDJV5/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-23T16:39:02+00:00">Apr 23, 2015 at 9:39am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I saw the bridge I was hoping to get to from the base, and once on it it was a pretty straight shot North to my goal, Whistler. I was pretty quickly stopping at every opportunity to check out the scenery. The road was along a large waterway, with mountains on either side. It had just snowed at higher altitudes, so most of the peaks were white with green trees down below.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/10w-o-DJV9/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-23T16:39:24+00:00">Apr 23, 2015 at 9:39am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I stopped at an enormous waterfall right off the roadway (where Yogi had his first taste of Canada), a couple scenic overlooks, and finally got to Whistler about 10/6.2 faster than I was originally calculating. First stop, obviously, was the local brewery (for my first taste of Canada) where a bartender Tony, besides giving me some delicious samplers, pointed me towards the closest place to bike and camp.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/10xA0qjJWE/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">First taste of Canada</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-23T16:39:42+00:00">Apr 23, 2015 at 9:39am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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The bike ride started out poorly, despite functioning flawlessly on my previous ride, the chain immediately snapped. After a repair, it snapped again. I think it was finally calling it quits. Luckily I thought ahead and bought a replacement at the REI in Seattle, so after a quick installation I was heading up the river.<br />
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The trail ran along a large turbulent river, with enormous rapids. Luckily it was down too far for Yogi to try to swim in it. It was pretty short, but just at the top of the trail just before a bridge my drivetrain locked up. My immediate thought was that the chain came loose and got jammed, but I quickly discovered that my derailleur finally imploded on itself. Luckily most of the ride back would be downhill, but it was still a pain in the ass. I'm had to find a bike shop the next day to get a new one, which is probably something I should have done in Petaluma anyway.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/10xEJtjJWQ/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-23T16:40:09+00:00">Apr 23, 2015 at 9:40am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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After scooting my bike back to the car, I decided to make a quick dinner and then head back to the brewery. I gave the bartender one of my Old Rasputins earlier in an attempt to convince him he needs to head down South to try out some California breweries, and as a result they were returning the favor, many times over. Luckily I remembered the way back to my campsite.<br />
<br />
The following day I packed up and tracked down a bike shop to fix my derailleur. They nicely bumped up working on my bike so that I could get on the road, and after a coffee break I was back out on the road. I didn't test ride it first, which will come up later...<br />
<br />
The guys at the bike shop recommended Williams Lake, a 5 hour drive, which was going to be hard but I decided to go for it. The drive immediately put me in a very remote part of the mountains, I don't think a lot of people must take that road north of Whistler. It went through a lot of gorgeous passes, and I kept the top down even as it started snowing on us.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/11yJLGjJQI/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A video posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-24T02:08:49+00:00">Apr 23, 2015 at 7:08pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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The clouds prevented me from seeing some of the peaks, which also gave me the impression the mountains kept climbing far beyond where I could see. The tree line is much lower here, perhaps due to the limited growing season, so 4000 feet seemed like 12000 at times when you're climbing above where the forest can reach. I started using my headphones to listen to music (the Miata doesn't have a stereo), and each song seemed to fit the scenery in its own way, but Alt-J was definitely a highlight.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/11yJdhDJQJ/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-24T02:08:51+00:00">Apr 23, 2015 at 7:08pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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Eventually the mountains gave way to some more arid rolling hills, which lasted all the way to Williams Lake. I decided to climb around Fox Mountain, which was supposed to have a good biking network and views of the lake. That might seem like a neat idea, but in hindsight, a network just means it's incredibly easy to get lost.<br />
<br />
I started out and the bike was working fine, exactly as expected. I stopped for a quick picture with Yogi when I encountered the only other people I'd see on the mountain, and then kept moving. There was a symbol for a trail that was supposed to circumnavigate the whole network, a fox's tail. So I had hoped if I followed this symbol I'd be fine.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/111ORoDJVD/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-24T02:35:44+00:00">Apr 23, 2015 at 7:35pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I was about a third of the way into the trail when I had my first gear skip, and was immediately annoyed that even with a new chain and a new derailleur I'm still having issues with the drivetrain. I press on and immediately the trail starts descending rapidly. I could have turned in to the network, but I would have been lost immediately. I had a reasonable idea of where I was and where I needed to go, but it didn't feel right that I was descending so much. I decided to keep following the fox's tail and pressed on.<br />
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After that, another worrying thing started happening, it started drizzling. I picked up the pace to get back sooner, and after about another mile the trail started to get more confusing. There were the occasional tails, and usually a sign at every junction, but worryingly I passed a few junctions without signs, and had to hope that my choice was the right one. After a while I didn't see any more tails, and eventually the trail ended at a neighborhood that was definitely not where I parked my car, and definitely at a lower altitude than where I needed to be. I started back from where I came from, and noticed what looked like a trail that could be a shortcut. It was sort of in the direction I needed to be, and it was uphill, which was promising, so I started on it. What looked like a trail from below turned out to be just a deer trail at best, and pretty quickly I was walking straight up a mountain in an uncontrolled area. Every 50 feet I thought I saw a biking trail going left, the direction I needed to go, but once I climbed to it it would just be another deer trail.<br />
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Finally, after at least 500 feet of climbing up a mountain with a bike on my back in some light rain, I found a clear mountain biking trail. It wasn't optimum, it was effectively a steep downhill run, so I had to continue carrying the bike on my back, until it finally leveled out a bit and I could climb on my bike.<br />
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This was great, except it started raining a little harder, and then, oh joy of joys, the derailleur broke again the exact same way as the day before. I angrily tried to bend and crank the parts back into their original position, but eventually I had to give up, remove the chain, and scoot back to my car.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/111PLXjJVG/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">Thanks for leaving me stranded again #Shimano</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-24T02:35:51+00:00">Apr 23, 2015 at 7:35pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I immediately sped to the closest bike shop, thinking I was going to buy a bike on the spot, but after considering getting a $1200 Specialized Pro Evo 29, I decided I didn't want to make that purchase emotionally. I headed to the local pub for a beer and some wifi to research reviews on that bike and others, and then headed to the in-town campsite to sleep on it. So that's where I am now, writing this in a tent, my stomach hurts for some reason, it's raining off and on, I knew every day wasn't going to be perfect, and I should at least be happy this one started well. Hopefully tomorrow will be better! </div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-36308481139409713732015-04-21T07:29:00.003-07:002015-04-21T07:33:43.947-07:00Must... keep... climbing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The next day started early, I got a couple hours of driving in before getting to a nice beach and going for a long run, made a little surreal by the coastal fog. I thought Yogi might be getting tired, he was actually running BEHIND me towards the end, but he quickly put me in my place to chase off some seagulls.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/1nzCsejJYZ/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">Beach run!</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-18T15:47:18+00:00">Apr 18, 2015 at 8:47am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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Bend was 6 hours away. I was going to be a long drive, but if I moved quickly it should be doable. The drive through the rest of Northern California was the standard gorgeous forests and pacific coast. The road turned inland where I finally hit the border into Oregon. I drove pretty much non-stop all day.<br />
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Apparently you can't pump your own gas or you'll get arrested in Orgeon, as one helpful gas station attendant informed me.<br />
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Bend seems like a Boulder from 2005, a lot smaller and less crowded. I met up with Kurt, we'd be staying on a friend's couch for the night. I took a quick shower to knock down my smell a few notches, and then headed to a place called The Lot, which is an outdoorish food truck/beer pavillion. I had a Wet Burrito and a few beers before we headed to Bend Brewing and then Deschutes, where I wisely/poorly chose to have a sampler of every beer.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style="background: #FFF; border-radius: 3px; border: 0; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width: 658px; padding: 0; width: -webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width: 99.375%; width: calc(100% - 2px);">
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<div style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 8px; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0 7px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;">
<a href="https://instagram.com/p/1pEbL_DJbQ/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-04-19T03:38:26+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 18, 2015 at 8:38pm PDT</time></div>
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The following morning was a flurry of gathering supplies, doing laundry, packing, and a quick breakfast before driving to Mount Hood. I also got Yogi a more comfortable setup instead of just sleeping on top of my duffel bag. We stopped at Mount Hood Brewing to get lunch, have a few beers and figure out our plan for the day. We decided on going to Ramona Falls on the Western slope of the mountain.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div> <p style=" margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;"> <a href="https://instagram.com/p/1qiOLdjJZP/" style=" color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;" target="_top">Yogi got a better bed today</a></p> <p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young) on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-19T17:18:03+00:00">Apr 19, 2015 at 10:18am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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The hike was about 7 miles and Kurt has a bad knee, but there was a lot of water for Yogi to jump in and the falls themselves were pretty gorgeous. The big river valleys also provided some nice clearings to see Mount Hood. The trees are so tall and thick here it's hard to find the consistently epic views you get in Colorado.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1s3PoQjJZe/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-20T15:00:13+00:00">Apr 20, 2015 at 8:00am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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Afterwards we camped along a rive we passed on the way there. It was pretty isolated besides the few cars that would drive by every couple hours. It was also my first campfire of the trip, the Miata doesn't have a lot of room to carry excess firewood. We made a gargantuan amount of chili-mac, and I had a Sanctification from Russian River, which seemed perfect for the occassion.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1s3QYBjJZi/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-20T15:00:20+00:00">Apr 20, 2015 at 8:00am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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Kurt and me had breakfast at a neat place just at the end of Lola Pass Road, the ZigZag Inn, and then said our goodbyes after he gave the car a sign off with a sharpie. During the Mongol Rally we had friends and helpful strangers sign our car, and it was too good of an idea not to do again.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1s3O61DJZd/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-20T15:00:08+00:00">Apr 20, 2015 at 8:00am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I headed North, along a nice mountain road around the East side of Mount Hood. The road took me along a river and finally through some vineyards before I crossed the Columbia River into Washington. Instead of heading on the road North that follows the West side of Mount Adams, I decided at the last minute to head farther West and drive along the East side of Mount St Helens. It was a great drive, but my GPS died so I was driving by intuition. There was a sign saying the road I was on was closed, but I decided to keep going anyway to check it out.<br />
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I stopped at a small grocery store in the middle of no where called Eagle Rock to ask for directions. Two helpful people gave me some great directions, a map, and a recommendations for the scenic route. Unfortunately the route I was planning was closed, so I had to head West and take... sigh... the 5 North to Seattle. The scenic route would take me along a dirt road mountain pass, so I hoped that would make me feel like less of a cop out for taking the 5. I thought that would be as good an opportunity as any to go for a mountain bike ride.<br />
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I checked my chain beforehand, there was a link on the verge of failure. I decided to try to fix it by compressing it and re-pressing the shaft, and then hoped for the best. The start of the ride was probably the worst type of surface imaginable for someone on their third ride ever with clip-in pedals, basically over sharp volcanic rocks. I chickened out by walking some of it and hoped it would end quickly, and after a couple hundred yards I entered dense Washington forests.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1tnCryDJfx/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-20T21:57:53+00:00">Apr 20, 2015 at 2:57pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I was consistently climbing, and I had a goal of getting to the bottom of the mountain, but as I kept riding... and riding... and riding... it was quickly apparent this was an ambitious goal. I finally got to an open clearing thanks to an enormous landslide, providing a great view that made the entire ride worth it. A little farther on I had a good view of how close I was to the mountain, but the snow forced me to finally give up. Somehow my quick chain fix worked perfectly the whole time.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1tnC7MDJfy/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-20T21:57:55+00:00">Apr 20, 2015 at 2:57pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1tnCWaDJfw/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-20T21:57:50+00:00">Apr 20, 2015 at 2:57pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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After that I drove basically non-stop to Blue Origin, where my friend Kristina works. She gave me a tour of their badass facility, and all of the exciting work they're doing. I'd be staying at her place with her husband Ryan for a couple days to prepare for my longest couch-less stint through Canada.<br />
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That evening we went to a nice Hawaiin-Mexican-American fusion place right on the water, and then to an amazing bar called Brouwer's Cafe before calling it a day. I've got a lot to do today to prepare, hopefully I don't get too distracted by breweries and good food.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1uF4B5DJTZ/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-21T02:27:19+00:00">Apr 20, 2015 at 7:27pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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</div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-29748943862583504412015-04-18T10:28:00.000-07:002015-04-18T10:29:02.933-07:00I Usually Don't Say It All At Once<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I usually don't say it all at once, better to lay it on gently. I either say to strangers that I'm driving a Miata up the coast, or that I'm driving towards Alaska, but never I'm driving up towards Alaska in a Miata. That would make me look foolish.<br />
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After the previous epic day, I wake up early to get a head start on the highway 1 traffic, and it was worth it. I didn't see another car for at least an hour. My first bit of traffic was a deer running right in front of my car. If I hadn't swerved and braked, or done one and not the other, I would have hit her. Hitting a deer in a normal car is one thing, but in a Miata it would probably be the end of my windshield, best case scenario.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1nzCOCjJYW/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-18T15:47:14+00:00">Apr 18, 2015 at 8:47am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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The highway took me right through the Redwoods, which look even larger from a tiny convertible. I drove fairly consistently until Eureka to restock on some food and supplies before heading to Six Rivers Brewing to have a great burger and some even better beer. It also gave me a chance to take a breath and figure out where I was mountain biking that day. I found a loop trail and decided to do part of it, Davison Path.<br />
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I set out and found what I thought was the trailhead but I took it in the wrong direction and ended up in a campground next to a river. I took it the other direction and was on my merry way, until my rear derailer started acting up again, shifting and jumping annoyingly. I decided to press on, not push it, until the inevitable, a chain break. I had to walk at least a mile back to my car, where I assessed the situation.<br />
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I decided to head to the campground and figure out how to fix the chain. If I could fix it, I'd head onto the trail and stay at that campground I ran into for the night. If not, I'd drive another couple hours towards Bend Oregon. I drove to the campsite, and after a lot of trial and error, "fixed" the chain. It was getting late, but I decided to try for that trail. I hopped on the bike, and with Yogi in tow, followed it deeper into the forest. I was quickly rewarded with amazingly dense Redwood forests, rivers, and some great single track, but it ended at a road. I decided to take a right to see it would lead, knowing the coast must not be too far away. It started descending, and finally the trees opened up to reveal a secluded beach.<br />
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The road went on, and some signs told me it headed to Fern Canyon, which I have actually been to before! I had time to get to it (another 4 miles) but after turning a corner there was an enormous moose about 100 yards ahead of me. Luckily I saw it well before Yogi did, allowing me to prevent him from chasing after it, and I decided that considering the time and my uncertainty with my chain fix, it might be a better idea to head back.<br />
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="4" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://instagram.com/p/1nzC-KjJYd/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2015-04-18T15:47:20+00:00">Apr 18, 2015 at 8:47am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
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After turning around, I started climbing a hill, and immediately the bike was not happy. I was having the same gear skipping and jumping I've had in the past, and finally on a steeper hill, another chain break, now at least 4 miles away from my campground. If I couldn't fix it I would be walking back in the dark. Luckily this time around I brought my tools, and I did a makeshift fix on the hill, while being bombarded with mosquitoes. I felt the chain after the fix and it was very stiff, but I decided to try to set off anyway. I started riding and... somehow it worked perfectly. It also gives me a new theory about the true nature of the problem, which I won't bore you with.<br />
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I ride all the way back to the campground with barely a complaint from the bike, set up camp, make a gargantuan amount of Chili-Mac, and head to my sleeping bag with a combination of food coma and exhaustion.</div>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-18068734720514384542015-04-18T09:57:00.000-07:002015-04-18T09:57:04.467-07:00Onwards and Upwards... Eventually<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The goal for Tuesday was to get to a concert that evening by a band called Kaleo, who put on an incredible concert at Iceland Airwaves. Seeing them play at the Blue Lagoon probably helped them out, but nevertheless we wanted to see them again. We showed up disappointed, the lead singer/rhythm guitarist broke his finger and couldn't play, so we made the most of the situation and watched some of the opener. They turned out to be a folk-blues band and could have easily been from either downtown San Francisco or Kentucky, except the bassist who looked like he was plucked straight from a death metal band.<br />
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We left and headed to Zeitgeist, one of those incredible bars in San Francisco with a good enough beer selection to overlook the terrible service. My enthusiastic attempt to take a photo of their taps was quickly shot down when a bartender told me no pictures were allowed. </div>
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We concocted a plan over beers. The following day, Robert would be "sick", we'd rent a car, and then drive to Russian River and back. This would mean I'd basically lose a day of travelling North, and although I knew I would end up stuck in some cities for a couple days to rest/recover/seek medical help, I didn't quite think it would be after only 400 miles of progress. On the other hand, if you've had any Russian River beers, it might be easier to understand our logic.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/1gcuGEjJY0/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-04-15T19:17:34+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 15, 2015 at 12:17pm PDT</time></div>
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Wednesday started as most days should, with breakfast burritos at Los Fauralito. My stomach won the battle against the burrito, but the burrito would win the war. We then fruitlessly tried to find a parking spot for the Miata before deciding to just park it in Robert's driveway. Obviously driving around San Francisco in a Miata and a rental car leads to reckless shenanigans. Some of the steepest streets have a flat section at each intersection, creating a perfect opportunity to catch some air if you hit it at the right speed. Too slow, and you'd not get any air, but too fast and my car's out of commission for the trip. The angular difference between the jump and the landing zone also made me think that there's no possibility the car would land "nicely". I also discovered committing to getting air takes huger balls than I possess, and while I think I may have gotten airborne on my third attempt, I also got within a few feet of an oncoming car. It was time to booboo before more responsible adults ended our shenanigans with hefty fines/jailtime.<br />
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Step two of the plan required picking up Robert's girlfriend Meghan, and step three was head to Russian River. Along the way, we took some great pictures of the Gold Gate Bridge, which is much larger than I thought it would be, I've only seen it from a distance.<br />
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Russian River's beer was exactly as good as I expected, and I left with three bottles and enough mental impages of Pliny the Elder crates for future... purposes. Our last step was heading on a hike, through some enormous redwoods in Armstrong Redwoods State National Reserve. It was exactly what I needed after eating WAY too many burritos with Robert. Yogi found every opportunity to jump in a river or lake. After that we sped back, I met up with a college friend; we went out to dinner together before I headed back to Robert's and collapsed on his couch.<br />
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I also loaded up on gas, tracking my mileage a little more carefully shows a not great, probably-from-racing-around-San-Fran 24 mpg. That said, I don't plan on driving slowly up the coast either, so we'll see how it goes.<br />
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I had stopped at Petaluma with the intention of going to Lagunitas, but unfortunately they were closed for another 3 hours, an unacceptable delay in the "schedule", so I chose to move on to the coast. Fairly quickly I was in the stereotypical picturesque rolling hills of cows and vineyards before getting to Bodega Bay, and stopping at a deli. About 20 bikers showed up after I ordered a sandwich and picked up some of their homemade sausage. They quickly took interest in my race car/expedition vehicle, and the bike on the back of it. They told me about a road called Willow Creek Road, which follows its namesake, and starts just before the Russian River.<br />
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I stopped there at their recommendation, and it was an incredible bike ride. A roughly paved road gave way to a dirt trail, which led to a single track that took me up into the ridges above the Russian River. There were some enormous Redwoods, panoramic views, overgrown meadows, pretty much everything a bike rider could ask for. I was also loving my new pedals, they force me to commit to some hills by fear of falling over when I stop, and give me a little bit more power to get up them. On my way back through a deep puddle, probably the muddiest of the trip, I hit some deep mud and just a tenth of a second before totally falling into the puddle of mud I was able to unclip and avert disaster. I was still covered in mud from the knee down, as was Yogi from the neck down. I used my sacrificial towel to clean him off as best I can before making it to our bathing spot, the Russian River.<br />
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<a href="https://instagram.com/p/1j1C6PjJQY/" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_top">A photo posted by Byron Young (@byron.a.young)</a> on <time datetime="2015-04-17T02:47:51+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Apr 16, 2015 at 7:47pm PDT</time></div>
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I wade in about waist high, crack open a Pliny the Elder, and have a Russian River beer in the Russian River. I went for a quick swim after, wondering what Yogi would do considering I didn't think he could swim. His last experience at a friend's house in Pasadena resulted in him clinging to me out of sheer terror, not really swimming as much as he was clawing to me for his life. As I swam out, he barked a few times before he ACTUALLY SWAM OUT TOWARDS ME! It was still out of terror that I was leaving him or would drown, but it was still the first time he ever swam. He was probably confused that in this moment of total fear for him I was over joyed he was swimming, and after lifting him out of the water for a bit, he swam back to shore. He kept coming out to visit and returning, hopefully with less and less fear each time.<br />
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After drying us off I left for Fork Bragg, my goal for the day. The coastal views were fantastic but I didn't leave myself a lot of time to enjoy them. I was hoping to find camping spots at around 3 PM every day but I needed to make it to Fort Bragg to achieve my mileage goal. I arrived well past my deadline at around 5:45, and as I was leaving town to find a camping spot, I saw North Coast Brewing! I had thought it was in Eureka, another couple hours North, but I was clearly wrong. Screw my deadline, I needed to stop here.<br />
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It also gave me an opportunity to call Boris, who's starting a UAV company. I'm going to be doing some CAD work on the road for him, mostly for promotional purposes. I had a quick flight of beer and talked to some guys at the bar. Just North they recommended a campsite, MacKerricher State Park, and even a way of getting in without paying a fee. I left with some Old Rasputin and Old Stock Ale, and made it to the site. They were spot on in their recommendation, I set up my campsite right next to the beach before heading out to watch the sunset. The beach is actually a black sand beach, and the waves in the distance over the rocks made for an epic view.<br />
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Coming back to campsite, I decided to make a more elaborate meal for myself. I made Mac and Cheese with some added blue cheese and the habanero chicken sausage I got at the deli earlier. It was exactly as good as it sounds, and after cleaning up a bit I collapsed into my sleeping bag and called it a day. </div>
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Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-48669905587278230232015-04-14T18:12:00.002-07:002015-04-15T08:32:12.390-07:00The Great White North<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I'm starting a new adventure! Decided to try to write a lot of it down, and thought this was as good a place as any to do so.<br />
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This new adventure is a more solitary one, and starts a little more pretentiously than the Mongol Rally. This one starts while sipping champagne at a beach front bar Hennessey's in Manhattan Beach, where Dhruv and myself both unceremoniously decide that this bar, not Tehachapi, should be the start of my road trip North. Just as we described the Mongol Rally as starting from London instead of Goodwood (because no one outside of England knows where Goodwood is), my next adventure starts from Manhattan Beach.<br />
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Why North? Shamefully, I've never been to Canada, and taking on the Great White North seems like as good an adventure as any. It's also not quite the right time of year to head South, that's more of an October-November thing, and South needs a bit more planning than taking on a single border crossing into Canada.<br />
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My vehicle is arguably more ridiculous than our trusty Malasian hatchback Seymore. It's a 1991 Mazda Miata, red/rattle can black with a 1.6 liter (.6 more than Seymore!) engine and 116 mighty Japanese horsepower. Despite the larger engine, I feel like the rear wheel drive layout and convertible makes it an equally unsuitable machine for crossing poor terrain, so don't think that the larger engine is a cop-out. If it comes down to it, snow tires may become a necessity, but I'll cross that bridge if and when I get to it.<br />
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There's a few things regarding the vehicle I should mention. It's also a race car I've taken to Willow Springs and Buttonwillow, as well as a pleasant day beating the crap out of it at Jawbone Canyon. It's safe to say I don't exactly treat it with the respect a 24 year old, 200k+ mile car deserves. As a result, there's a few pieces... missing, and a few rattles and squeaks. I didn't know before starting out that some of these rattles and squeaks existed, but you begin to notice any noise no matter how subtle after a few hundred miles of monotony.<br />
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I also haven't mentioned that it's not exactly a solo adventure, furry Yogi will be joining me to combat boredom and serve as a space heater. I'm also taking my old mountain bike, which should provide for some interesting stories/wounds. Besides some couches, camping will be the norm, at least until the cold decides a pale engineer and a dog in a Miata have no place camping in Northern Canada.<br />
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Anyway, adventure started at approximately 2 PM on April 12, and since then I've seen the Space Shuttle, tented it up in a living room, swam in the Pacific, eaten an enormous burrito, and driven 400 miles. Yogi has mostly slept, peed on things, and drank out of exactly one toilet exactly twice. Updates will come as I can make them, Elaine you can inherit/burn my things as you see fit if I fail to make it back.<br />
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From the couch of Roberto Ussery, </div>
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Byron</div>
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- The author is a recently homeless engineer hoping to lose a little toe frostbite so that he can brag at parties. He graduated from the University of Colorado with his Masters in Aerospace Engineering, and capitalizes certain things so that they seem more important. </div>
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Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-39226672611173707232012-09-17T21:54:00.003-07:002012-09-17T22:21:54.830-07:00Part IX : Fixing Seymour, muddy bogs, and lightning storms<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.16426795162260532" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The washboard road went on for miles and miles, we stopped only to repair a flat tire on the Getz and to have lunch. We got as far as possible before setting up camp in a desert valley. That night, Byron detailed the Mongolian locals' stories about the Gobi Death Worm, which is said to shoot acid from its mouth, be able to electrocute you from its tail, and if seen should be ran away from at the highest possible speed in the hope that it can't catch up (it can). After enjoying the lightning storm on the distance, the plainly visible Milky Way, and keeping a constant watch for 5 foot long red worms, we went to bed.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unsuspecting victims enjoying the scenery just before the Gobi Death Worm attacks</td></tr>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We made great time the next day, getting to Altai at around 11 AM. The main stop in Altai is the Mongol Rally Auto Service, which consists of about half a dozen mechanics and a small garage. We fixed all of our broken tires, and found just before we were about to leave that the rear left suspension on the Perodua had snapped near the lower mount and by sheer luck was still suspending the frame above the axle! We quickly found replacements, and with a log and some brute force, we were able to mount new springs. They were about an inch longer though, and much stiffer, so when we were done the car sat about two inches higher in the rear. With the mud and the lift, Seymour was looking like a real rally car!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All was not perfect however, since because of the fact that the dampers weren't changed, the car without any weight in the rear was hitting the upper limit of the damper's length, and over bumps would impact that limit repeatedly, likely ending in a total failure. We loaded up the back of the Perodua as much as we could with fuel, water, and all of our other heavy supplies in the hope that this would reduce the possibility of breaking the dampers.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While getting the suspension fixed, we also discovered that the exhaust was broken just aft of the muffler, and the tube itself was covered in rust holes. One of the mechanics fixed the holes by adding a thick wire to reinforce the location, strapped to the exhaust with some smaller bailing wire, smeared the whole thing with JB weld, and at our suggestion the whole thing was wrapped in Aluminum tape. This section was then welded to the muffler, the bolts being too rusted to be used again. The exhaust was also shortened slightly to keep it from interfering with the muffler. Hopefully this will last us to Ulaanbaatar!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While waiting for everything to get fixed, we also had an opportunity to talk to some of the other teams. We had it relatively lucky, with some teams having broken oil sumps, holes in their transmission housing, broken front suspension, malfunctioning radiators, and every other type of problem you might run into along the rally. Just before leaving, the four car convoy pulled into the Auto Service! More surprising was that the Citroen suspension was fixed in Khovd and had been working fine since! We had exactly 43 dumplings at a nearby restaurant while exchanging some stories with the Brits and Tony from Colorado. After having everyone sign the Perodua, we left for Bayankhongor, the next major city along our route to Ulaanbaatar.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We made good time, but it had rained heavily the previous night. We worked our way through most of the mud, but eventually got stuck in a silty bog. It was easy to walk through, but Seymour sank in with all of the weight he was carrying.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As much as we tried we couldn't get the car out of the silt. While we were trying to force the car out, two Lexus SUVs drove by. One started backing into the bog to try to help us out, but sank in as well! The other SUV almost got stuck trying to help the first out of the muck, but the first SUV kept digging deeper and deeper into the silt. We did our best to help them out, but it was so deep that it was an almost pointless effort.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We set up a tent for one of the mothers and her kid so that they would be shielded from the wind while trying to figure out a way to get their SUV out of the bog. Eventually, a large semi truck passed by, and it happened to have a large steel cable. There was some sketchy failures, the weak link being the figure-8 knot they used to tie the cable to the truck. Eventually, the truck was able to pull out the SUV, and the Perodua, and we managed to get the Getz through the bog unscathed. The owner of the SUVs wouldn't take our offers to pay him for his help; instead he gave us his number and invited us to his home in Ulaanbaatar, an offer we will undoubtedly be accepting when we arrive.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although we did our best to direct some of the locals towards the best route through the bogh, while setting up camp, a van full of kids and older women got stuck in the same place we did! We gave them water, some food, about a dozen light sticks, as well as all of the tools they might be able to use, but we knew that without a large truck and the cable that we used to get out, they might be stuck overnight. Eventually a large SUV came by and using our ratcheting tie down straps and some luck, they were able to get out of the swamp. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We camped there for the night, sleeping until a ferocious lightning storm passed over our campsite. It didn't help that we were likely still in the floodplain of the bog, so we retreated to the relative safety of our cars until the storm passed. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next day we moved as intelligently as possible, walking through every bog and swamp, and carefully planning our routes through. We got to Bayankhongor without getting stuck once, and after restocking on food, immediately left for Arvaikeer, where (if the legends hold true) pavement runs between it and Ulaanbaatar!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After getting around 75 miles in towards Arvaikeer, we set up camp early, fearing some intimidating storm clouds. A passing storm made heating water for dinner difficult, but eventually the storm passed, and we had a good meal before heading to bed early.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view over the steppe after the storm had passed</td></tr>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were woken by an angry local claiming the land we were camping on was his, so we packed up quickly and gave him a pair of the weird sunglasses we found in Vienna. The thought of some local riding his motorcycle around Mongolia wearing those silly sunglasses overrode any sentimental attachment we had to them.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Along the way, we took a wrong turn and ended up on the wrong side of a valley, with a river running between us and the other side. We took the road until we found a river crossing too deep for our cars, before turning around and trying to meet up again with the main road. We ran into an ambulance driven by some British ralliers on the way back and warned them of the river ahead, so they followed us back the opposite direction.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The main road turned out to cross the river at a fairly deep spot, and as we were getting out to check the depth, the Brits run straight through the river! They managed to get through, but judging by the amount of water that flowed out of their car when they opened their drivers side door, it was definitely too deep for our small cars at the location they took it, giving us the impression we'd likely need to be towed across. However, after some searching, we managed to find a route through, and got both cars safely across.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few miles later, the pavement began! This meant we had successfully navigated the most difficult sections of Mongolia, the rest was (hopefully) smooth pavement! We stopped for some lunch and to celebrate, and while we were stopped we were overtaken by two more teams from the UK! One impressively traveled the entire distance from Altai to Arvaikeer without a clutch, and 5 people weighing their Renault down. They push started the car the entire way, and rev matched to change gears. The other car had no front dampers, so they've been having a bumpy ride on the rocky Mongol roads.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We decided to stop at a hotel in Arvaikeer, get some good food, a good night sleep in a real bed, and our first showers since leaving Astana, Kazakhstan (we definitely needed them). The food turned out to be great, we even had the same thing for breakfast.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There's still plenty of adventuring to be done, but we're allowing ourselves the hope that the worst is behind us.</span></b>
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Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-26988790147360736082012-09-17T21:52:00.004-07:002012-09-17T22:18:31.144-07:00Part VIII : Mountain passes, getting lost, icy rivers, and getting lost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.16426795162260532" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We happily found that Eastern Russia’s police were far more agreeable that those near Sochi, and as a result we made good time driving through the night to Barnaul after leaving Kazakhstan behind us. After restocking on food and fuel in Barnaul, and then continued on towards to Mongol border. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had heard that the drive after Barnaul would be beautiful, and we were pleasantly surprised that the rumors were true. The mountains were well worn, with plenty of open fields, curving roads, and churning rivers. About 200 miles from the border, we ran into four Mongol Rally teams on the road! They were from Scotland, the US, and the majority from England. Tony, one of the guys from the US, was attending a school only about 15 minutes from CU! He also knew a bunch of our friends that were attending the same school.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the incredible scenery in this area of Russia...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and Michael and Thomas' reactions to it</td></tr>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We camped with them for the night, but decided to leave super early the next morning. We had heard horror stories about the bureaucracy at the Mongolian border so we wanted to give ourselves as much time as we could. The Russian side turned out to be fairly easy, but the Mongol side would prove to be a little bit more difficult. We ran into some teams at the border that had been there overnight, waiting for the right combination of stamps and signatures that would grant them and their vehicle access to the country.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We used some of their advice to get Seymour accross the border before lunch (despite the best efforts of some intoxicated bureaucrats), but the Getz was stuck waiting on having the border guards finish their rather generous lunch. The Getz got through at around 3 PM, and we considered ourselves lucky to get through as quickly as we did. We were genuinely worried about the four teams we camped with the previous night, and thought that it would be difficult for them to get their cars through the border that day.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Mongolian landscape was gorgeous, with dramatic rolling hills, and intimidating mountains. The nomadic gers and their livestock dotted the landscape. Our first obstacle would be an enormous mountain pass, which seemed to have a large road being constructed through it, but ended in a slope too steep for the Getz to climb. We turned around and took a side road, which finally got us to the summit of the pass, where a large Ovoo was waiting for us. An Ovoo is a shamanistic collection of stones, and there's a local tradition of throwing on a rock and walking around three times clockwise, which we enthusiastically did in the wrong direction by accident.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We spent the rest of our first day driving to Olgi, where we stocked up on fuel and got some local money. On the way out, it was getting dark, and if you've never seen Mongol roads, take a look. They tend to diverge in random directions, street signs are nonexistent, and many side roads end unexpectedly when you anticipated them to meet up with a main road. We ended up getting stuck on a bad road as it was getting late, and had to find and pitch our tents in the dark.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The following morning we were surprised to discover that our campsite was placed almost directly on a route used by some construction workers, and construction trucks were driving directly next to our campsite! We quickly packed up before they could kick us out, and started driving towards Khovd, the next major city.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Along the way, we were overtaken by the four cars we had met before the border! They managed to somehow get through the border into Mongolia the same day we did, and had been catching up since. They were moving at a much faster pace, but we decided to keep up with them for the day in case we needed each other’s help.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrOEV2nmKTtUOhnecAdeMqw6bx58GkOwfuiATExYF0_RoW12bGdE8M6Vx9OuiKNXk_D2G1V-skMtfYTxH34geu8KpLWgiVee0h1tVO7keLOjIAKd00NWB98bse3xTXjVzYbj4mQINR2dB1/s1600/IMG_1176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrOEV2nmKTtUOhnecAdeMqw6bx58GkOwfuiATExYF0_RoW12bGdE8M6Vx9OuiKNXk_D2G1V-skMtfYTxH34geu8KpLWgiVee0h1tVO7keLOjIAKd00NWB98bse3xTXjVzYbj4mQINR2dB1/s320/IMG_1176.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seymour convoying with the Brits we encountered in Russa</td></tr>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We moved through some more mountain passes, with more than a few hills that made both cars struggle to maintain momentum. If there was one theme for the day, it would be the rivers. There were at least half a dozen that required careful planning to get our econoboxes across without flooding the cylinders with water or drenching the electronics. With some careful planning, and some reckless driving, we managed to get every car across each obstacle unscathed (mostly).</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On one mountain pass, we encountered a man who was showing off his eagle to passing cars. Seeing one of these animals up close gives a better understanding of how effectively they've adapted to the harsh Mongol environment. They're claws seemed perfectly capable of tearing through the thick leather glove the handler used to hold the bird. We were even given an opportunity to hold him! The handler stated that he was 5 years old. Eagle hunting is still an active part of Mongol culture, there are even competitions where eagles catch a fox fur being pulled behind a horse.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b><br /><b style="font-weight: normal;"></b> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzN_R1dN5WOAia_IP_SgeykxNJwbBaeSZV5PM46YkF4pL9kaeTLJ-u9aCPv-ay9uzAJhbyFM11fwGeOKIuZ4HIELWPjCw4Q0cI4PisN4JMNinRdfYx4Qr9LUtKTnZQiZF0yuyBSsCrCFw/s1600/IMG_1188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzN_R1dN5WOAia_IP_SgeykxNJwbBaeSZV5PM46YkF4pL9kaeTLJ-u9aCPv-ay9uzAJhbyFM11fwGeOKIuZ4HIELWPjCw4Q0cI4PisN4JMNinRdfYx4Qr9LUtKTnZQiZF0yuyBSsCrCFw/s320/IMG_1188.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">Alex hiding his fear of the highly evolved hunter</td></tr>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After getting through most of the mountains, we inadvertently took a shortcut which bypassed a bridge over a major river. After some speculation as to how to cross it, we found that keeping the car on the left side, flooring the accelerator, and praying fiercely got every car across fine. We still had plenty of altitude to lose before Khovd, and between it and us was what felt to us like an automotive bobsled run, complete with banked turns and hidden rocks ready to destroy your car if you failed to see them hidden beneath the sand.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unfortunately, one of the teams we were convoying with didn't see a hidden rock and broke their suspension. After some speculation as to how the quirky Citroen's suspension operated, we found that it was missing two bolts that mounted the rear axle to the frame, and in all likelyhood would fail within a couple miles. The team seemed distraught, and we thought it might not make it to Khovd, but because the sun was getting low on the horizon we were forced to press on.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Amazingly, the little Saxo got to Khovd perfectly fine, and because we had some bad experiences getting out of Olgii at dusk, we decided to let the four car convoy go ahead, and camped a few miles before reaching the city with some more teams we encountered while spending time inspecting the Saxo.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We left just after dawn the next morning to start our long journey to Altai, more than 400 km away from where we were. The dirt roads were covered in sand, and keeping up your speed was hugely important so that the car wouldn't get bogged down.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Along the way, there was a road on the map heading directly South, but we knew we had to head Southeast through a large valley in between two large mountains (they were labeled on the map as two mountains, but what we didn't know is that there were dozens of mountains next to the labeled peaks, and they just hadn't bothered to label the “lesser” summits). To make matters more confusing, our GPS unit indicated that there was a road heading Southeast about 5 miles back, but we didn't see a major road heading that direction.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fearing we were heading on the road South towards China, we decided to drive off the road we were traveling and intersect the road we saw on our GPS. After driving for a few miles off road (through a harsh and unpopulated desert) in an attempt to find the main route, we found what appeared to be a vague set of tracks heading the right direction. It led us to an antenna tower, and we were encouraged that it was heading the right direction.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">However, we eventually were stopped by a giant bog, and decided to turn around to go towards what looked like relative civilization and find our way to the main road. Some locals working on an isolated home in the middle of the valley gave us directions to the main road, some 10 km South. These directions were reinforced by another local near the antenna tower, so we set off hoping we'd see the major highway.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As it turned out, the major road turned out to be paved at the location we intersected it! If we had kept driving South, we would have intersected it fine. Driving on a paved road after so many miles of bumps and rocks is a strange sensation, sort of seemed like cheating, disconcerting at a minimum. We wouldn't have to worry for long, because the pavement quickly ended, and we were forced onto another sandy, rocky road. </span></b>
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Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-46286858909584034602012-09-17T21:25:00.003-07:002012-09-17T22:19:19.363-07:00Part VII : Doubling Our Distance in 96 Hours<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.16426795162260532" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After sleeping for a few hours in the car in front of the least sketchy looking building (a topic of no small debate within the team) in a small border town in Kazakhstan, we were awakened by a local so intrigued by our cars and ourselves that he simply had to wake us to talk to us. He didn't seem to mind that we were groggy and some of us shirtless. He insisted on having a picture taken with us and we answered all of his many questions before saying a pleasant goodbye, eating a very quick breakfast of cold oatmeal, and continuing on down the “road” to Atyrau.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We ran into some unexpected bureaucracy in Atyrau. As is standard practice for visa-required countries, if we were in Kazakhstan for more than 5 days, we needed to register with the government/police. Since we had planned at least 5 days to cross the country, we decided to be safe and register in Atyrau. While getting into the city, we stopped in a random alley to find an ATM, and were surprised to see two Mongol Rally cars! They were both English teams, and after meeting the whole gang, they mentioned that they needed to register as well. So, as a mighty legion of travelers we set out to find the nearest bureaucracy to accomplish this task.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After tracking down a police station (more like a police booth in reality), we were told to come back after lunch (which happens from about 1:00PM-3:00PM in Kazakhstan), and then being told that the building we wanted was actually down the street. After walking down the street, finding nothing, asking locals, and then venturing through several sketchy unmarked doors, we finally found the registration office. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After speaking at length with the officials in broken English, we were asked to fill out some complex paperwork and supply them with copies of several of our travel documents (though they staunchly refused to let us use their copier or tell us where we could find one). After finding a copier at a local store, we submitted our documents and played the waiting game for several hours until they were processed. Suspiciously, we were given our stuff back minutes before they closed and well after other groups who submitted their documents after us. However, the deed was done and many miles of Kazakhstan “roads” lay were laid before us, so we soldiered on.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the far edge of the Atyrau, we stopped for gas with the British group and, purely by chance, ran into a man the Brits had met a few hundred miles earlier! He recommended we take a major detour to avoid the most direct road, which he assured us was in terrible condition. After some debate, we decided to take his advice and the detour, meaning we would head 500 km North, perpendicular to our intended direction through the country. This made us nervous, having already lost more time than we would have liked due to the ferry and the registration process, but we resolved to push our days as long as possible, and (if the roads allowed it) into the night as well.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The detour turned out to be incredibly smooth, and we made great time to Oral, the northern waypoint of our revised route. However, it was dark when we arrived and our new redcoat companions decided to camp just outside the city instead of joining us in our push. So, we pressed on alone.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Emboldened by the recent pristine roads, we set an aggressive pace towards Aktobe. For the most part the roads were excellent this direction as well, with the exception of some active construction that simply required slow driving on dirt road detours. Or so we thought.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">About two hours outside Oral, just after rejoining the pavement in a construction zone, the Perodua hit a serious pothole. The pothole damaged both left wheels, and we found that the right front wheel was damaged as well, although not seriously enough to require replacement. This was slightly good news, because of the two and a half spares we had (the half being the half-sized spare, or “doughnut”), only one and a half would fit the Perodua. Two quick jacks and several turns of a wrench later, we continued driving through the night at a reduced pace, both for the sake of the remaining wheels and the limitations of the doughnut.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We arrived in Aktobe around noon in desperate need of wheel service. After asking half a dozen people and visiting as many supposed wheel mechanics with zero success (even one that had a picture of wheels on its sign was no help), we decided to visit the last, and decidedly most sketchy location we were recommended to. Salvation! With nothing more than an old house full of soviet-era industrial equipment and two determined men, we managed to fix all of our wheels in about an hour and they only charged us around $15! We threw in some whiskey and had them sign the car as a sign of gratitude. In return, they gave us their lucky car charm and insisted we take a picture with them.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With spirits high on new wheels and Kazakh hospitality, we continued the record-setting (as far as we can tell) push, now headed towards the new capital, Astana. Just as before, we encountered an enormous construction project during the graveyard shift and, like before, it forced us off onto a hastily made dirt detour. Unlike before, it had recently rained in the area, which made navigating the detour a far trickier task. With travel-weary eyes and the dead of the night working against us, we couldn't figure out how to avoid what appeared to be lake-sized puddles, so we decided to sleep for a few hours until sunrise and reassess the situation then.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the next day came, it was indeed easier to find our way through the vexing maze of puddles, but one problem remained: we had no idea how to get back onto the highway. After meandering through some fields, farms, and villages at a glacial pace with the highway always in view but never accessible, we noticed that all of the trucks and traffic was passing on the other side of the highway. Reluctantly, we backtracked to the start of the detour and turned the opposite way off the highway. However, this did not make the task of moving forward any easier. The rain did not discriminate at all between the sides of the highway and the “puddlakes” on the correct side were only conquered with an exhausting combination of tow ropes, luck, and getting comically muddy.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOh0Rf9Ag19NnmWtOdssHAoLx9e03KIBGk-oFszNw4UV3XoKFDHNIfe7A5VbsUe5A25MA-6Mz8aAuwrsihe3riyxGOWQycSx97kH_IQem7d5j0D7XToI2X1hyphenhyphenezwWOtWJu_UknsCy0WoG/s1600/IMG_1087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOh0Rf9Ag19NnmWtOdssHAoLx9e03KIBGk-oFszNw4UV3XoKFDHNIfe7A5VbsUe5A25MA-6Mz8aAuwrsihe3riyxGOWQycSx97kH_IQem7d5j0D7XToI2X1hyphenhyphenezwWOtWJu_UknsCy0WoG/s320/IMG_1087.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">An example of the damage to cleanliness a bog in Kazakhstan can do </td></tr>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By this point we had been driving almost constantly for 3 days, and with the schedule looming over our consciences and the difficulty of the roads multiplying our stress to uncomfortable levels, we decided to take a break. After one last long day of driving, we finally arrived in Astana and treated ourselves to a hotel (though it only cost about $6 per person). The prospect of showers alone were worth that much to us, considering they were our first since leaving Trabzon, Turkey. We slept in, had a good breakfast, and ran some quick errands in the city before driving towards Pavlodar and the border back into Russia.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24y0RA5IsNKVPmn7MjZh9w0MBzaHbFBFSmKRT1_iFFnqIbJ9B34rw3pM6v9kY1sCTLa9nIaUJH74kZapZeEFzE-kN06l0aqF743mY-WC1xoy5PZ8VsUCCnIO5z4HV7MPwbJQkiIQL6Rpc/s1600/IMG_1091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24y0RA5IsNKVPmn7MjZh9w0MBzaHbFBFSmKRT1_iFFnqIbJ9B34rw3pM6v9kY1sCTLa9nIaUJH74kZapZeEFzE-kN06l0aqF743mY-WC1xoy5PZ8VsUCCnIO5z4HV7MPwbJQkiIQL6Rpc/s320/IMG_1091.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting some fruit in an alley in Astana</td></tr>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We arrived just before the border at around 8 PM, and after cooking ourselves some dinner (the first time in the trip we elected to use the camping stoves), we decided to get through the border that night, and continue our epic push streak through the night to get to Barnaul by the following morning, which would put us back on our original schedule despite the best efforts of the ferry, Russian police, and Kazakh potholes. In all, we crossed Kazakhstan in about 90 hours over 5 days (rendering the bureaucracy of registering paradoxically unnecessary), a pace that most teams we met afterward reeled at (the average we heard was between 7 and 9 days).</span></b>
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Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-64769164780826651852012-09-17T20:39:00.003-07:002012-09-17T20:39:58.674-07:00Part VI : Fun with Ferries and Feds<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.16426795162260532" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hello world! It has been a long time since The (Bare) Bear Boxers have been able to properly update you on the adventures of the 2012 Mongol Rally, and quite adventurous it has surely been.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the last regular post, we were on our way to a ferry in Trabzon, Turkey bound for Sochi, Russia. Now, anyone who has had the pleasure of frequenting public transportation knows that simply getting from A to B can be quite the adventure. This does not even begin to describe the ferry we signed up for. Aside from the entirely incorrect website that listed the wrong days, times, and prices for the ferry, the departure time told to various groups of travelers for THE SAME FERRY was completely different. Fortunately, none of the times turned out to be correct and instead of 6:00 PM like we were told, it was going on 8:30 PM by the time we were beckoned onto the boat with our cars and several other Mongol Rally teams bold enough to join in the adventure.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsX2jK3Hk3StB9tt4cvvqL-bNLDinJWM2lXC9-VfSM8ji9iDuaZNAywWa38-2JyjKIlqzNqhJdWeR2Un2djh5dHsWE_27hxPvpKpPT5nVhHuC1zFZ36vB6sJ2uBfhJwqrTxNdRyly-kLco/s1600/IMG_1020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsX2jK3Hk3StB9tt4cvvqL-bNLDinJWM2lXC9-VfSM8ji9iDuaZNAywWa38-2JyjKIlqzNqhJdWeR2Un2djh5dHsWE_27hxPvpKpPT5nVhHuC1zFZ36vB6sJ2uBfhJwqrTxNdRyly-kLco/s320/IMG_1020.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the other teams daring enough to cross the Black Sea via a somewhat buoyant ferry. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The ferry itself was nice enough, with airplane-style seating and a galley that served simple hot meals for a reasonable price. We had been told by the ferry operator (a boisterous, animated Russian individual who would have been right at home in a James Bond film) that the trip across the Black Sea would take 15 hours. In keeping with the previous times we were quoted, this one turned out to be a woeful underestimation. Instead of an 11:30 AM arrival the following day, it was more like 1:30 PM. And this was well before we were actually allowed to disembark with our cars.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When at last foot passengers were allowed to leave, Nick and Alex stayed behind to fill out the tedious Russian paperwork in duplicate before getting hurried off the ferry and into Russian customs which had no more paperwork, but made up for it with plenty of bureaucracy. All told, it was 4:00 PM by the time our temporary hosts were pleased with our papers and vehicles, and said vehicles were insured on Russian roads (a feat that would have been nearly impossible if not for an extremely generous fellow traveler who offered to translate for us). Roughly 4 hours later than we had hoped, and smack-dab in the middle of rush hour in a rapidly modernizing and growing port city, we began our journey to Kazakhstan. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At this point it should be noted that although Russia is by no means a developing country, they have not yet embraced the warm, benevolent techno-dictators at Google and shared their highly complex and poorly signed road system with them. This meant we were forced to rely on static maps and intuition (which we lacked entirely), and we could not figure out which of the Sochi ports we had arrived at. After blundering about Sochi for half an hour or so, we finally found the highway we wanted, and having read a healthy amount of less than positive anecdotes from the internet on traveling in Russia, we decided to book it for Astrakhan and the Kazakhstan border as fast as 1000 cubic centimeters would allow.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We made it to Tuops as it was getting dark and decided that we would much rather take our chances car camping well outside the city than finding somewhere to sleep within it as night set in. Our first choice at a spot turned out to be less than ideal. After pulling a ways off the road and starting to settle down for the night, we realized that the building directly near us was not the pleasant lumber mill it first appeared to be. We never knew for sure exactly what it was, but there were barbed fences, lots of lights, barking dogs, and plenty of Russian flags, so we decided to continue on a bit down the road just in case it was exactly what we feared. As luck would have it, not 5 minutes away was a nice pull-off shielded by a large dirt pile. We quickly went to sleep and resolved to get up at sunrise to continue our blitz to Astrakhan and the Kazakh border.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the US, getting stopped by the police is maybe a yearly occurrence. The next day alone in Russia we were stopped at least half a dozen times. Most seemed to just check our passports, registration, and insurance. A few appreciated the signatures on the Perodua and even added to them, but soon enough we fell victim to the legendary police corruption we had read so much about.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While driving through Astrakhan, we needed to make a quick cash stop at an ATM before crossing the border. Finding one was easy, but finding a way out of the city again turned out to be much harder. While navigating back to the main highway, we took a wrong turn. Michael quickly made a U-turn, a maneuver we had seen countless locals execute, but as the police were able to immediately discern, we were not locals. A police officer immediately flagged Michael down and, much to our distress, he was instructed into the passenger seat of a nearby cop car. Thankfully, Nick and Byron in the Perodua had been following at enough of a distance that they did not make the same “mistake”.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From the vantage point of the spectators, the situation was getting very real very quickly. We were searching the maps for the nearest police station so we could follow Michael to what we could only assume would be Russian jail. It was stressful to say the least. Thankfully that was not the case, though not for lack of trying. When at last Michael emerged from the police cruiser, he walked quickly over to the Getz and simply said “I have two minutes to give that officer 3000 rubles (about $100), or I'm going to jail for 4 months”. Apparently the initial “fine” was $200 (asked for in USD, the trademark of a bribe), and when Michael tried to tell him that he didn't have that much, the officer thought he was being a hard negotiator and asked him to write down what he thought a fair payoff would be. Michael wrote down all the US money he had: $8. This led to further argument wherein they settled on the 3000 rubles we ended up paying.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had never been more relieved to have just gotten cash. We paid the “fine” for the “illegal u-turn” and were almost literally breathing a sigh of relief when we saw another police officer get into the Perodua with Nick and have him drive off. When we asked the remaining policemen what was going on, they indicated to us that Nick was simply being shown a legal way around the block to get back to the rest of us. We took that as good news. It was a lie.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What Nick's new passenger was actually doing was trying to extort us further, though neither Nick nor the Perodua were doing anything remotely unlawful, that is, until this other officer was instructing him to. After being told to drive the wrong way down a one-way street and break several other traffic laws, Nick and the policemen were pulled over by yet more cops. The officer in the passenger's seat flashed his badge and was arguing with his compatriots when a group of very drunk Kazakh gentlemen walked by, got wind of what was going on, and proceeded to hassle the cops about hassling Nick. In the chaos, Nick was told to drive off and finally directed back to us. Keep in mind that the entire time, the cop was badgering Nick for “presents for his girlfriend” in broken english, to which Nick responded with a heroic bout of ignorance that frustrated him past the point of caring.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With ample amounts of time and money wasted on that encounter, we drove off, restocked on cash, DIDIN'T take a wrong turn, and finally exited Astrakhan heading towards the Kazakhstan border, which was about an hour away. That meant we had an hour to further psyche ourselves out about the border crossing, which we had both read and been told might be an even more harrowing experience than a police stop with plenty of militarized guards and general hatred towards Americans.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thankfully, that turned out not to be true at all. Not only was the Russian border easy, but the guard who was sent to inspect our car had done the Mongol Rally himself! He spent most of the time he was supposed to be combing over our bags showing us pictures of the car he used and other MR vehicles he had cleared in the previous week. After a cursory glance inside the car and a quick stamp of the passport, we were officially out of Russia. It was equally simple and friendly to get into Kazakhstan. In fact, the hardest part about the whole border by far was the road we hit as soon as we entered Kazakhstan. And we use the term “road” generously. The swath of what at one time could have been pavement was two lanes wide. However, at any given point, there was no more than half a lane' s worth of intact tarmac, and it was never in line with the previous bit. In short, it was a car's worst nightmare. This was not helped by the fact that, thanks to our police encounter, it was 1:00 AM and very, very dark. We quickly decided to stop early in the first small village we came to and wait until morning to tackle the rest of the “road” to Atyrau.</span></b></div>
Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-1685121064117493162012-08-16T20:25:00.000-07:002012-08-16T20:25:20.629-07:00We made it!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We've made it to the finish line! Currently recovering from the previous night's celebration (and preparing for tonight's). Still working on all of our blog posts, hopefully we'll have them posted soon, along with some pictures. Thanks to everyone for the support!</div>
Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-18746431358000594592012-08-14T22:24:00.002-07:002012-08-14T22:24:35.324-07:00An Impromptu Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We're alive! Currently in Arvaikeer, Mongolia, about 500 km from our final stop with Seymour and the Black Widow. The cars have held up to our mistakes mostly intact, and we've got paved road between us and the finish line. We've been a bit disconnected lately, our last internet connection was in Russia. We have a bunch of blogs posts in the works, and we'll be posting them when we get to Ulaanbaatar. </div>
Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-91823856424319574462012-07-30T04:14:00.000-07:002012-07-31T03:52:17.946-07:00Part V: Eastern European Vacation!<br />
After leaving Vienna, we booked it out of Austria, through
Hungary and into Romania. Hungary has some beautiful scenery, but
don't concentrate on it too long because the drivers are insane,
(although less insane than those in Romania, and a lot less insane
than those in Turkey). For example, we managed to see two overturned semi trucks in our two days exploring Hungary.<br />
<br />
<br />
After leaving the main highway to get to a campsite, we were
immediately surprised to find an area full of vineyards. Our campsite
was at the base of a range of hills covered in them. We would later
find that the grapes grown in Romania are commonly imported to Italy
to be sold as Italian wine!<br />
<br />
<br />
Cornel was the first Romanian we met. He ran the campsite we
stayed at for the night, and was very inviting and generous. He also
followed the male Romanian tradition of never wearing a shirt, a
custom we could get used to. There were also plenty of stray dogs to
pet (and then wash your hands thoroughly)!<br />
<br />
<br />
As we were setting up, another team doing the rally came into the
campsite! They were supporting Save the Children, and were named
Carlos, Juan and Alex (originally from Columbia, but living in
Miami). They weren't officially doing the rally through the
Adventurists, they've gone rogue. They emailed the Mongolian embassy
and found that importing the car might not be as difficult as it
seemed, and managed to get all of their visas completed without The
Visa Machine. If they manage to work their way through the
bureaucracy unaided we'll definitely look into this option if any of
us plan a second rally.<br />
<br />
<br />
(7/24/12)<br />
<br />
<br />
After a night in Romania we booked it for Bulgaria. Every country
has a “Vignette” or a road tax, and as we head east, they seem to
get less and less official. Austria and Hungary had an official
looking sticker, Romania had a stamped receipt, and Bulgaria just
gave us a couple pieces of printed out paper. By the end of the trip
we might be getting handed a handwritten note.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8r5GYqi_yZjeHemTYxygw3cMKRKCVsGmUTVBo2qX6-5zCKagvaN4UvtsLLz7luQfZvexCSOhk3lJqTb4G9R8UCZYMn_t7yFnjd9uaclKgC62QrU7IhNkkENrgVHBNUR1cSzBjoC8W7vZz/s1600/DSCF0239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8r5GYqi_yZjeHemTYxygw3cMKRKCVsGmUTVBo2qX6-5zCKagvaN4UvtsLLz7luQfZvexCSOhk3lJqTb4G9R8UCZYMn_t7yFnjd9uaclKgC62QrU7IhNkkENrgVHBNUR1cSzBjoC8W7vZz/s320/DSCF0239.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring Bulgaria</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We entered Bulgaria at Ruse, which happened to have an extremely
nice hostel, “The English Guest House”. They had showers, clean
restrooms, and were very close to a historic Soviet-era town square.
At the hostel, we met a German man named Armin, and his two children,
Juno and Aaron. They were taking their beat up car on one last
adventure through Europe. They had dinner with us in the square, and
we had a great conversation about the differences between the US and
Germany, each mostly arguing the merits of the other's country as it
turned out. I guess the grass is always greener on the other side of
the border.<br />
<br />
<br />
(7/25/12)<br />
<br />
<br />
The next day was spent driving to Istanbul. Bulgaria had some
great scenery, with some beautiful rivers and hills, but the scenery
was overshadowed by the ninja-esque moves pulled off by the Bulgarian
drivers. The scenery changed to rolling farmland as we entered
Turkey, and as we went south the temperature kept rising. Turkish
driving also seems to have the boldness of Romania, combined with the
speed of the Nurburgring, but as we would find out later, the driving
would be easy compared to the urban warzone that is Istanbul.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8A3OETL3AHyvc33AnzuPNc1jIrEMFNsQ59Wm77CRFCmXHyW-WEJIKDsqmRsG3ZlRjSUJ-YOdOPSpAUjh0-i5oe4ScZdFKW22A6JHAX2r1c52QpZBN49VnYvOXo_R6SDB77H8GchMPcsT_/s1600/DSCF0280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8A3OETL3AHyvc33AnzuPNc1jIrEMFNsQ59Wm77CRFCmXHyW-WEJIKDsqmRsG3ZlRjSUJ-YOdOPSpAUjh0-i5oe4ScZdFKW22A6JHAX2r1c52QpZBN49VnYvOXo_R6SDB77H8GchMPcsT_/s320/DSCF0280.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stray cat inspecting our Vignette outside of Bada Bing Hostel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We entered Istanbul fairly late, but early enough that we still
had enough light to see the vastness of the city. The streets were
just as we expected: a vast maze of organically planned streets,
suicidal pedestrians, and homicidal taxi drivers. We managed to get
to our hostel unscathed, and vowed to never drive again until we were
leaving Istanbul!<br />
<br />
<br />
A man named Mustafa ran Bada Bing Hostel, a fantastic place
located just between the historic district and a great place for
exploring at night, in addition to an amazing rooftop bar. There
were great showers, bathrooms nicer than any hostel we’d been to,
and most importantly, great company.<br />
<br />
<br />
After unpacking the car, we headed straight to the rooftop bar for
a much needed beer, and quickly met some of the great people staying
there. A man named Jacob had been exploring Europe for months, and
was from San Francisco. A few girls from Holland named Yris, Anette,
and Renatta were exploring Europe by train for a few weeks, something
difficult for Americans to do without an expensive plane ticket.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(7/26/12)<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe03eJdWWG0YWu0I7ALZIU2Bh19Hru-u-Zfywu8CrUT-17JrpjZ0pA6Pr2rJ7axL8McHyHRoFiwORpAJiFSChj5miC4Js4VdzSe7q3ots8EOpBnbEJjWfd2elQIuNLVcCdqIMCHNWPvgA4/s1600/DSCF0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe03eJdWWG0YWu0I7ALZIU2Bh19Hru-u-Zfywu8CrUT-17JrpjZ0pA6Pr2rJ7axL8McHyHRoFiwORpAJiFSChj5miC4Js4VdzSe7q3ots8EOpBnbEJjWfd2elQIuNLVcCdqIMCHNWPvgA4/s320/DSCF0257.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael photographing The Blue Mosque in front of Ayasofya</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig4mCaGPGDmUYDous1_gk6fnS0oHZ8-1qyHbZZi9HB3zuvlv2vtpvvwVzWCpz0odX-dtXIL-C8AUJq6ZeSSYnVohpEfwJ4xQikfFQzQfUME5sQJxt2YJ5d9er9-A3skIluBfKoQZ7l5Cqr/s1600/DSCF0267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig4mCaGPGDmUYDous1_gk6fnS0oHZ8-1qyHbZZi9HB3zuvlv2vtpvvwVzWCpz0odX-dtXIL-C8AUJq6ZeSSYnVohpEfwJ4xQikfFQzQfUME5sQJxt2YJ5d9er9-A3skIluBfKoQZ7l5Cqr/s320/DSCF0267.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px; text-align: center;">Michael, Alex, Thomas and Byron on a bridge in Istanbul</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The next day was spent exploring Istanbul. We took a trolly to the
Blue Mosque, an enormous and ornate structure built about 500 years
ago in a futile attempt to overshadow the adjacent mosque, the
Ayasofya (or Hagia Sophia). The Ayasofya was built about 1500 (yes,
1500) years ago, and while not as pristine as the Blue Mosque, is
more impressive due to its historical significance and the enormous
scale of the structure. Afterward we explored the Grand Bazaar, an
enormous shopping district, where searching through the shops for a
unique trinket is complicated by the millions of items imported from
China, and fighting your way through pushy shop owners to a bathroom
is a battle.<br />
<br />
After escaping the Bazaar maze, we managed to make it to a bridge
linking two sides of Istanbul. Under the bridge there are some
restaurants with world class fish food, which we completely ignored in favor of some cold beers. After recovering at the hostel for a
bit, we headed to the Istanbul night district, which is sort of like
Pearl Street but much larger and more crowded. It's a strange
combination of shops that have been there for a hundred years, trendy
new coffee shops, and vogue fashion stores.<br />
<br />
<br />
(7/27/12)<br />
<br />
<br />
The following day we had to say goodbye to Joyce, who needed to
leave our trip before we encountered and countries requiring visas.
She took a shuttle to the airport, and we fought our way out of
Istanbul and into Eastern Turkey.<br />
<br />
<br />
The temperature seemed to keep rising as we left Istanbul; the
folks in the Perodua were able to see the tire marks of the Getz
imprinted into the asphalt, due to the melting tar. As we approached
the coast, the temperature mercifully dropped, and we finally got to
our campsite for the night in Sinop. We weren’t able to find any
English-speakers to explain the rules to the campsite to us, but we
did find a man who spoke German. Surprisingly, Thomas’ rudimentary
German skills have proven somewhat useful in Turkey. Our campsite
was totally free, although we had to deal with some cows suspiciously
surrounding the campsite.<br />
<br />
<br />
(7/28/12)<br />
<br />
<br />
Turns out the cows were mostly talk, leaving just a bit of poop on
the corner of Michael and Thomas' tent. After a quick cleaning, we
were off to the local black sand beach, where we did some diving into
the black sea from a concrete pier, and threw a Frisbee around in the
water until we were thoroughly sunburnt. It was, perhaps, the best
morning we’ve had on the entire trip.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienctYYTcVOO2ZEyK6as4QcOJ1eqPfOGr04qRaDXa7uK4RlyqCvcZlTnF9Iom4Jtxn7BHR45TYUxE6A7eg973yRLcJx3kPo0UzTHjDzFC38qvTNxByZH36xCDSZ8Kr0N1avm_fFpYokCWP/s1600/DSCF0287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienctYYTcVOO2ZEyK6as4QcOJ1eqPfOGr04qRaDXa7uK4RlyqCvcZlTnF9Iom4Jtxn7BHR45TYUxE6A7eg973yRLcJx3kPo0UzTHjDzFC38qvTNxByZH36xCDSZ8Kr0N1avm_fFpYokCWP/s320/DSCF0287.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael looking annoyed before cleaning up cow poop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
After procrastinating for as long as we could, we left for another
seafront city called Ordu. It's difficult to find campsites in
Turkish, and what we thought was a campsite was actually a
recreational facility. Luckily there was an employee setting up for a
family picnic. He called the owner of the facility, and we were given
permission to camp on the site!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1YaiNWOxLbEmzfsbwhlMrN0tGiA8XS2KysVCQVWFu0P1ko3EacxTfXb0rxgW2IkZpTrZ8gEFS0XOVqK-BIcxw4LIxjtPTSwRJBkEb2SbSO5yNdsqSgvx-PrRIGNngKPTyS9NXNCejp2eK/s1600/DSCF0292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1YaiNWOxLbEmzfsbwhlMrN0tGiA8XS2KysVCQVWFu0P1ko3EacxTfXb0rxgW2IkZpTrZ8gEFS0XOVqK-BIcxw4LIxjtPTSwRJBkEb2SbSO5yNdsqSgvx-PrRIGNngKPTyS9NXNCejp2eK/s320/DSCF0292.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family that gave us great food and a better story</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As we were setting up our tents for the evening, a group of
friends and family showed up for a picnic and invited us to join
them. Turkey is mostly Muslim, and we’re currently in the month of
Ramadan in the Islamic calendar, which involves fasting between
sunrise and sunset (we’ve been hearing calls to prayer over the
city megaphones 5 times a day since we got to Turkey). This group
had come for an evening feast after fasting all day, so they brought
an incredible amount of food and shared it all with us. One of the
women was from Germany and spoke some English (NAME). We’ve been
completely blown away by the hospitality people have shown us on this
trip, and this night was one of the best. We had stuffed peppers,
pasta salad, bread, melon, fanta, and tea. They were using an
amazing contraption to brew their tea which is shaped like a large
jug and can only be described as a tea furnace. Hot embers are
loaded into the bottom of the jug-thing, and heat the water and tea
which sit above. The whole thing has a chimney on top which
constantly emits large quantities of smoke and fire. The tea was
absolutely delicious, although some of us still have burned tongues.
After the first round of food, we had corn cooked on the hot embers
left from the campfire. We had a great time eating, talking,
laughing, and dancing. We even learned some Turkish! Now we can all
say “Thank you”, count to ten, and ask for a beer, so we should
be more or less functional for the rest of our stay in Turkey.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(7/29/12)<br />
<br />
<br />
We left Ordu in the morning and headed out to Trabzon. When we
arrived, we found that driving in Trabzon is about as difficult as in
Istanbul. Not because of the crazy drivers, but because of the crazy
roads. The city is a maze of one-way roads and hills steep enough
the stall our cars. After determining that our google map of Trabzon
was taking us the wrong way down several one-way roads, we finally
pulled over to ask for directions to our hotel. The first guy we
found spoke English and offered to lead us directly to our hotel with
his car! This turned out to be a life-saver, as we realized we would
never have found it on our own. One more point for Turkish
hospitality!<br />
<br />
<br />
Our hotel was called the Nurotel. After checking in, we went out
to the city square and had another delicious meal of rice, lamb
kebab, chicken, eggplant, veggies, and rice pudding. We had to look
around for awhile before finding a restaurant which was open before
sundown (Ramadan). We spent the rest of the evening doing laundry in
the sink and watching TV shows downloaded by Byron. It was a good
way to relax and recharge.<br />
<br />
<br />
(7/30/12)<br />
<br />
<br />
We woke up, had breakfast, and took a walk to the docks to figure
out ferry tickets to Sochi. We found the ticket office without
trouble. There was a man standing outside who immediately saw that
we were tourists and came out to us asking if we were going to Sochi.
Taking care of ferry tickets in the morning proved to be a good idea
since the process ended up being fairly complicated, mostly because
they didn’t accept credit cards. We spent about an hour walking
around town trying to find a working ATM. Our plan was for one
person to withdraw cash and cover everyone, but we found that none of
us could withdraw a large amount of cash, so we all ended up
withdrawing smaller amounts and paying together.<br />
<br />
<br />
On the way back from the ticket office we passed a hotel with a
Mongol Rally car outside. We’re not alone! Their team name
appears to be “Genghis Khan’s East India Company”. We left a
note for them in the lobby of their hotel, hoping to hang out with
them later.<br />
<br />
<br />
We retired once again to the hotel to catch up on more laundry and
blogging, and also to finish the last of our produce and meat foods
before heading across the Russian border. Our Lonely Planet guide to
Russia turns out to be fairly unhelpful when it comes to food
restrictions at the border, so we figured better safe than sorry.Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-46954179099276390342012-07-29T11:53:00.000-07:002012-07-29T11:53:21.600-07:00Video Episode 2: Exploring EnglandWe've just finished our third video! Check it out here!
<br/><br/>
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Q7g2Ij4WcEE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918588082079538294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711226096239418224.post-57431434970569220272012-07-26T16:55:00.000-07:002012-07-26T16:55:04.409-07:00Part IV B : Team Praha<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">(7/20/2012)</span></span></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">With
Thomas, Michael and Byron on their way to Wien (Vienna), Alex, Nick
and Joyce stayed behind to enjoy the Czech capital of Praha (Prague).
We checked in and settled down at the Chili Hostel, a raucous and
lively dwelling located in the center of the city very close to the
Vltava River. However, a long day of cooped-up driving and an acute
lack of belly-fullness led us almost immediately back out to the
streets in search of dinner, which we had no trouble reading. After
strolling by a few places closeby and inspecting the menus, we
eventually settled on some delicious thai food that looked reasonably
priced by US standards. We quickly discovered that, not for a lack of
quality, the Czech Republic is rather less expensive than the US. Our
“reasonably priced” thai meal turned out to be a rather large
feast in a rather fancy restaurant.</span></span></span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">With
a new found abundance of belly-fullness and a temperate evening at
hand, we then decided to explore the Old Town section of Prague. From
the restaurant we meandered along the river to the famous Charles
Bridge. It was an odd mix of fascinating and annoying. Fascinating in
that the bridge has numerous historical sculptures and significance,
annoying in that it is a tourist hot spot and therefore set upon by
hosts of pushy merchants and their gimmicky wares, even at night.
Unfortunately, most of the interesting activities across the bridge
were closed for the evening so we ventured back to explore Old Town
Square.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Even
in the late evening and night, Old Town was brimming with life and
energy. Huge crowds flocking across the open square and spilling into
the narrow streets beyond. Along one of these streets was a small
Absinthe house that caught our eyes. Having never tried it before, we
were all game for a taste and asked the bartender to recommend three
can't-miss Absinthe experiences, which she did admirably, including
one that was fermented with a giant beetle of some sort (Alex chose
to try that one). Even ordering Absinthe is an experience. Because
the real stuff is at least 70% ABV, it is set on fire along with a
sugar cube suspended by a slotted spoon. The burning sugar is
occasionally dipped into the burning alcohol until it changes from
pale green to deep amber and the flames are suffocated. Then, you
alternate sips of the alcohol and water to bring out the complex
flavors (like opening a scotch). For the record, the beetle Absinthe
was the team favorite.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">After
we finished our respective drinks (with much sharing, of course) and
on Rally-veteran Bert's recommendation, we had a mind to check out
Propaganda Bar. As it so happened, the Absinthe bartender used to
work there and, after giving us a look of surprise when we told her
that was our next destination, she gave us characteristically
European directions. That is to say, they were relative rather than
absolute. Armed with nothing more than a vague list of proximal
landmarks and a buzz from fermented beetle juice, we set out to track
it down. This proved to be an ultimately unsuccessful quest. Despite
numerous exploratory wanderings and questioning more than a few
locals (all of whom had never heard of the place), we acquiesced to
defeat and began the lengthy, but pleasant, walk back to the hostel.
Along the way we hopped a few fences (to avoid some particularly
rowdy locals) and took a detour to a basement bar for a couple of
local beers.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">(7/21/2012)</span></span></span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
next day began in fits and starts. After getting up early to re-up
the parking meter (parking in Prague is somewhat of a hassle as 90%
of the spots available are for residents only and tow trucks are only
too happy to enforce that fact), Joyce and Nick decided to get
breakfast at another of Rally-vet Bert's short-list locations: The
Globe. Alex, in the midst of his characteristically comatose sleep
cycle, tacitly decided to sleep in.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Run
by self-described “ex-patriots”, The Globe is a
coffeehouse/restaurant/bookstore that is particularly friendly to
American travelers (not that Prague isn't in general), and provided
the perfect location to adjust Joyce's return flights to accommodate
the previous delays in the UK.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">With
everyone well rested and readjusted, Team Prague set out for a full
day of sightseeing. After fording the river of tourist on the Charles
Bridge again, the first stop was the St. Nicholas Cathedral (at
Nick's request). Although this is not the most famous building in
Prague, it turned out to be one of the most beautiful and ornate
places anyone on Team Prague had ever seen. It was almost hard to
gauge how intricate the inside of the building was because the
intricacy was so dense. Gold and bronze statues, carved marble, and
masterful woodwork covered every surface of the interior. Needless to
say, many pictures were taken. To top it off, there was a gold-plated
Porsche parked right outside the church as well.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">After
the splendor of the cathedral, we set off towards Prague Castle.
Relative to the buildings around it, the size of the castle is second
only to the number of Gothic spines that adorned its roof (it would
feel right at home next to a giant porcupine). Unfortunately, the
full castle experience was uncharacteristically expensive, so we
opted for the free walking tour of the main room and its stunning
stained glass windows that appear dark and dull from the outside, but
positively glow with every color inside.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">With
eyes sore from boggling and legs even more sore from all the walking
we returned to the hostel, but not before stopping off at yet another
Bert-spot (and his favorite at that): a donor kebabish. Although
Google seems to have no record of this place, we are 95% sure it was
not a dream or some hunger-induced hallucination. This was by far the
best donor any of us had ever had, and was high in the running for
best food ever. It really was that good.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">A
few food comas and some internet research later, we decided to
further explore the Czech beer scene. Although the Czech style of
beer is nothing new, it is arguably the finest example of its breed.
Primarily pilsners (a style invented in Plzen, CZ), the fresh local
brews completely break from the dullness of their mass-market
American counterparts while somehow undercutting the price (0.5L
beers averaged about $1.50). This is a very welcome state of affairs
for a night of bar-hopping. Thanks to the previous research, we even
got to experience Propaganda Bar (apparently there were two places
with that name and we were actually recommended to the much less
sketchy one). With Prague successfully painted red (though most of
the city is already that colorful anyways), we called it a night and
prepared for the drive to Vienna the next day to meet up with Thomas,
Michael and Byron.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">(7/22/2012)</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
next day started with some good news: Team Wien had decided to go on
a hike, which gave Team Praha some unexpected, but welcome, time to
do some general shopping, stock up on groceries, and visit the
(hopefully, thanks to this blog) legendary donor kebabish once more
before hitting the road to Vienna. It should be noted that this was
no mean feat since both people with modern navigation devices were
already in Vienna. We had to do this one old school. That sucked.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Leaving
Prague was challenging but doable, and the highways between the
cities were as easily navigable as the interstates we are used to.
Vienna, however, is another story. An unfortunate combination of poor
signage, labyrinthine one-way streets, and a serious case of
internet-enabled techno-coddling left us hopelessly lost in the
Austrian capital. After several double-backs and misguided guesses,
we were sitting at a stoplight discussing our next move when, through
the open window, a pair of Bosnian truck drivers couldn't help but
overhear our predicament. They offered to help and we pulled over to
plumb their comparatively infinite knowledge of Vienna for directions
to the hostel. In a matter of minutes, we were pulling up to the
hostel, checked in, and set about reuniting with Byron, Michael, and
Thomas that evening.</span></span></span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Stay
tuned for the next update!</span></span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10740291875349782751noreply@blogger.com0