Day 57: Idaho Falls, Idaho: "Forever West"

I'll tell you, one of the coolest sights in my entire life has to be seeing the snow on top of the Grand River Mountains of Wyoming while biking across the dusty Wyoming desert.

Such was the scenery of the ride from Rock Springs to Pinedale, our second century which, in relation with the one to Denver, was a serious breeze.

For starters I can finally tell that I'm getting stronger. I talked a lot in my last entry about how I've found my rhythm. I've figured out how I like to ride, how much resistance I like to give, and where I need to push myself. And, above all else, I look realy good in my cycling gear. The goal for this second century was to keep at a steady pace and ride with other friends, and I, fortunately, excelled at both.

The leaders also came up with a brilliant way to help us all pass the time and make something fun out of the century. Are you ready for this? Photo scavenger hunt. We were mixed up into teams, and mine was obviously the best. I was with Alyson, who played the role of team safety-monitor, Mark, our risk-taker, Caroline, our brains *and* muscle, and Kristen, our social leverage as "the cute one". And me? I was the wild card. In these types of events I excel at two things: coming up with ridiculous (though not necessarily feasible) ideas, and being willing to do anything. We were stacked. We were strong. We were ready to roll.

In a rut of early-morning lack of creativity the team settled for the name "Team USA", but it grew on us. After all, who could argue with America? And *no one* could argue with our team spirit as we rolled past other teams and threw out obnoxious chants, the others already bickering and forming rifts due to their artistic differences.

The photo prompts were filled with the classic staples. Get a picture with a stranger. Spell out a word cheer-leader style. Get a shot of two riders holding hands while on the bikes. Etc. Etc. We played it conservative with a lot of our shots and this was perhaps our downfall, but each one was at least a *good* shot in its own right. We had a shoot out at the gas station a la "Zoolander". Our "scenic shot" was a close-up of Mark's toned biker butt. Our best though definitely had to be our double, in which we checked off both "Lady Gaga Pose" and "Picture with the van driver" by getting Kristen to hand-feed a Derrick a Honey Bun. For those, like me, who don't have terribly extensive knowledge of Lady Gaga this is a recreation, and I will say an *awesome* one, of the scene from the music video to "Telephone", in which Lady Gaga breaks out of prison and, driving away with Beyonce, is fed a Honey Bun. Derrick is a sucker for all things Gaga. Having Kristen play the part of Beyonce was the clincher.

As we rode along the desert to Pinedale, whilst hunting down good scavenger hunt shots, Team USA also took advantage of the chance for good conversation. We played a game of Sarah Graham's invention: going through the alphabet, players take turns thinking of things that inspire them which correspond with the letter. For example, I got "H", and chose to talk about my little brother, Hank. Aw. It was cool hearing that side of the rest of the team, and, as a bonus, it kept us both occupied and inspired as we worked our way across the beautifully oppressive desert.

Soon enough the Rockies reappeared on our right. Pinedale was nigh and things were going smooth. Unfortunately, the Weather Gods decided things were perhaps going *too* smooth, and decided to send a nasty desert rain our way. Folks around here insist that the weather has been especially bad this year. Lucky us. The temperature dropped about 50 degrees in 10 minutes, and we all found ourselves scrambling to throw on our extra layers and debating whether to ride through the hail or wait it out in a huddled mass. Riding on proved to be the better decision, though the wind whipped us and we all wound up with mud splattered all over our faces and gear by our wheels.

This was made better by lamas. We came across a farm and a very friendly ranch-hand named Karen invited us closer up to watch as she fed them treats. She explained to us the intricacies of lama-farming and lama-packing. I was impressed by how smart they were, and how adorable the babies were. We were in the exact kind of Wyoming I'd always imagined; farmland sandwiched in between desert and mountain, filled with the best kind of quirky folks: adventure-seekers, nature-worshipers, and folks of the soil. Karen was a delightful combination of all three and our conversation with her was a hoot.

Eventually we managed to peel ourselves away from the lamas and started on the last leg of the century into town. What should have been a 30 minute ride wound up being at least double, maybe more, thanks to the 35mph headwind that blew perfectly in our faces. Working my way to the front I volunteered to pull for the folks I was riding with. With Alyson, Jen, and Kristen at my tail I used my...prodigious girth...to block the wind and keep us all rolling at a steady pace. To keep myself sane I started belting any song I could think of that occurred to sing. It was a feat of strength. Breathless and roughed up from a long day on the road, I sang at the top of my lungs in defiance of the elements and their rage. I was traveling just fast enough to get about one song in per mile. Right as my repertoire of My Morning Jacket tunes was getting exhausted we finally arrived into Pinedale and I, caked in a thick layer of mud and boiling with testosterone, threw my gear to the side, rushed through my shower, climbed into my sleeping bag, and immediately powered down. I only woke up when I was kicked awake to come grab a plate of dinner, and ate like a viking. The rest of the evening was spent reading and participating in a head-scratching train. 'Twas good.

Being on team breakfast, from a chore group standpoint, is usually stupid-easy. After you wake up you roll into the kitchen and pull cereal and fruit out of boxes. Afterwords you do a few dishes and then leave the rest of the clean-up for trailer crew. The only people who have it easier in the mornings are team dinner, who literally have to do *nothing*.

Jesse and I made history, though. We were the first, possibly ever, to actually break a sweat doing work for breakfast crew. Our host was kind enough to leave us with the raw ingedients for a Breakfast of Champions: Bacon, eggs, pancakes, coffee, all awesome. The problem was they didn't line anyone up to actually cook all this food. This became the job for jesse and me. So we woke up early (about thirty minutes), rolled up our sleeves, mae breakfast for 31 people, and all the while cracked our usual jokes. 'Twas good.

From Pinedale we rolled to Jackson Hole, where we were to enjoy yet another day off. In between these two towns was, in my humble opinion, the most beautiful scenery of the entire trip. As we weaved through Teton Court, we enjoyed the mountains at their loveliest. Goldenrod scattered along the rolling foothills. The mountains towering overhead like fattened sky-scrapers, with bare patches of brilliant orange sandstone punching its way out. Evergreens further up the sides. Birds circling overhead. The Snake River, green as the trees themselves, bubbling along the side. It. Was. Gorgeous. And every color of the rainbow at some point fund its way into the frame.

The ride even had the promise of being a cake-walk, since we were following the Snake down into Jackson Hole. We did not, however, anticipate the headwinds. Headwinds so brutal, in fact, that, even on the steep declines, we were forced to hammer, in our lowest gear, to keep moving at a pace of 3, maybe 4 miles an hour. It was a tremendous tease. So much delicious downhill and it was as if we were biking upstream through the river instead of downstream and along its side. It punished us and wore away at our psyches. Many of us allowed ourselves to work out an outburst, myself included. We yelled at the wind itself.

I asked it who it thought it was. I asked it who it thought I was. I told it I was Will Paradis, and that I didn't climb over the Appalachians, ascend Trail Ridge Road, do two centuries and camp in the cold desert to throw in the towel over some egomaniacal breeze. It didn't seemed impressed and continued to wail. So I continued to pedal. We all did. And, eventually, we won out, and it only made the fact that we had a day off to look forward to all the more sweet.

And oh man, our hosts in Jackson Hole! So. Awesome.

So three summers ago this lovely elderly couple, the Amblers, heard about Bike and Build through their church's news bulletin and out of the blue called up he leaders and offered them a place to stay. Three summers later, they're still in the habit of hosting a horde of 30+ cyclists over the summer for reasons which escape my reasoning and understanding. Jim and Emily are great, and their house is beautiful. Specifically their back yard, which is edged up right against state conservation property, meaning it will never ever be developed on. In the foreground we could watch the wild horses roam this field. In the middle ground, a highway displayed the people passing through Jackson Hole but, being just far enough away, we were relieved of the noise of the highway and left only to enjoy the sights. In the background was a perfect, perfect, PERFECT view of Grand Teton peak, looming over the valley like a watchful guardian. I spent at least 90% of my day off on the Ambler's back porch sipping coffee, reading John Steinbeck, and just soaking in that view. At night we laid out in the backyard and admired the stars. Sprinkled in between during my stay I would have conversations with Jim in which we would celebrate life, the West, and the future. It was restorative from my bones to my soul.

And then today, hopping back on the bikes, we hit another major milestone. We climbed. Teton. Pass. Easily our steepest climb, and nothing to sneeze at from the standpoint of length, the Teton Pass was a test for all of us. We climbed at an average gradient of 10%, which is, to be blunt, a lot. But we proved ourselves.

I really wanted to push myself and this was the perfect chance, and so I committed. I promised myself that, no matter how hard the climb got, I would not stop until I reached the peak. No breaks, no snacks, just the steady rhythm of a climber. During Trail Ridge I proved I was physically capable of conquering a mountain. It was time to move into the far more difficult test, that of the psyche. It was literally me vs. me, and as I struggled up the mountain I could feel my brain splitting in half with one half shouting "STOP" and the other urging me to keep going, to imagine the feeling I would have upon reaching the top, to appreciate the challenge and to prove myself. There were moments when my legs felt like jelly and my lungs felt like they were on fire, but every time I felt like stopping, I looked back, saw how much I'd already climbed, and told myself if I could do that I could do the rest. One pedal at a time. One foot in front of the other. One two three four. Inch by inch.

Finally reaching the top was a million times more satisfying than I'd even manged to convince myself. On the last leg, with the wind whipping and the van blaring music, I pumped up to meet the group of bikers who had made it up before me, each shouting my name, each urging me to finish strong. I was hurting but I was still grinning from ear to ear when I rolled under the tunnel of arms made by my team members. I had made it. I hopped off my bike, took a breather, soaked in the moment and then joined in the fun as we celebrated each team member making it to the top. When we were all there Sarah switched the iPod over to the Killers' "All These Things I've Done", BNB's unofficial themesong, and we raved like maniacs, bouncing to the beat and screaming "I'VE GOT SOUL BUT I'M NOT A SOLDIER" in unison for the whole world to hear. We got several pictures and videos of us dancing and finished with our strongest haka yet. If it was any sort of prelude to Cannon Beach things are gonna get ridiculous. I love my team. So. Much.

The rest of the day was a cake walk, almost as if the route itself was celebrating our accomplishments. We crossed the state line into Idaho and then invaded a soda fountain in Victor which has acheived a world-renowned reputation for its huckleberry milkshakes. We pounded those back and proceeded along the plateau, enjoying delicious, windless flat for the rest of the day.

And now we're in Idaho Falls! We have a Build Day tomorrow and we're staying in a super swank church. I've staked out a couch for sleep tonight, and our hosts have been incredibly sweet to us. These days I'm riding as much of a Bike & Build high as ever. It's gonna be great to do some volunteering tomorrow and it's gonna be great to see how the rest of this trip plays out.

PS, my first meal in Idaho? A baked potato. Go figure. Turns out some stereotypes are true.