This morning we ate a mixed up breakfast of leftover groceries. I didn't want to waste any food, but also didn't want to carry it: this included a large slice of watermelon, which had seemed like a good treat the night before, but I hadn't been able to manage it. As for my appetite, it is practically gone by the afternoon. I usually don't have much interest in food at all by the end of the ride, because I'm so tuckered out. Breakfast, though, I always look forward to. I also had a couple pints of chocolate milk to finish. It was a task to get so much down, but I dolefully finished it and felt rather ill for my efforts as we started our ride.

Of note is that we had stayed in the Iversenn inn in Murdo, which in though a common name is also coincidentally the name of my moms side of the family.

The morning was sunshiny and cool. There was not too much for wind, but a hint of it -- neither especially with or against us. We continued from Murdo along the peaceful frontage road of I-90, graced with very spare traffic perhaps only a car every ten minutes. Our pace felt slow, as if our tires needed air, but they seemed well enough. Perhaps it was the road surface, which was roughly paved with a layer of compressed gravel like cement. For the first time in many days, I was not so miserable biking! The pace was easy, though we did have to pedal continuously. The air smelled sweet and fresh and open. Birds chirped all around us. The colors of the grass and hills and sky were the lovely hues of soft paintings. The wind, light though it was, felt almost as a caress and not a hindrance, though I could not figure with certainty it's true direction. The miles went slowly, but I pedaled along lost in thought and daydream, enjoying the outdoors and the start of the day.

We reached Belvidere--not much to this place, from what we saw!--and stopped at a gas station to get something to drink. We were sure we had hardly covered any ground at all, but thankfully it was still 30 miles we had finished. We also gained an hour, as Murdo lay on the border between Central and Mountain time. The lady at the cash register and a middle aged man in western style talked with us about our ride, and were very pleasant conversation. They gave us some advice on the roads and our route, which was much appreciated.

We still had about 32 miles to go before Philip, continuing west along I-90 and then going north on 73. Far away to the south, we could barely make out the rising forms of badlands cliffs. But they were only hints of the badlands, which would have been another days ride further west for us. After stopping in Kadoka for lunch, where a western riding competition was taking place, and whose gas stations were filled with families on road trips, the wind picked up and against us. It was very slow going from then on, and the hills were long climbs with no aid on the downhills because of the wind.

Turning north onto 73, the wind did not relent. This borders the eastern edge of the Buffalo Gap grasslands, though it seemed like wheat fields and ranch to me. And the road, though quite empty, began to climb massively rolling hills (that to me, were the sort that only seem to climb upwards, stair like, and never descend in any rewarding way). These are the sorts of hills that only have hills beyond them. This area is strikingly beautiful, the light colors of blue and subtle gold and yellow. Gentle, soft and gleaming colors. But hills curved endlessly upwards. I walked for a ways up them, knowing I would be going no faster on bike, and into the wind. Nearing the top, some 5 miles from Philip, a kindly gentleman in a red pickup slowed beside me and asked if I needed a ride. I was sorely tempted to accept, but knew I could make it on my own, if only slowly. I thanked him and drudged onwards. Ah, this area is so sweepingly beautiful-- a land where the sun kisses the earth as my aunt says, or the hill tops in this case -- but it would be far more lovely walking or anything that is not biking with gear. Such colors and such moving, endless land all around. Beautiful as a dream!

Philip, at last, I could spy from above at the bottom of the hill. However, the wind as it blew through my ears, was so strong that even on such a seemingly steep downhill, I crawled along and pedaled hard. To go down! How foolish I looked, as I fought down the hill!

Tomorrow, we will attempt to reach Faith SD. Wish us luck, in this sea of blustery hills that reach the sky! We have certainly left the tourists far, far behind and will be entering remote country.

The forecast for this morning and yesterday evening in Winner was rain and thunderstorms. The rain last nigh never seemed to appear, though the air felt strongly of it. When we started riding, there was again a blanket of gray clouds, and we were nervous for when a storm might begin. I was on the watch for droplets, and as I learned later, Laurel was on the lookout for lightning. We started of going west on 18 out of town and for a short ways before we would turn north onto 183. The skies were dreary still, and hung close overhead like a low ceiling. There was one bulge of cloud that swelled towards the ground, and this made me nervous. Perhaps sensing my glances towards this patch of cloud, Laurel aptly predicted these clouds were "angry eyebrows on a happy face." For they never rained on us, or stormed. As one expansive grey sheet, they moved slowly southwards as we moved north. However, this was because the wind was out of the north, and thus against us. Quite strongly against us at times, a bracing wind that we had to pedal firmly against. The air was almost unpleasantly cool with our sweat, at least for me. Far, far north I could see a faint blue line. This was the edge of the murky ceiling of clouds above us. The atmosphere for me was depressive. I felt frustrated and slow and tired and thought continuously of giving up. This was until, far out in the fields, we noticed the white shapes of a circle of tipis and many different colored flags. I wondered what this might mean. We rode onwards, and came to a gravel road on our side. Laurel noticed the signs first: a stop the TransCanada pipeline sign on one side, and a keep our water blue on the other. There were two flag poles besides these as well. On the signs, there were many Nebraska environmental and rancher related organizations, such as Bold Nebraska, 350.org, Sierra club, Audubon society, Nebraska beef, etc. At the time, we did not know much more about this camp than that it was in resistance to the pipeline. The cloth flags, sewn with ribbons of many colors, flapped loudly in the wind. We continued on into that headwind, and I thought on what we had seen -- I had wanted to go up and see who might be around, and if we could learn from them about their resistance. But the gravel road was long, and so was our road, and I did not know if it would be okay for us to intrude without contacting beforehand. Likely, it would have been a good opportunity, of which I have regrettably missed many on this trip thus far.

We were making for the town of Presho, which was some 40+ miles into the wind. This seemed to take forever. However, after awhile we came to the very line of the grey clouds, which had come to meet us as we rode towards it throughout the morning. Once we had crossed it, the skies were lighter and bluer, and the sun brighter. It was as if we had stepped outside, out from under our low ceiling and into the open. The land was wide in all directions. Wide and open, and far-reaching. This encouraged me some. Hills rolled on, as an ocean. But an ocean more immense than we had seen so far, and we were very small.

Eventually, we came down a long flying hill into what I guessed would a river valley. So it was. Zooming down the hill, we descended into trees and at the bottom met the White River and a bridge. The water, as Laurel remarked, was indeed a whitish tint. Swallows swooped in huge numbers about the bridge -- a habit we have observed at rivers and bridges in all the states so far. But flying downhills, as I know too well, mean arduous climbs back up. Except this time, the long curving and rather steep uphill climb was...not so hard! My legs felt strong pushing me up the hill, and the valley protected us somewhat from the wind as we climbed. At the start of our trip, such a hill would have been agony. Now, for whatever reason--I suppose a combination of hard won strength and the striking scenery -- I slowly but very surely made my ways up. And felt good doing it. That was perhaps one of the more rewarding moments I have had. The hillsides around us were coated in yellow flowered plants, and when we reached the top, the view was astonishing. It was so beautiful. The hills of the river valley spread out before us, yellow and bright and the skies blue against them. Far away were the tiny dark forms of what we first assumed to be cattle, but which I soon discerned to be buffalo. Their fields were wide and seemingly boundless indeed! Both Laurel and I paused here for some time in admiration. There have been so many extremely challenging moments on this trip -- actually, almost all moments it sometimes feels -- but this was a moment that is crystalline and wondrous.

The rest of the 14 or so miles to Presho did seem to take a long time, but the landscape was more cheerful now and my attitude improved. My legs seemed to run out of fuel up a long upwards grade just about 4 miles from Presho, but from the top of that hill into town it was down hill and this helped to push me along. We could see, as we approached from above, the town beneath us and to the west. Here we got lunch at the Hutch cafe. Things are becoming increasingly "western" themed now, presumably as are quite close to the badlands. As we entered, an older gentleman asked us how far we had ridden that morning and when we told him about 45, he nodded sagaciously and said he had guessed we were serious bikers. Perhaps, but I think I am more a leaf in the wind most times. We had grilled cheeses. The cafe was quite lively, with older folks and customers, and increasingly so as we were there. Must be a good place for lunch! A band of 8 older and older middle aged folks was at the table near us, and talked animatedly-- with one woman in particular enjoying the spotlight and telling a story of her lost and found wallet. Towards the end of our meal, one gentleman came over to our table and asked us where we had started riding. I answered with Winner, and he said that then we must have been riding for perhaps a couple days only. Laurel and I shared a look, and we smiled and I clarified that our first start point was Houston and today was day 19. He was happy about this, and told us he and his wife did a lot of bike touring in the past -- and from all the places he said he biked, his total trips far outdo our distance! I told him bout our route and that we are following the pipeline. After he returned to his table, I could overhear him explaining to the others.

After going outside to get back on our bikes, an older man came out the door as we were putting on our helmets. He had come out after us, hearing that we are biking the pipeline, to ask if we had seen the Indian tipis along 183 near Ideal and explained that it was a resistance to the pipeline. We told him we had indeed seen it! I at first was very happy that he had come outside just to let us know. And he was certainly a nice enough man and very kind. However, his comments as he explained the camp were insensitive and in fact insulted me, though I did not want to stir bitterness from him. He made some comments about the "indians" resisting the pipeline to protect nature, and to prevent loosing profits from the pipeline, profits which he implied "we" give them. I was dumbfounded. I asked him what his thoughts were on the pipeline and what he thought the attitude of Presho was. He said he isn't from Presho but from nearby. In general he wasn't too involved with it, but said that to him it seemed like a good thing. Jobs and all. (An answer that I grow very tired of, and nervous that it is the justification for so many). This simply isn't true. He acquisesed, as I have also heard from others, that most of it would be exported to China anyways. I think that there is so much disarray surrounding knowledge of the pipeline. Many are ambivalent, and misinformed. But there is a lot of misinformation out there, that the issue for many becomes unclear unless they take the time to investigate. As we continued on, I stewed about his comments. I was increasingly angry about his comments, offhand though they might have been, towards the native resistance. Does he realize that the dedication of many native nations throughout the U.S and Canada is for his own good as well, as it is in defense of our earth, which we all live upon? And not only the earth in general, but the pipeline also concerns their sovereign lands, past, present, and future. The pipeline crosses over the homelands of many, and in some cases extremely close to reservation lands as well. Those from these reservations have dealt with so many big companies polluting their lands, it is entirely justified that they protest the keystone pipeline putting their water and lands in jeopardy. This man, I felt, instead of belittling their cause should be grateful. And as for implying that "we" as a country "give" native nations profits or anything else, that is just idiocy. The U.S. has taken and continues to steal more from native peoples than it could ever hope to repay -- and whatever it does repay are pitiful masquerades of justice. Justice would be the return of lands -- or at the very least fair treatment, reparations, true respect towards sovereignty and culture, and an admission of the long and continuing persecution and genocide. I pedaled hard in my frustration.

The camp, from what I can tell from this article (http://m.rapidcityjournal.com/news/local/rosebud-sets-up-camp-to-protest-keystone-pipeline/article_26af7076-bbc2-5aa3-bfbe-d00b766936b6.html?mobile_touch=true) was started by the Rosebud reservation, as a prayer camp and peaceful protest, to keep up pressure against the pipeline. There is another good article here: https://sicangulakota.net/tag/keystone-xl-pipeline/ The more I read, the more I wish I had gone down the road. It seems to be a very peaceful and strong resistance and I would have been grateful to meet those dedicated to it. I am not sure if there are still people camped there, but I am guessing so and I would have undoubtedly learned a great deal from their resistance. I send my solidarity, and hope that our paths will cross. I hope that, as I passed, my own dedication was felt and that I left behind some measure of my own strength, whatever I might have, to protect the medicine that was placed in that land.

The last 35 miles of our ride were along the frontage road of I-90. This was an extremely calm road, almost empty, that stretched on forever. There were rolling hills. And the blue sky, which had been only lightly feathered with clouds, slowly accumulated a flock of white, puffing shapes. A herd in a blue pasture, growing as the miles passed until it was filled with their forms. The sky here is truly an amphitheater, boundless and wide, though curiously close.

The last 10 miles were very hard for me, as the sun heated up and I wore down. I was ready to be there, and my backside (I will be frank) is so sore. I am so very sick of biking. Any other form of moment I would take, gladly! But no more on a bike. All I could think of is how badly I wish for just one day off the bike. Ah, it was almost unbearable of desperately I thought of this. It is hard to continue, knowing that we will eat, sleep and then so soon be back on bikes again repeating the long process, without a rest day to look forward to. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the opportunity of taking on the pipeline. But I think that rest days are extremely important, and I had planned one at the halfway point originally. Laurel wants to continue onwards, as she is on somewhat of a time limit. But I don't know if I can continue much more, and know it is not wise to continue without reprieve when my body (and mind) needs it so very much. It would reinvigorate me for the last third of our route, and take away the absolutely unnecessary weariness I have felt, only briefly punctuated by some of the positivity and excitement I feel reaching moving places such as the White River valley or the resistance camp. It would also give me time to think more and research more, as we continue through South Dakota. I will do my best to stay strong.

Today we covered about 80 miles and reached the town of Murdo. As we near the badlands, tourism is clearly taking hold. Much of the tourism in the badlands (and particularly Mt. Rushmore) I am no fan of. The badlands themselves are a marvel, but the tourism business and the desecration that is Mt. Rushmore I could do without.

From Murdo, we had a couple options (limited by roads) for our route. We could continue along 90 towards Buffalo Gap and the badlands themselves, which would no doubt be beautiful, or we could take one of the only roads north to Philip. It seems that we are veering towards Philip, as to continue towards the badlands makes it difficult to go northwards. Between Philip and Faith, up more in the north west, there seem to be few roads and almost no towns on maps. We will see.

We woke up this morning in the small town of Butte NE. Both of us were feeling pretty tired. As we learned throughout the day, perhaps our 99 miles yesterday wore us out more than we realized! I'm pretty proud of that feat, even if the wind helped us greatly. After getting our bikes together by a little after 6:45am, we headed down to the Firehouse Cafe again, but this time for breakfast. I had a big meal of French toast and eggs, and Laurel had two giant pancakes. Plate sized pancakes must just be the style in Nebraska. That suits me just fine! The waiter/co-owner of this restaurant has a loooong upturned mustache, that juts out from under his nose and is clearly twisted dramatically to upturn so. It is almost unreal, and hard not to stare! The food is quite delicious.

We got on our way following 11 north east, which would eventually become 18 east. The forecast was rain for the morning, and we could see a slate of clouds spreading slowly from the south. The air was thick with the feel of rain, and still. There were more rolling hills ahead, but with the stillness and the dim light of the cloudy morning, it was an atmosphere almost intimate and calm. Very still. This is beautiful land. Corn fields, grass fields, and a tree or two. It seems, despite being only rolling hills, that you are near to the sky. The clouds crested over the sun like an ocean wave as they moved in behind us, but they never overtook it. There were humbly blue clouds to the north, and slate grey and rippling in a blanket at our backs. In the quiet, birds chirped around us. This was the last 8 miles of Nebraska before the South Dakota border. We have now covered 4 states, with two to go.

South Dakota seems almost close to home to me. It is more familiar to me, in that I have been here a few times whereas I had never been to any of the other four states we have passed through thus far. Once we entered South Dakota, the hills lessened and become more slow gradual, subtle grades. The wind was still mostly from the south, and not too strong, but now we were traveling primarily west and it still cut across us and may have been a bit against us. There were many corns fields and now and again a barn of cows or horses.

Although we had managed to out-bike the morning rain, keeping just ahead of us, the light remained subdued and grey. Almost drear at points now, though not so dark. It was also very, very humid though still not especially hot. Perhaps it was more our mood, but we felt like we were trudging onwards. The miles passed slowly, and I feared to check how far we had gone, guessing it was such slow going. It was as if our tires were low, though they seemed well enough. We reached the town of Burke SD and stopped here for a snack, about 10:30am. Luckily, as it happens, we had somehow covered half the distance already in our drudgery. We had 35 miles or so left to go. Thank goodness we had covered some ground, because we were both feeling slow. It didn't seem to matter how hard we pushed the pedals, our wheels weren't going to go much faster.

After that, it did seem to get hotter, and the humidity did not lessen. The sun was out, though faint. There were a number of towns along this stretch, perhaps one every 12 miles of so, and this divided up the last 35 miles. At last we came to Colome, 11 miles from Winner, and goodness I was glad for a chance to stop. My knees felt like they were burning, and my backside was sure sore. That's one thing you may not realize about biking long distance -- the pain in the rear that it can be, literally. Sometimes it is almost unbearable, and it never goes away. Usually it builds up and worsens over the course of the day, and is more tolerable towards the beginning. This is one of the most unpleasant parts of a long bike ride. Ah, the welts and bruises we must have! Anyways, today it was an aching sort of pain, that has begun to resonate almost through my bones and I was ready for a break and was very ready to be done.

Colome is a town of perhaps 300, and it lies directly on the keystone XL route. From what we saw, it is quite small and sleepy indeed, though there are some large grain storage bins near the main road. We stopped into the Flying D's gas station and got something to drink. Sitting at the tables in the back, Laurel spotted a couple of photos labeled TransCanada pipeline, Yankton showing pipeline laid out on cleared paths through farm fields. It was posted up in the corner of a bulletin board, filled with other flyers for community activities and advertisements. I was surprised to see it there! I assumed, that as it showed pipeline construction photos and was labeled only with a location (likely the existing pipeline that goes straight north through south and North Dakota to the east) that it was perhaps a sign against the pipeline. Before leaving, I asked the cashier if she knew much about the photo, mentioning that it was the keystone pipeline. She was a cheerful woman perhaps in her mid or late thirties and had spoken to us amicably when we had come in. She responded cheerfully that oh yes, the town is quite excited about it, and hoping that it will bring more people through, as it is quite a small town. I was surprised, though perhaps should not have been. I told her that we were biking along it and asked her if the pipeline in the photos was through farm fields, and she said it was. I also asked her if it was close to being completed or was still being worked on and she said it still had a ways to go. I then asked her if there were many people in town who worked on the pipeline, and she said most are people who stay in Winner and come down. In any case, she was rather enthusiastic about it. I remained very casual in my questions, and I should have perhaps asked more, but was glad nonetheless that I had asked her about the photo and that Laurel had spotted it. I thanked her and said I should be getting on my way, and when Laurel joined me shortly at the bikes outside, I told her about the conversation. This gave me something to think on as we continued on the last 11 miles till Winner.

I have read a few articles, one about towns in Montana, hoping that the pipeline coming through will breath new life into their towns, just as this woman and some in Colome must be hoping that it will attract more people and liveliness. I told Laurel that I was doubtful of this, although I understand their hope. I just can't figure how the pipeline passing through will bring people through. There are many claims that the pipeline will bring jobs, of course. This too I doubt, as many are temporary construction positions, which will not last long. Some estimates from anti-keystone XL groups claim that as few as 52 permanent positions will be available, as many are already held by present TransCanada employees. I suppose I would need to speak to more people in Colome to know the full stance of the town, which may well be varied, but even so it was interesting to hear of their apparent excitement. In my opinion, a small town looking for revival could accomplish many of their goals and likely attract others to the area by advancing in greener energy or working towards sustainability. This can be a tough road, but it is longer lasting and in my opinion, both more rewarding and empowering down the line.

The last short part of the ride to Winner went smoothly enough, and at least a bit quicker than the rest of the day. I was very, very glad to be there. In fact, we had covered the 70 miles by about 2PM, so not such terrible time even if it had felt rather sluggish and awful. We both agreed that the 99 miles yesterday must have had some hand in tiring us out, as well as the increasing heat and humidity throughout the day. It was back in the low 90s by the time we reached Winner, and we have had a few cool days up to now so we may be a bit out of sorts. Although, I won't lie, I am definitely wearing down even if my muscles have grown strong.

There are a number of motels in Winner, and we chose the Warrior Inn. Quite nice and a low price. I was so glad to have gotten there by mid afternoon and not as late as some of the past days. I am tired, and all I've wanted to do for a while is sleep. And that's what I did! I took a nap! A glorious, glorious nap. Oh, I could sleep forever at this point. I keep wishing to take a rest day. I may have to soon, or I don't know how much farther I can manage. I did feel much better after my nap though. So maybe I will just have to catch earlier and earlier sleep, as much as I can.

Tomorrow, we ride to Murdo. Hard to believe, even so, how far we have come.

Today we started off down the gravel road from the cabin towards the small town of Ericson proper. The road was wet from the heavy rains, but rolled well enough. The sunrise was especially hazy, with long yellow white rays across the open lands, and sand hills in the distance. It had been recommended to us by Sue that we go to the Ranch cafe in Ericson for breakfast. This was right next to -- indeed connected to -- the "sale barn" which is where cattle and livestock are auctioned. There were cows baying around it. The pancakes here are huge! And very delicious. I highly recommend stopping by! The early morning crowd all rolled in about 7am with us, and were mostly truckers and rancher types who pulled up a table together and talked about the hail and storms the evening before. We did our best to finish our huge breakfast, though it was a challenge and we were very full! The men at the table talked to us about our trip and the weather and biking, and joked about how they would have some trouble biking such distances (some of them were just a bit pudgey).

The ride through the rollier sand hills brought us back east to connect with 281 to go north. The wind, we noticed with hesitant hope, seemed to be coming from the south! Could it be!? We had some climbs and rides down over this 7 or so miles to the larger 281, but the surroundings were beautiful. Mists and low clouds moved in wisps above the hills. The colors were grey and light with morning. We passed again the leveled section of land where the power station would have been constructed to power the pipeline. I can't emphasize enough how strongly I feel the sand hills are a place of beauty and uniqueness, and to jeopardize it would be a disgrace. How could you wish to do so? While in Nebraska, I did indeed sense some of the pride and stick-together-ness of the people there and was grateful for those that had moved against the pipeline here.

When we reached 281, and turned to go north, the wind was indeed pushing us! And the road had a shoulder! And if was quite smooth! From Ericson to O'Neil it would be about 56 miles, which we hoped to cover by noon in order to have lunch with Jane Kleeb from Bold Nebraska. I was very much looking forward to this, and combined with a road that was almost entirely flat and the wind pushing us, we speed along at a racing pace.

We stopped briefly at a gas station not too far down 281 (where a large truck turned out, and a man waved from the window - this was the trucker, Dwight, who had offered to help us yesterday no doubt glad to see we had not been swept away by the storm). While trying and failing then trying again to add a bit of air to my tires (I hate these presta valves...), a late middle age man with a lap dog on a leash and blond, somewhat scraggy hair walked into the gas station. As he did, he asked us where we were riding and then told us that the word Nebraska came from an Indian language and meaning land with flat water. I don't know about this, but I did guess that the word came from an Indian language of course. Most of the state names and many cities/towns do, in fact, come from the original languages of these lands. When he came back out, I was still trying to pump my tire. He asked us if we carry any sort of gun, and asked us our age, and urged us almost aggressively that we should and that he wished we did. In fact, he seemed almost angry with us not to, and angry when we reacted hesitantly to his urging. Indeed, he made me a bit nervous, making it seem like it was foolish and dangerous as young women bit to carry a hand gun and warning us that we were aiming for trouble not to heed such advice. I strongly disagreed with him, but tried to nod politely till he went on his way. Hopefully he was just overly worried for us and as a result seemed more hostile. I feel that, as two younger women, sometimes men such as him act out of internalized sexism as well as a certain degree of fear for our safety based on the very extant though hopefully unlikely dangers we might encounter. However, I do not feel we are foolish, or that our journey is reckless. I do not believe sexism or dangers that we, as women, are regrettably subject to should stop us or scare us from experiences such as this bike trip. That is crippling and wrong, and only hobbles opportunity. Indeed, as a woman I wanted all the more to take on this trip, in order to combat the persistent aura of fear and danger that stops many other women. And they are not wrong for being fearful. But I have always felt that fear should not stop you, only inform you. Heed warnings, but understand that there is a broad world before you. I hope to inspire other women to take on adventures, and of course to be safe but not to be stopped if they can. And I will never carry a gun, regardless. I carry wits and awareness, not fear and bullets. After this hiccup, though, the roads were so smooth and pleasant and it was soon behind us. I sped along the road so fast! Simply racing, and actually enjoying much of the ride for the first time in quite a while! It reminded me that, yes, biking can still be fun!

We reached O'Neil at 11:50, having covered a lot of ground quickly. Unfortunately for us, we received a message from Jane that she could not meet with us. But for a very good reason! She would be doing an interview with MSNBC, about a recent pipeline leak in North Dakota. So we didn't take it too hard -- I'm actually really hoping to hear this interview. I sure do hope that our paths will cross down the line! I have much to learn from her.

We ate lunch, and discussed what we should do. Originally I had us going through Amelia to Atkinson, and spending the night there. However, remembering the difficulty of biking into a northwest wind, and looking at the weather tomorrow which hinted rain, we decided to try something ambitious. The next possible motel within biking distance on our route was in Butte, NE. This was 47 or so miles away. To go there, we would have a mileage of the day of 99 miles! But we thought of the smooth road of 281, and the push of the wind from the south -- a benevolence which may become increasingly rare -- and decided it was our best bet.

From O'Neil, 281 had a generous shoulder and very smooth. We flew along, coasting atop the hilltops and watching the expanse or grass as far-spreading hills around us. The sky was blue, with only a few white wisps of cloud. We went so fast through this section! Only towards the end did it become a challenge -- because of the neboro River valley -- where there were a couple screeching down hills with panoramas of the land, following by long arduous climbs back up. This brought us across the River, and up one more climb to the town of spencer. Pushing up these loooooong hills was hard, and made us swear instantly in the increasing heat, but I did feel stronger on them then in the past. In spencer we stopped at the gas station for a snack. Here, while we ate and drank, a number of farmers and truckers entered the area with tables, as well as a very old man an I assume his preteen grandsons. The elderly man liked to chime in at opportune moments with one liner jokes --which he had clearly thought much about and was quite proud of--, and a grin anticipating laughs. They all talked to us about the route, giving us some ideas of the land to come through South Dakota and encouraging us. They asked us about our ride, if we had trained (no...though that is a good idea!), and we all laughed about the hills we had just climbed. They were so friendly and smiling, and very mid western. It reminded me of home, and my dad. As a complete contrast to the man that morning who suggested we carry guns, when I mentioned to this group of farmers that some called our trip dangerous, they warmly and emphatically encouraged us that no, we will be fine! They did not seem concerned, only humorous, friendly and helpful.

Another note of interest is that we had gone through Boyd County, which apparently had been very outspoken against the pipeline.

The last section to Butte crossed westwards on 12, but was fortunately flat. We had some trouble with the wind cutting now strong across us but it was only 9 miles to Butte, and in the very end turned north. Butte only has about 300 people, and is clearly mostly for farming. There are some grain bins, some homes, and corn fields.

We got some icecream and a bite to eat down the way at the firehouse cafe.

We are how just under ten miles from South Dakota!

We woke up in our tent in Stromsburg (Swede Capital of Nebraska) at the Buckley Park. The grass had been soft and comfortable for me, and the night pleasantly cool.

We went to the gas station up the road in town to get some breakfast. Muffins and donuts for me, and chocolate milk. There were two older gentlemen, one of whom was named Larry, seated at the tables as well, one talking languorously about the past and the other halfway listening. They were quite caricatures of old mid-westerners. Lots of s'poses, talk of punch and some sort of get together (but this was their wives business and they were not to be involved). I overheard them mention a 30% chance of rain. Of course, after not too long the gentleman who was half listening to his companion asked us where we had biked from and we talked a bit, about flat tires and the trip so far. I waved to him as we headed on our way, and not long later he gave us a honk and a wave further down the road in town.

The morning was smooth, and the wind wasn't bad. It was much more calm. We passed over the Platte River. At some point during this day, we would reach 1,000 miles ridden. We estimated this to be approximately when we entered the town of Albion. Just as we were entering town, we received our very first derisive comment. We have met only nice people for the most part thus far, and most drivers have been respectful. Only a few have honked or sped by us, and of those that honked, a few waved back at us to show they were being friendly. Sometimes we also get thumbs up, or waves. So we've been very pleasantly surprised, and fortunate. As we approached the stop sign into Albion, a pick up truck passed us filled with youngish men. The passenger had his window down, and shouted "get a job" as they passed. I, naturally, gave them the middle finger. (If you know me, you may find that surprising! But enough time running or biking will harden you against folks that shout). So that was very disappointing, especially at the marker of our 1,000th mile. As a result, I don't look especially favorably on the town of Albion NE! Although to be fair, I'm sure there are many nice people there and we were just unlucky to meet the rotten eggs. Young people, my age and slightly younger in particular, can really be obnoxious. Even as a relatively young person, I often think so! They often like to overuse their mouth, and underuse their brain. But perhaps that is just my inner old person talking. There are many delightful young people.

After lunch, it had become cooler still. The skies were hesitantly grey. We continued on through increasingly rolling hills, into small valleys of deep green corn that spread on forever. A sea of corn. There were Cargill signs a plenty. It became cloudy and dim enough that I took off my sunglasses (which I dislike anyways, except that they are a necessity when biking all day. I think sunglasses make folks, in particular cyclists, look arrogant and so I am bashful wearing them).

I thought back to the morning, remembering the 30% chance of rain. For me, if there is even a 1% chance of rain, it is a guarantee. So I had been apprehensive and anticipating some form of shower in the afternoon. The skies were getting greyer, and the air cooler. The hills became more dramatically rolling, and because we had no shoulder on highway 91 it was difficult to know when a car (or more often, large truck) was coming up the other side. When we would crest the hill, we could see far ahead as the hills rolled up and down into the distance.

With less than 10 miles to Spalding, I caught a flicker of lightening. We continued hesitantly on. Then we saw more flashes across the sky, and being in such open and exposed grass land, we knew we could not stay on the road. That was asking for trouble. Laurel has in fact seen lightning strike close to her while part of an undergraduate research experience at University of Nebraska a couple years back. We were both thinking of this, and of the strong storms we associate with this part of the country. We pulled off the road and walked our bikes into the grass and a little ways onto the side of the hill we had been in the process of ascending. Here we tried to spy the sky behind the hill and the clouds moving in from the north west above us. I suggested we take out the blue tarp for the tent, and just wait it out in the grass. It seemed to be moving quite quickly, with the thunder and lightning growing closer even as we had paused. This made us feel that it would likely pass by fairly quickly. So it was. The lightning and storm was not especially strong, but it did downpour slightly and then rain for perhaps 20 minutes or 30 minutes while we waited under the tarp, tucked into the grass of the hillside. We wear sitting in the grass by our bikes, beneath the bright blue tarp close over our heads (still wearing helmets), listening to the pitter patter and watching the grey of the skies and listening to the low rumbles. Laurel called home to her mother while we waited, to wish her a happy birthday and also to have her monitor the radar. It seemed that there was a system headed through, then a gap possibly followed by another system to come later. This was literally the only rain on the whole map, just where we were. I remembered telling my family, due to my penchant for rainy whether, that in order to track me they could just look at the weather radar. So it was!

The rain slowed, and the skies brightened again. This encouraged us that we could make it the 6 miles to spalding. The road there was again so rolling, both of us were very apprehensive of causing an accident. There was not a lot of traffic, but there could be multiple vehicles at once.

We had hoped to meet an anti-keystone organizer named Jane Kleeb in Spalding at about 3:00. Jane Kleeb began Bold Nebraska, an organization opposing the keystone XL pipeline. Herself and many landowners in Nebraska have worked immensely hard to stop the pipeline and are largely responsible for preventing its construction thus far through Nebraska. They have also managed to get the route changed from its proposed route directly through the sand hills. I have so much respect for their work, and feel so inspired by her dedication, experience and expertise. I contacted her during one of our last days in Kansas, and wish I had contacted her sooner. She wasn't able to meet us in Spalding due to her schedule that day, unfortunately, but we made tentative plans to meet in O'Neil the next day.

Because of the rain it was now surprisingly cool, almost chilly, and I thought something warm like hot chocolate would be a good break before we tried our last 20 miles to Ericson. Originally, I had hoped planned to stop in Spalding for the night and we would camp there, putting our mileage for the day in the upper 70s. However, Laurel was able to get in touch with her aunt previously, who happens to have a cabin in Ericson which fit well with our route, except that it would bump us up to 93 miles. Reaching spalding, our legs felt up to it, but the skies had other plans.

Spalding is a very small, and we didn't see many options for hot chocolate. Stopping into an icecream shop we had thought was closed, they suggested Kealy's bar and cafe across from the gas station. When we entered, there was a bar, tables, and some older men (some in cowboy hats) around a round table playing cards. There was a middle aged woman behind the counter, speaking to a cop whose prim uniform and friendly but competent demeanor reminded me strongly of Andy Griffith. We spoke with the cop, Jim, about our ride and nervousness for lack of shoulder, as well as some of the other men at tables. We ordered some fried food, as it was now about 3:30 and approaching 4. While we ate, it seems a new system of storms brewed. The waitress/owner showed us the radar on her phone, and we discussed what we should do. A man who we had spoken with, Dwight, who told us he had seen us on the road near York, urged against trying to bike before the storm. It was already drizzling outside. The waitress also seemed very apprehensive about us attempting to bike in the rain. If we were caught on the roads in the storm, there would be no visibility for one thing, but the storm itself could become dangerous. Weather out her is unpredictable. Dwight gave us his phone number in case we ran into trouble and offered to drive us the last 20 miles through the storm and after he left we continued to discuss. I felt it would be far too unsafe to risk biking in such weather. We could stay and camp in Spalding, but more severe weather was predicted for the night. We could play our luck against the skies, but this also seemed very unsafe. The waitress, Darleena, came back as offered to call her husband, who has a pickup, to drive us. Hoping that Laurel would not consider this to be "cheating" by not biking the final section, I laid out my thoughts. I felt tense, because I knew what I felt was the best decision for me-- accepting her offer for a ride -- but didn't know what Laurel might think. We decided, fortunately I feel, to accept the waitress's very kind offer. While we waited for her husband to finish some work and drive over, a group of old men and women gathered around another round table. Some of them asked us about our bikes, and we tried to explain to them that we had biked from Houston and were now strategizing what to do. This we had to repeat a few times, to a few different ladies and gentlemen at the table. It was quite a classic moment. One hard of hearing lady responded "Hastings?" (A town in Nebraska farther south), after we said Houston. An older man across from her said "No, HOUSTON." "Hastings?" "Houston." This went on, even as we were heard out the door. ("they biked in?" "They biked from Houston!?"). The waitress told us her husband would pull up to the corner. He recently had surgery and was somewhat frail as a result, so I did the hefting into the bed of the truck. I've gotten stronger, I can tell, because I was fairly easily able to lift our loaded down bikes! It was raining now, and we were all a little wet. I don't care so much about wet riding (though I don't like it) but just unsafe things like lightning. As we were loading up the bikes, the policeman pulled back up with his phone. I believe he had come back to find us, having seen the bad weather and not wishing us to ride in it . He said there was too much lightning, and probably thought we were a touch crazy. He was likely relieved to find we had relented and accepted a ride.

The husband, also older, was very kind and talked to us as he drove. He was really a pleasure to talk to. He even showed us where a horse farm was located, near to Ericson, in case we wanted to visit it in the morning. As we drove, it seemed we were just on the border of the rain, and there was even some sun! This made me feel that perhaps we could have biked it -- but I had to remind myself, we would likely have been caught right in it as it would take us longer on bikes. We told him about why we were biking the pipeline, and coincidentally right along 91 into Ericson there is a leveled, fenced area that was to be a power station before the proposed pipeline route was changed to farther east in order to avoid more of the sand hills. In fact, we were in the sand hills now! With the rain and the late afternoon sun glinting off of them, like so many grassy and multiform waves, they were stunning. Ah, so these were the sand hills, all around us.

He knew the area very well, and had no trouble locating the cabin next to Lake Ericson (more wet land appearing to me), which we might have struggled to find. We thanked him heartily, and he told us no trouble, just Nebraska hospitality.

Laurels aunts neighbor Sue had just arrived home and came to check on us. We put our stuff away, and she invited us over the watch the storm roll in and watch the weather on her little tv. She had a very darling chubby black lab named Teddy. She fed us apples and popcorn, and we talked together for some time about the ride and how it had been going, all sorts of things. A very lovely lady! I was tired by close to 8, and so we went back to Laurel's aunts cozy cabin -- very nice by the way, though furnished with perhaps a few too many animal skins for my taste -- showered and went to bed. More storms rolled in about 11pm, with flickers of lightning, but nothing serious.

We started out in the morning well enough, still with sun but with significantly cooler temperatures. This is likely because of the huge storm that had moved speedily through about 8:30 pm the night before.

However, with the storm the winds had changed. We sensed this already in the morning, going north a ways, then it was hard again going west. Sure enough, looking at the grass at the roadside: out of the northwest. I have been anticipating for sometime that, eventually, we would hit this wind. From Houston all the way up through Kansas, the predominant wind was up from the south. It didn't always help us (though in Kansas it gave us a good push) and didn't often hurt us (with the exception of a few stretches in Oklahoma) but now we were fighting it. We made it to Geneva, and my ears were aching. I couldn't stand the wind cutting through them anymore. It had been about 20 miles going west, with the wind whistling persistently through my ears. The land was mostly flat, with corn fields on either side, but windbreaks were few and far in between. It was a constant push against the wind.

After lunch, the winds had strengthened. They were nearly 20mph most of the afternoon, and straight out of the northwest. Meaning we were headed straight into them. Passed a NuStar pipeline terminal just outside Geneva.

The 50 some miles that afternoon were some of the most challenging we've faced. The wind was so strong we had to pedal constantly. Pedal. Pedal. Pedal. Otherwise, you would not move. Even on downhills, we had to pedal hard to move forward. Oddly enough, we both remained in fairly high spirits on the way to York.

In York we stopped to eat some icecream, both of us a little shaken from the wind but realizing there was nothing to be done for it and thus remaining in a decent mood. I can't even begin to describe how hard it was to endlessly push against the wind. My legs could feel it -- comparable to going uphill all day without a single downhill. Even though, ironically, the land was predominantly flat with only some hills. Going south, we would have absolutely flown. The best I can describe it, perhaps, is the way an ant must feel when blown across a table.

From York to Stromsburg we had about 18 miles. I held up as long as I could, pushing and pushing into the wind. I knew I needed to just walk for awhile, to calm down, but I kept trying to chase after Laurel, who herself was trying her best to just put her head down and make it through.

The last 7 miles were flatter still, but with the wind it made no difference. With a few miles left, I was so sick of being on a bike I could hardly stand it. I actually did begin to sob. Laurel was a distant spec. All I wanted was to walk for awhile, and I should have simply done so earlier.

Eventually, Laurel came back for me! I was surprised! And I felt bad, knowing that she had as a result had to backtrack. As it turned out, we were barely a few minutes from the campground. Laurel had made it there, and then realized I was gone. I gradually recovered and calmed and felt such relief (and foolishness).

It turns out, we had gone 87 miles straight into 20mph winds. Knowing this, I understood why I had felt so exhausted. The mileage is the farthest we've done, and we did it in very adverse conditions. I felt a glimmer of accomplishment amidst my despair.

We camped at the Buckley Park campground (free for the first 7 nights!) just on the edge of Stromsburg and near the pool. It's much more of a park than a campground, with a grassy area and some picnic areas a small bike trail, and a pool down the way. The campground is primarily the picnic area. But the grass was soft.

The shower is at the pool, and so we showered, conversed a bit with the group of elderly campers in RVs (all of them very funny and kind), then walked the short ways into town to get some grilled cheeses and French fries.

I was more than ready for bed by 8:30, even though the sun was not yet set. As we move north, it sets later. That night was our first cooler night, and it was refreshingly pleasant to sleep partly within my sleeping bag.

This morning there were thunderstorms around 3 and 4 am. We could see flickers of lightening through the windows. Fortunately, they had calmed by the time we left shortly after 7am. We watched the dark skies as the storm clouds slowly moved southwards, hesitant about lightening. Fortunately, we were headed north. Because of the storms, the sunrise was a glowing red. The bluer skies to the north opened up into the horizon, scattered with lighter clouds, and with the more omininous dark clouds behind us. This resulted in a beautiful early morning, with the green and yellow hills of Kansas rolling around us.

Our route today would bring us through Steele City, the point at which the XL pipeline "diverges" on many maps. This is a town of about 82, and very sleepy though pleasant enough. We took 77 northwards until going east on 136 (All American Rd? 148?), crossed into Nebraska, and then 8 to Steele City. There is, just across the railroad tracks, a beautiful small stone church with a circular stain glass window, with many multicolored rays. It is dated from the late 1800s (perhaps 1887?). Other than that, there are some houses, a post office and a small park with a few trailers. We ate a little snack here. Getting back on the road, we heard what we thought to be a massive, slow moving truck overtaking us. In fact, it was a train racing along. It looked to be transporting some sort of tanks, and many of them.

Reflecting on Kansas, it was truly beautiful. They must have received decent rain this spring and summer (or so says my dad) as everything appeared quite green. The hills were not nearly so difficult as Oklahoma, and though more rolling than flat, Kansas was far smoother than than its climbing southerly sibling. There was gold and green and grass, cows and crop land, and pasture. The lands seemed to roll on forever, broad and open against the sky. And we were chased by almost no dogs at all! There were many folks with cowboy hats, and genuiene and happy speech.

As we crossed into Nebraska to reach Steele City, so far it has flattened out slightly more. It was a much shorter distance today, only about 55 miles, as we ended in the town of Fairbury. One problem we face is that often lodging, whether a campground or a motel, becomes spread out in distances that we can't always make 80 miles. Sometimes the distance to add one more town bumps things up in the 100 mile range, but otherwise we are left with a shorter distance. However, it looks like through the rest of Nebraska distances should add up to about 80 or so. We will be headed towards Stromsburg tomorrow, then Fullerton and Amelia and Akinson. Although I am looking forward to seeing the infamous Sandhills, I can't deny that I am intimidated to think of more hills!

Once arriving in Fairbury, around 1 or 2 pm, we left the bikes at the Capri motel (for $47 a night after taxes, it is really spectacular by the way!!) and walked the twelve or so blocks to downtown where we had lunch and explored the courthouse and park. Fairbury seems to be a lively town. For me, I was actually very grateful for such a low mileage day. We have biked without a rest day for two weeks now, over 860 miles, and I have been feeling worn out. The smoothness of many of the roads through Kansas helped me to recover some energy, although we are both concerned when the temperatures climb to the upper 90s. I often feel as though Laurel would like to push on and on and not take easier days -- this guess makes me feel stressed and overwhelmed, as my style of biking and my mentality for this ride is focused on seeing the land itself, and certainly not on speed or distance covered per day. I want to keep a good pace, but mostly I want to follow the pipeline and to see things. I would actually be very satisfied with 60 miles per day, which is a wonderfully comfortable distance even if 80 miles now at least feels more manageable at the start. I've never doubted my ability to cover longer distances per day -- but I've also never seen the purpose in self-induced misery and in jeopardizing the journey itself by missing out on the land around you, through things like exhaustion or speed and pressing onwards without pause. To do such things frustrates me, and so I am glad for a chance today to catch up on research ad reading about the pipeline, and perhaps for my body to have at least a little reprieve. Nonetheless, I must express my extreme thankfulness for the health and the safety we have experienced thus, to come so very far. We are half way there, and after reaching Steele City, I will be happy for however further we can get.

I've learned a lot so far and met many interesting people. But much more, my love for this earth has grown. I find my heart attached to the land in all places we have gone, and singing to gaze upon it, diverse and splendid, and to move across its contours.

Day 13: Waterville

We ate breakfast with my dad at 6:30am and then we started cycling by about 7. I waved goodbye to my dad (he and my little brother Paul were going to search the small towns for a good basketball court and then go to the nearby small town of Abeliene and visit the Eisenhower presidential museum), who would meet us later that day when we had finished our distance: 83 miles ending in Waterville.

The roads began smooth and quick, and the morning filled with bright sunshine. The hills rolled up and down easily beneath our tires. We covered the 25 miles to Junction city in just about 30 minutes give or take. From there we continued following 77 north to Riley, then at last to Waterville.

The second half of the day between Riley and Waterville was hot and stifling, climbing into the mid 90s. The roads had more hills, but still manageable. Most overwhelming was the heat, which engulfed us on uphills as the air stopped.

My dad and little brother passed us in their van close to Waterville, then we met them as we came into town. As we were sitting discussing maps and routes and whether we should stop for the day, on the steps of the Weaver a historic motel in Waterville where we had considered staying, a woman pulled up and asked us if we were looking for someplace to stay. Her name is Helen, and she offered one of her buildings. We dropped off our bikes and gear, then joined my dad and little brother to visit the town museum, and went in to Marysville, a small town though slightly larger up the way. Laurel and I were so hungry at this stage. We had arrived in Waterville in the two o'clock hour, but it was now past 4 and we hadn't eaten anything substantial since the morning. All we could find in our haze was a Hardee's and ate tons of fries and a shake, as everything else was meat.

Afterwards, my dad brought us back to Waterville after making sure we had all the supplies we might need, and it was time for him to start his long drive back to Minneapolis.

We showered and prepared our gear, then when Helen returned we spoke and talked about our trip, and learned about her backgrounds and work. She is working with a program called wellness weavers, and an extremely ambitious lady! She took us to see some of her buildings, all of them with historical significance, and as we were taking a photo together the town historian Rod drove by. Together with Helen he gave us a tour of the opera house and museum and shared some history about the town, the railways, and Olive Thompson and Mary Bennett. Waterville, back in the late 1800s and early 1900s was quite a wealthy place, because of the railroads passing through, cattle, as well as oil, I believe. Susan B Anthony even came through.

There is a very rich history here in Waterville and many people working to keep it told. I hope to return someday!

Tomorrow we are headed to Nebraska, and Steele City, the diverging point of the XL pipeline expansion from the existing pipeline.

I will hopefully have time to go back and write more about this day, as there was much more than I have time to write just now!

We started off from Augusta this morning, and even stopped into mcdonalds next door to eat some pancakes. It was filled with older folks, discussing the Fourth of July antics and fireworks and get togethers.

We attempted to take some back roads out of Augusta, but twice these turned out to be gravel roads, pushing us onto a road called Ohio St for a long, smooth stretch out of Augusta, and then down 20th st into the countryside and towards El Dorado in the hopes of reconnecting with 77 north. As we came down 20th, a small but well maintained paved road, we saw tanks in the distance, a number of which had hazard signs with codes for very dangerous chemicals on them. Many of these were owned by Magellan Pipeline Company, which according to its website "is a publicly traded partnership which primarily transports, stores and distributes refined petroleum products and crude oil. It currently has more than 1,300 employees working in 23 states. Its assets include 83 petroleum products terminals, more than 9,000 miles of refined products pipeline, 800 miles of crude oil pipeline and a 1,100-mile ammonia pipeline system." Its petroleum pipelines send products from the Gulf Coast to states in the middle of the U.S. This was definitely a huge hub outside of El Dorado. Looming in the distance like a post-apocolyptic, futuristic cityscape were tanks and stacks and smoke. We did not know with certainty, as we approached ever nearer, what this might be even if it did look intimidating. What we were approaching was the HollyFrontier El Dorado oil refinery. Here is the description from their website: "The El Dorado Refinery is located in El Dorado, Kansas and is one of the largest refineries in the plains states and the Rocky Mountain region with a crude oil capacity of 135,000 barrels per day. The El Dorado Refinery can select from many different types of crude oil because of its direct access to the Cushing, Oklahoma hub, which is connected by pipelines to the Gulf Coast and to Canada. This access, combined with the El Dorado Refinery's complexity, gives it the flexibility to refine a wide variety of crude oils. El Dorado's refined products are marketed primarily in the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountain region, which includes eastern Colorado (including the Denver metropolitan area), eastern Wyoming and the plains states."

From El Dorado we reconnected to 77 and continued north. Kansas has definitely flattened out, even if there are occasional gentle rolling hills. With the wind coming up from the south and going north, we are very lucky to have its help pushing us onwards (for now). As we were pedaling quickly along, I suddenly felt that there was another bike approaching. Before I knew it I heard "on your left" and there was a young man on a sleek road bike wearing fancy bike clothes. With him came two others, in matching gear. Laurel and I have not seen many cyclists and are still surprised when we see some. To be passed by speedy road cyclists was a surprise-- we were also a bit insulted that they did not say hello! Soon after a van passed us, with the same name and colors as their gear. Then two more matching cyclists and one last van. These cyclists were being assisted!! They must have been on a similar tour to us, long distance, but going assisted by vehicles and not having to carry any gear or be out on their own. I snorted. Too easy! But secretly, I could not deny a hint of jealously. Going unassisted is by far tougher, even if their efforts are likely very genuine. We could see them slowly become specs ahead of us. Then we saw them again from a distance, and they had all stopped on the side of the road. They were changing a flat. We slowed as we biked past, unsure if they would initiate any conversation. We thought it might be interesting to talk to them but got only a wave, and so we continued on. We were both happy nonetheless to have caught up so quickly and to (hopefully) show them our mettle. This section of road was so speedy, and smooth, plus the wind. I'm sure it's primarily the wind that is giving us speed, not so much our own strength. But I'll take it!

The towns are spread far apart and ahead of us there was only the small town of Burns. There was not even a gas station here, but there was a bakery/cafe and it was our only option. We went in and were greeted by many older folks and older couples, many with cowboy hats. They were all very friendly and spoke to us. It seemed quite Midwestern! And the waitress even had a bun and long dress. We had some milk and water and cinnamon rolls.

The next section of road was also extremely fast. I began to feel fatigued and a little feverish after biking another 25 miles or so. There were some clouds, but it had become increasingly hot. I really think I need more chances to stop and take a quick drink instead of pedaling hard for sometimes an hour without a chance to drink water. This means that when I do stop, I am very thirsty. During the ride, I was attempting to get in contact with my dad and brother, we had driven down to Kansas to meet up with us for the weekend. About 15 miles out of Herington, I learned that they were headed south and would soon reach Herington. We sped along the last stretch, and I admit I was still feeling a bit achy in the joints and thirsty. We are able to cover quick ground with the wind and the flatter roads, about 15 mph at times, but I think the extremely fast pedaling also wears me out even if it is less noticeable or dramatic than strenuous hills or rough roads (which consequently require more rests, which are helpful).

Only a few miles from the motel, a red van slowly approached us. I was suspicious, and then suddenly recognized it was my dad and little brother. We both waved. They circled back around and passed us again then met us just ahead at the motel. I was so glad to see them. They are crazy to have come met us, and to have taken on such a long trip to us, but spectacular for doing so. We had pizza next door, dropped off our bikes and gear, then my dad offered to take us all to see the nearby grasslands. He wanted a chance to see some of the surrounds. It was strange to sit in a vehicle and cruise along!

The TallGrass Prairie national reserve is about an hour or less from Herington. It is surrounded by beautiful high rolling hills, grass covered with a few specs of trees or lone trees. It is really breathtaking landscape. Kansas can be flat and a bit repetitive, but some sections are just gorgeous. I would never have guessed to see such high waving grasslands in the middle of Kansas! My dad especially enjoyed them. Although secretly (and perhaps apparently) I was very tired and sunburned, we all took the 1 3/4 mile loop to see some of the reserve. It was hot and the sun hard, but the trail was very nice. It is an expansive, beautiful reserve! I love waking and spending time with my dad so much and it was so good to see him and my little brother again after about two weeks of biking. Afterwards we drove back to Herington about 7:00 and ate pizza. now I was so sleepy and barely hungry, but still glad to be in such good company. I had wanted to go to bed already by 7:30. Alas, not to be. I hope I can catch up on sleep sometime! But for now, I will remain behind and be up early again in the morning.

The sunset this evening was a perfect orange globe, an orange circle sitting on the horizon as a glorious ornament before sinking fast away.

Tomorrow we bike to Waterville.

We left this morning, Fourth of July, from Ponca City. The roads were relatively calm at 7am, due to the holiday which was a help. We started off on 77, then immediately cut over to a back road called Pecan. This took us peacefully to north to the small town of Newkirk. It was walled on either side by corn and crop fields, bright green in the morning sun. We even saw to deer silhouetted on a small foot bridge, who curiously watched us pass from the distance. There were birds chirping now and again, and the land had leveled out to be more level, with gentle rises and falls and none of the long, relentless climbs of much of Oklahoma. We knew we were on our way to Kansas.

In fact, the Oklahoma-Kansas stateline is probably around 20 some miles from Ponca City. We made a good pace on the smooth, calm road before cutting back over to highway 77. The shoulder was decent, but most importantly, it existed and that was all we cared about at this point. We made last stop at a gas station in Oklahoma for something cool to drink, and then only a few miles later we were in Kansas. We've now completed two whole states, Texas and Oklahoma! We have also passed through a number of nations: Choctaw, Chickasaw, Seminole, Citizen Potawatomi, Sac and Fox, Ponca, (and likely more that along that I may have forgotten to list). As a whole, Oklahoma is very beautiful. I was often in awe of the sprawling lands around me, unfolding in hazy green hills into the distance. There were many horse pastures as we rode, and they always put their heads up to watch us two strange creatures roll by. Oklahoma was also noticeably more spread out than Texas, often with stretches of field or trees without homes, towns, or gas stations in between. As a result of this more sparse nature (and not sparse as in empty, as there was always something around us, green or growing, or out of sight but rather less densely built) we had many a streak without being chased by dogs! There simply weren't any around, as there were fewer drive ways or homes in between. But what I will never forget is that Oklahoma means hills. Hills. Hills. So remember that if you choose to tackle it on bike!

We were told by many along the way that once we reached Kansas, not only would there be more rest stops etc, but the roads would be far less rough and far better for biking. Not only that, but as you can guess, it is a lot flatter. Still some hills, but kinder. We continued northwards along a greenway parallel to 77 and then 77 itself and indeed gained more and more speed. We saw two cyclists along this greenway road to Winfield. We have only seen a handful of cyclists through most of Texas and Oklahoma ( though we did find some surprising pockets such as on Seminole for mountain biking and Stillwater, and increasing prevalence as we moved northwards through the state), and always react now to seeing cyclists as one might react to seeing a rare creature stride by out of the blue. We actually circled around to say hello to them at the intersection, but they were interested in continuing their own ride and merely gave us a nod. We felt silly, as they turned onto the same road we were headed down and biked along after them from a distance. I suppose they do not share our current state of shock at seeing bikers, as it is more common here! We got back onto 77 and entered Winfield where we were surprised to see a walmart even! It seems Kansas really does have more towns and infrastructure. Back home, normally we would not be at all excited to see a walmart, but to us it was almost a site for sore eyes -- though don't get me wrong, I usually prefer the openness and calmness of more remote countryside -- as it meant tire tubes. Laurel had two flats yesterday, one on her back tire after one on her front. After our many flats, we know that we must travel with two spares minimum so after using this up and patching a few, we knew we really needed to find some spares. We picked these up and ate a bit, then we were on our way again.

Following 77 north, we absolutely flew! There were still some uphills, but some great gentle downhills as well and though the shoulder was narrow it was smooth and the road was quick. The drivers also gave us generous leeway as they passed, some even honking in support. A motorcyclists even honked and gave us a thumbs up, which we returned of course. For the first time since northern Texas, I was able to keep my left bike gear in two and not one, and my right often up to nine! I relished the easy but present push against the pedals, powering me forward so fleetly. I was pedaling almost as fast as I could, racing. We also had the wind helping us, and though it was not strong, it was at our backs which is all we need. It has been so long since I have been able to cruise that fast, almost effortlessly, but definitely with an almost tangible excitement. The difficult hills and climbs of Oklahoma wore me down to the bone, but at the same time, they likely strengthened me. I could feel some new strength in my legs, which I was grateful to set to first use and welcome speed. I suspect we looked quite wild!

We covered some 30 plus miles in short time. About 12 miles out from Augusta, we stopped at a gas station. There were many people pulling in and out, getting ice and drinks and things no doubt for Fourth of July. Everyone was greeting each other happily and familiarly. An older man with a playful sense of humor played jokes and greeted many people, including both Laurel and I and gave us both a slap on the back and a smile. We contemplated continuing on to El dorado state park for the night, which would bring us to 100 miles for the day. We were both feeling good, and the roads were good too, but after deliberating decided that it is still a bit too soon to attempt 100 miles (even though I think we could do it) and that we might be suddenly wiped out part way. So we found a cheap place in Augusta, savoring arriving so early (just after 3:00) even after 75 or so miles. We walked around town looking for someplace that might be open for a meal or icecream. Of course, no local places were open, but we did find a Dairy Queen and settled on that. I had a nostalgic mr misty float (which folks younger than me might not even know, as that is the old name for a slushie with icecream in it). After that, out of intrigue we finally stepped into a fireworks stand. They had all sorts of different things, but neither of us do much for fireworks. Still, I bought a couple Roman candles and sparklers, so we may set those off!!

In other news, my dad and brother have decided to come meet up with us for the holiday weekend and are currently on their way to Lincoln NE and then down to intersect with us. My dad is always taking on ambitious plans -- and usually motivated by love for his kids. So I am looking forward to seeing them.

Tomorrow, we head further north through Kansas. We are currently a little ways east of Wichita, and our next goal is Herington. The pipeline goes more or less due north from Cushing to Steele City NE, which is our next major goal point. From Steele City onwards we will be following the proposed Keystone XL route, and no longer operational pipeline. The currently operational pipeline continues straight northwards through the Dakotas and then once in Canada heads west. Perhaps someone would like to take on this route as well! As for us, we will be documenting and following the XL in hopes that it will not become an operational pipeline even if there has been construction I already underway.

We've covered more than 600 miles in our 11 days biking thus far. With some major distance under our belts, and at last a day of pleasant cruising to refresh our spirits a bit, I am feeling stronger and setting my sights again on the road ahead.