I stumbled out of the van and into the hospital. The receptionist was an elderly woman, and I tried to sound as collected as I could when I maladroitly approached the window and said, “I…can’t stop vomiting.”

I suppose it all started on our last day in Montana, when Ayhson found himself sick and sad on the side of the road adjacent Lake Koocanusa. He thought he drank some spoiled milk, and after taking him to the hospital, he was diagnosed with Gastritis. But somewhere lurking in his insides was a nasty viral infection which would soon have it’s way with nine of the 35 of us.

Long story short, the stomach bug made haste. One day, I rode 100 miles into Idaho and felt fantastic. The next, I was peeled over in the gym we were staying at, having to count down from three just to summon the strength to stand up. The infirmed were flanked on either side of me, most of whom showed signs of improvement throughout the day. But the evening rolled around and I still felt like a shell of myself (“Mike, you are actually green” – real quote from a cyclist), so to the emergency room I went! They dumped two liters of IV fluid into me and sent me on my way.

There are still pangs of the bug floating around the group, but we haven’t had to take anyone back to the hospital so I’m counting it as a win. Montana, a proper albatross, was sure to send us out of the state with something dreary to deal with.

I’m writing this from the public library in Tonasket, Washington, which is famous for being the hometown to actor/comedian/musician Jack Black. Tonasket also has a grand café called Shannon’s and a taco truck. Oh, and it’s like 100 degrees here! Which to most is hellish, but to me it’s home. And speaking of home, I am scheduled to be there in a week! It really felt real when I called my sister and said, “Let’s get dinner next week” and it wasn’t a joke. I’m very much looking forward to the opulences of the real world, but there are a few mountains to climb before I can get there!

When you sign up to cycle across the country, you resign yourself to a good bit of suffering, and I knew going in that ~600 of the ~850 miles we ride through Montana are abject agony. And this prior knowledge didn’t really prove to be worth anything. The five of us Route Leaders groan on our van-driving days, but through Montana, I actually relished my rest days a bit. The 107-mile-death-ride from Glendive to Wolf Point is a day which builds character and undoubtedly makes you stronger, but riding that day once is enough for this lifetime. People rolled into rest stops cursing like sailors, and I empathized because one year prior, I, too, was airing my greivances. But it’s over! We have made it to the mountains, and we have earned it. It’s been 15 days since our last rest day, and it was desperately needed.

Last year I made no bones about how I felt about Montana. Even when we got to the good part, it kicked me in the teeth. But my Glacier experience was infinitely better this time around. Alex has a buddy from college works at a lodge in Glacier for the summer, and he gave us a personal tour of the north end of the park called Many Glacier. We don’t ride through Many, and we were really lucky to get to see it.

I’d put Going-To-The-Sun Road against any other scenic road around the globe, and it was an absolute joy to go over again. The first sight of Glacier is hypnotically gorgeous, and so are all the rest. Unless you live in like, Calgary, or something, Glacier National Park isn’t on the way to anywhere. You’ll only end up there if you deliberately go, especially if you’re from the East Coast. The last of the glaciers in the park are projected to be completely melted by 2030, which (breaking news here) will have major global implications. Someday I’ll be able to say I saw the glaciers before they were gone.

A day after we left Glacier, it literally went ablaze. I promise we had NOTHING to do with this. I think. Well, I’m mostly sure. Anway, we’re all sitting on our bums in Whitefish today, an eclectic little town tucked away in the mountains. We celebrated Phrom, or Fake-Prom, a Bike the US for MS tradition. Basically the goal is to look as awful as possible and gad about town, and we did a pretty good job at it.

When you’re in a different town each and every night, your memory regresses to that of a goldfish. We’re short-sighted, and concerned only about what the next mile will be like. I don’t need to explain how this can be detrimental, but it allows the salient parts of the trip to really glow. Glacier National Park shines brighter than all the anguish of eastern Montana, and now we’re just happy to play in the Pacific Northwest. It is jarring to think in two weeks from the moment I’m writing this, I’ll be sitting in the Seattle airport. Which is convenient, because I’m certainly not ready for this summer to end.

I beg your forgiveness for the drought here.

Last year I said cycling across the country was summer camp for adults. And if being a cyclist is being a camper, being a Route Leader is like being a counselor. Except instead of caring for a bunch of adolescent twerps, I’m responsible for a crew ranging in age from 19 to 66. In Bar Harbor, I, like an idiot, was certain I’d know how to handle the day-to-day challenges, thinking “Hey, these people can practically lead themselves! Whenever someone approaches our group and asks, “Who’s in charge here?” I always laugh under my breath as I raise my hand. There is always, always a fire to put out. Or at least a fire to throw water on haplessly and hope it doesn’t spread. Our propensity to fall off our bikes and get dinged up is outright impressive. Hell, even the van and trailer have gotten flat tires. There is no job description for a Route Leader, and it’s because I’ve found myself doing everything from folding everyone’s laundry, to pumping up a van tire with a bike pump, to battling parking officials, to trying to cook breakfast for 35 rapacious cyclists.

It took me a few weeks to accept this summer isn’t about recreating the unbelievable time I had a year ago, but instead about helping these hooligans have the same experience I did. Every other day I get to drive the van and hang out at rest stops, but it feels like the days I’m on the bike are my true days off. When I’m riding my bike, no one’s asking me if there will be showers available tonight, or if there’s anywhere that has WiFi. I really ought to call up my route leaders from last year and apologize, because I’m now realizing I was a proper pain in the arse last summer.

ANYWAYS. I will now attempt to dig up the memories since your last visit here.

PENNSYLVANIA: We were here for about five total hours. I’ll omit it.

OHIO: Somehow, there were no headwinds in Ohio. Ohio is flat as it is expansive, and everyone skated right on through with no complaints, which is remarkable. Hopefully this means Montana may show us mercy in a few weeks. I turned 24 in Ohio, and everyone made me drink too many Smirnoff Ices, which came as a surprise to no one but a hilarious joke to all (except me). Cleveland was rad, and we made a donation to the Mellen M.S. Center!

Oh yeah, in Bowling Green we got to ride mopeds! Matt and Michelle Stimmell put up the Northern Tier each year in Bowling Green, and it turns out when Matt’s not being a baker and all-around awesome guy, he’s a moped enthusiast. Which meant we all got to go bananas on the country roads.

INDIANA: I don’t remember much about Indiana, because it was practically underwater when we went through.

Tremendous storms hit Indiana as we rolled through, and we had to re-route virtually every mile to make it through.

ILLINOIS: Illinois was where we finally caught some breaks regarding the weather. The rain held, the roads drained, and we had a number of generous hosts cook for us.

IOWA: Not only is Iowa the home of Field of Dreams, Adam Devine, and caucuses, but it’s also a stunningly beautiful state. I also got to play with this puppy.

WISCONSIN: See; Pennsylvania.

MINNESOTA: My admiration for Minnesota is well-documented. The MS Achievement Center in Minneapolis was a smorgasbord of emotions, and a great reminder why we’re doing the ride. If you care to read my post from a year ago, I got to see John again! He’s still playing music when he’s not battling MS and Parkinson’s. Tears rolled and we got to present a donation of $25,000! It will enable even more MS patients in the Twin Cities to visit the Achievement Center. I could gush for another 600 words about how delightful Minneapolis is. On our second day off there, I got on my bike and wandered aimlessly around town, going wherever the trails and bike lanes took me. I had totally forgotten what it’s like to ride a bike for fun. I didn’t worry about my pace, how many miles I had left, or if I had sufficient calories in me. I haven’t been anywhere quite like Minneapolis, and I really hope to return there someday soon. Preferably by plane, not bike.

In Minnesota, we finally got to see Don and Cassie again! We Route Leaders need Don and Cassie the way Calvin needs Hobbes, and up til Minneapolis, we had only ever called them, offering problems we didn’t know how to fix (In New Hampshire I had called Cassie, a complete wreck and just had her tell me it was going to be okay. She obliged, and everything did turn out okay). But in the Twin Cities we paraded around town, got drinks, completed service projects, and just got to enjoy their company. Meeting Don Fraser and Cassie Wertz was one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I’m not embellishing that.

Now, our directions are considerably easier: go left. Only Montana, Idaho, and Washington await. I need to make more time to post here, as writing this has been therapeutic. Now, I have to go. The Dairy Queen isn’t going to eat itself…