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…

Part of the joy in bicycle touring is the complete disconnect from reality. The world’s events and personal worries go by the wayside when you’re a lunatic on a bike for 6+ hours every day. We’re most concerned about how and where we can get our hands on a decent cup of coffee at sunrise. Disregarding “the real world” and it’s problems is just a byproduct. If it can’t be delivered to me in the form of a podcast, chances are it’s not at the forefront of my mind.

I left Richmond with a handful of worries, most regarding my future, my career, personal relationships — you know, trivial stuff. Last year, I was gliding through Glacier when I got some truly dreadful news. Today, the pendulum swung back and I got some fantastic news: my dad is officially cancer-free!

His diagnosis came around the holidays, and we knew from the get-go that it wasn’t overly aggressive, though that didn’t keep me from stressing out. I had to wake up each day, and think to myself, “My dad has cancer.” My dad, the man who I’ve idolized and thought invincible for years, would have to go to battle. I think I can speak on both my and my sister’s behalf when I say I’m lucky to call Babs and Ricky Platania Mom and Dad.

I wasn’t so lucky in that I didn’t inherit my dad’s poise and level-headedness. It seemed like he embraced the challenge, and even the day after returning from surgery, I never heard him complain (if it were me, I’d air my grievances for years). He was stoic through the entire process, and I think that counts for something. My mother, the same woman who tells me to be careful everytime I hang up the phone with her, was as steady as ever. It felt almost like they said, “Okay, we’ll deal with all the tough parts. Mike will do well to take care of the panicking, so there’s no need to do that.” I’m so proud of you, Dad, and I couldn’t be happier for you.

I’m writing this from a hostel in Buffalo, having just shoveled a mountain of food into my face. And, in the morning I get to wake up, and no matter which direction I walk, I’ll hit a Tim Horton’s in a block. Say what you want about Buffalo, but these people know how to eat proper.

In two days I’ll be 24, and I’ll celebrate it by riding 95 miles across three states. I’m ready to embrace the Midwest and it’s humid headwinds with open arms. Years of Virginia humidity have prepared me for this. Besides, everyone’s been a little too familiar with their rainjackets in the Northeast. I’m ready to harvest some absurd tanlines again.

Today, reality popped it’s head back into my life and gave me a little boost. Douglas Adams said, “There is an art, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss. Clearly, it is this second part, the missing, which presents difficulites.” As a son, a route leader, a person, I’m trying to learn how to throw myself at the ground and trust my abilities to miss.

It’s been two weeks of learning and homecomings. We, and by we I mean myself and the other route leaders, spent a week in Blacksburg before shipping up to Maine, and it didn’t take too long to remember why I love Tech as much as I do. Few things warm the cockles of my heart like spring days in Blacksburg.

18 hours of driving, countless cyclist pick-ups along the way, and a handful of car problems later, we made it to Maine! And while Maine itself was delightful, New Hampshire rejected us like a body does a bad organ.

 

New Hampshire greeted us with steady rain, temperatures hovering above 40 degrees, and elevation changes variable enough to throw off anyone’s equilibrium. The usually beautiful White Mountain National Forest chewed us up and spat us out, and we were all elated to cruise into Vermont, home to Thetford, Middlebury, and considerably better weather.

What can I say of Thetford that hasn’t already been said of a fleece blanket? It’s cozy, familiar from first sight, and always there when you need it most. The entire community of less than 3,000 came together to get us showered, laundered, and fed. Each year Bike the US for MS gives out an award for outstanding hospitality, and this year was high time for Meg and the entire Thetford community to be honored.

Middlebury was the site of the entire team’s first day off, and some Bike the US for MS alum drove up from NYC to hang out! For being as small as it is, Middlebury has a lot of character, and everyone certainly needed some vegetation time after the battering we took in the days leading up.

So New England is on the books, and I’m writing this from one of my favorite weird towns in New York, Old Forge. Being a Route Leader is as rewarding as it is stressful, but I think I’m finally starting to get the hang of it. I miss riding each and every day, but the abundance of rest days now is pretty nice (especially when in New Hampshire).

But I must make haste now, because if I don’t 26 cyclists are going to get lost looking for camp, and I know a little too well what that’s like.

It was a moment I had been waiting for since the day I applied to ride. I had the same feeling for months that eight year olds have starting December 26th — patiently waiting, yet still doing all the was required to get there. We made it to Seattle!

I kicked off my shoes at the shore and ran into the Pacific for the first time in my life. We popped champagne, and whether it was from the ocean or our tears, salt water was flowing. Just before reaching the water, we had one last check donation to make to the Swedish Medical Center in Seattle. Peddler Brewing, a bike-themed brewery native to Seattle, hosted us all for a great time.

 

Excited to host the @BiketheUSforMS @NoTier2014 today as they celebrated reaching the West Coast! Congrats! #SEAbikes pic.twitter.com/qnHl9OO4Cu

— Peddler Brewing Co. (@PeddlerBrewing) August 5, 2014

Once the champagne bottles were empty, we moved to a five-star hotel we had NO business staying in. Kenny actually called the concierge and their conversation went something like this:

“I’m not a fancy man, and I don’t stay in many hotels. If I wear the robe in the closet, will I be charged?” – Kenny

“…,”- concierge.

“Alright great!” – Kenny

There really wasn’t a true crescendo to finish the trip. The night before in Snohomish, we all started celebrating and reminiscing prematurely, and that itself felt like the end. There were so many high points to end the trip, it’s hard to keep count, much less emotionally process them all on the fly. It was hard to hold onto the unfiltered happiness of finishing, as our team was dispersing just as quickly as we came together in Bar Harbor. I’ll miss everyone, and hope to see ya’ll on the road again someday!

This summer was like summer camp for adults. It was a 10-week long cardio session under the guise of sightseeing. It was the most unforgettable pilgrimage of my life. I saw parts of the country I didn’t knew existed, and did things I never thought I could. I got comfortable being uncomfortable, and now that I’m a few days removed from riding, I actually miss being on the saddle a bit.

A road trip back spanning Portland, Yellowstone National Park, Denver, Chattanooga and Knoxville in a few short days has me absolutely winded right now. While I miss my personal car, I can’t say I missed sitting in a back seat for hours. I’m writing this from the house I once lived in at Tech, and it’s incredibly bittersweet to be back in Blacksburg. For the last four years at this time, I was getting psyched about being in Lane, starting classes and seeing friends. Now only a fraction of my closest Hokies are still around, and above everything, it’s weird knowing I won’t be here in the fall.

I’m back in reality and my time being funemployed is underway! Life’s a lot simpler when all you have to worry about is pedaling 70 miles instead of finding a career. I’m admittedly perturbed at the idea of having no idea where I’ll be in five years, or five months, or even five weeks. But after this trip, I’m much less intimidated at the idea of being somewhere

Before I conclude the documentation of this journey, I owe many people thanks. To my teammates and route leaders, thank you for making this trip the greatest, silliest trip of my life. To my donors, thank you for helping change the lives of those with MS and supporting the cause! To my friends and family, thank you for the never-ending supply of love and support. To Don, Cassie, and the rest of the Bike the US for MS team, thank you for making this all possible and letting me represent your organization. Becoming a BTUS4MS alum is one of my proudest feats and it was an honor to wear the jersey! And lastly to my readers, thanks for following along and interacting! It’s been a joy write and post all of this, and I’m glad you enjoyed it!

 

 

 

 

Washington has treated us well so far. We’ve had pretty good rides, and at night we’ve been playing plenty of cards while prematurely reminiscing about the Northeast and New England areas.

Every day since Idaho has been over 100 degrees, but the heat hasn’t really bothered me much. The heat and I have a mutually assured destruction agreement in that, while it can wear me down, it motivates me to ride harder and revel in being drenched in sweat. All those years of skateboarding, running and playing soccer in the Virginia humidity are finally paying off.

Soon we’ll be heading through a part of the state which was recently devastated by the “worst forest fires in state history” as one local put it. There were even doubts we’d be able to make it through due to road closings.

 

But holy mackerel are we close! I’ve clocked over 4,000 miles on my bike, and we only have four real riding days before our 30 mile trot into Seattle. Loup Loup Pass and Washington Pass and their 7,500 cumulative feet of height stand in the way, but after that it’ll be all downhill into Seattle! Wish us luck!

 

 

 

Sayonara, Montana! We’re now in our 14th state, Idaho, and it’s endearing, mostly because it’s not Montana. Maybe I’m being a little melodramatic about Montana, but after being put through the gauntlet for two weeks, it’s refreshing to be not only out of the Big Sky country, but also in the Pacific timezone!

Today’s our final rest day in Sandpoint, Idaho. It’s like the west coast version of Lake Gaston. It’s touristy, yet quiet and cultured, and a fine place to do roost. The Sandpoint West Athletic Club is putting us up, and holy mackerel is this place something else. We have full access to a weight room, steam room, sauna, hot tub and more! We’re all thrilled to not have a Pigpen-like cloud of stench and dust around us.

But we’re officially in the countdown! Only nine days ’til Seattle! Sweet Maria, where has the time gone. I’m admittedly homesick, and I think it’s because the feeling of hanging in Richmond is so imminent. To those back on the east coast, I can’t wait to see you!

In terms of day-to-day, mile-by-mile living, I reckon it’s changed a little. Once upon a time I was on the caboose squad, but I’ve worked my way up the line and I’m now typically one of the first in. Riding with Caroline (our resident German doctor who wins downhill races in her spare time), Jen (another Virginian who’s cooler than I will ever be, of JenRidesTheUS), and Eric (whose accounts of the trip are always hilariously blunt and available at here) is standard protocol. I’m of the belief it’s more energy-efficient to ride fast and finish early as opposed to exert less energy and be on the saddle all day. Each day I aim to have at least a few hours to relax at camp. Everyone’s cognitive abilities have been at least a little compromised. We must be a server’s worst nightmare, as we storm into cafés hardly piecing together complete sentences, requesting separate checks and guzzling all of their coffee. But what’s necessary is necessary.

Real life is beckoning, and I can count the amount of days left on two hands. It definitely feels like we’re in the home stretch, and I’m ready to give the trip a proper sendoff!

I take pride in a blithe approach to both life and writing. This trip has forced me into smiling through rough times, laughing while miserable, and “grin-and-bearing” with suboptimal conditions. But if I could take a superlative, I’d say this last week was the most physically and emotionally challenging week of my life.

A few days ago I got one of the worst phone calls you could ever fear to get. My beloved dog, Rudi, passed away. No one should ever have to hear a sentence from their parents prefaced with “We’ve got some bad news,” but when I heard my mom say it, time stood still as I wished for anything but what ended up coming next. But I sat there, totally bankrupt of any previous feelings and tried to keep the lump in my throat from growing and the tears in my eyes from creeping out. All I’ve known since I was 13 was having Rudi around, and I hardly feel ready to deal with this.

Chris told me, “losing a dog is like losing a family member and a best friend all in one,” and he’s exactly right. It’s hard for me imagine life without my dumb little beagle running around, especially when I’m thousands of miles away in the middle of Montana. It had been an immense day: climbing and descending through Glacier National Park as I passed some of the most surreal landscapes I’ll ever see. But all I’ll remember from that day is it was the day I found out my dog died. Thanks to all my friends, family and team members who’ve lent support these last few days.

But I can’t dwell on this otherwise it’ll eat me alive. You know what else can eat me alive? Bears, and we’ve been camping in their vicinity. They’re the thorns to Glacier National Park’s rose.

I had been tacit about it in earlier posts, but I’ll be clear now: the overwhelming majority of Montana is dreadful. It’s flat, hot, windy, smoky and an awful place to ride a bike for a week. But we’re out of the crap part of Montana (or as western Montanans call it, “West Dakota”), have traversed Glacier and are enjoying a merited day off in Whitefish. For the first time in a month, I’m wearing pants which have belt loops, and I plan to be in this coffee-shop/froyo stand for the next 12 or so hours.

But, my goodness, Glacier!

The descent from 6,600+ feet was unnerving as it was freezing at the top, the road was littered with tourists’ cars, my brakes were squealing and my equilibrium was out of whack from dropping thousands of feet within minutes. So I didn’t get any photos of the fall, but Drew’s GoPro captured the lot of it, and he just might churn out another video if I ever finishing writing this and cede my laptop to him.

So now we’re in Whitefish, a town a few miles outside of Glacier that is littered with things to do. And I’m going to do none of them. My mind is telling me to go zip-lining, paddle-boarding or swimming, but I only plan to move myself to go pour more coffee/frozen yogurt down my throat.

12 is the magic number of riding days left. 751 miles remain, and 83 percent of the ride is on the books. I’ll be riding with some serious emotional weight on my shoulders from here on out, but I’ll make it.

 

“Be strong when you are weak.”

 

North Dakota sent us off with a bang. After the greatest mail-drop to ever drop mail, we finally hit the Badlands, which brought my favorite scenery yet.

Upon riding into Montana, the state in which we’ll be spending the most time, it seemed like it was rejecting us like a body rejecting a poor organ post-transplant. For two days straight, Montana’s winds were literally trying to blow us back into North Dakota. We camped one night in Makoshika State Park, a very popular place for dinosaur bone excavations! The entire town of Glendive milks their prehistoric knack, and despite having no amenities, it was a really, really rad place to camp.

Yesterday we rode our longest distance yet of 107 miles, all into 30+ mph headwinds. Here are some direct quotes from some of us after finishing a particular 30 mile leg: “That was literally hell,” “Well that was the worst part of the Northern Tier,” “I hate everything about life,” and, “F*** everything about Montana.” Our collective grump was off the charts, but it feels damn good to have our last century done with. Today’s ride was short, therapeutic, and we finally have shelter and showers available! We’re all warming up to Montana a bit.

As I eluded to earlier, Hardywood Brewery in Richmond were kind enough to donate a brand new jersey to me for the trip! I absolutely adore it, and might even wear it around in normal social settings post-trip.

At the time of writing this, we are just three weeks and about 1,200 miles away from Seattle, and one week until our next rest day!