One Fifty Five

We left JP’s about 3:15 a.m.

The photo might prove me wrong, but I believe we had thirteen fools to start—Tony, Brian, Jim, Butch, Mitch, Dave, Jesse, CVO, Wills, Gersib, Jeff, Daniel, and me. Yeah, that’s right, I think. Tony was riding his fixie cross; Mitch, Butch (on fat 700Cs), Wills, and Jeff were all on single speeds with big wheels; Brian, Jim, Jesse, CVO, and Daniel were on MTBs with paper boy wheels; and Gersib, Dave, and I were on adult-sized wheels with gears.

And we rode.

It was strange to be riding through town in a group at 3:15 a.m. and not be heading home from a night of drinking. And with no moon (it wouldn’t come up for about another hour) it was dark as … well … night.

Due partly to the fact that I was running on an hour and a half of sleep and excitement and a bunch of Pringles I ate before I went to bed, the route out was a disorienting experience. All I could see was our headlamped and blinky-lighted group and about ten feet around it. A street sign here, a sidewalk short cut there, a bridge over peaceful water, and the next thing I knew, we were magically transported out onto 70th somewhere just south of Cornhusker.

Pedaled for a while. And about 4:00 a.m. you could start to see the eastern horizon reddening. It was good to look at, especially with the crescent moon rising and getting chased up the sky by mars. Ceresco came up to us out of the darkness and we had our first forced break as Jim pulled a staple out of his flattened tire and we all just kind of made like the living dead. Oh, I guess Daniel took the one and only road crap of the journey sometime during our pit stop, but I didn’t hear about it until later. Congratulations, Daniel. The alleys of Ceresco will never be the same.

Right, left, right, left, and we were on our way again.
The details are pretty blurry, but sometime soon after we made our first stop of group freewill and the sun rose.
A little further on, Tony turned around and made his journey back to Lincoln solo. Haven’t heard if he made it home, or how many miles he got in, so if Tony or someone who’s talked to Tony can let us know that he made it safely and his total mileage we’d all be doubly happy. Thanks for coming, Tony.

And then there were twelve.












We kept riding our bikes until we got to the first dangling carrot of our trip. 7:20 a.m. in North Bend. We ate at the corner café there and I must say, it was glorious. I murdered a Country Breakfast (eggs, hash browns, bacon, and country fried steak) and managed to get in like three cups of coffee. I didn’t make note of the rest of my companions’ meals, except for the two nearest me. Jesse and Jeff both ate peanut butter bagels … that’s it. Weak for you guys. There’s always next 155.

North Bend is also where Jim and Brian turned around and headed back home. Once again, if anyone’s seen or heard from these two, let us know. Thanks for setting us off right gentlemen. Good riding.
Gathered a few supplies from the gas station, got back on our bikes, headed north, and then we rode for a very long time. We stopped to pee, we stopped for safety, we stopped to sit a spell, but mostly we just pedaled. And pedaled. Eventually, we got through West Point and then an eternity later we arrived in Pender. Chad and James were there, having driven our sag wagons full of supplies for our night of camping in Ponca. Everyone laid around in the magnificent shade of the convenience store and ate candy, and soda, and dried meat, and microvwaved sandwiches. As much as we could get in our gullets, to tell you the truth.
Then we bid farewell to the drivers and headed north once again.




A few miles later we got to Thurston and said goodbye to Butch who was headed west to Wayne with plans to return to Lincoln via Gravel a couple days later. Maybe Monday? Tuesday? Once again. Any news on Butchie’s whereabouts would help complete this story and ease all of our minds. Thanks for the company, Butch.














The next section was the most beautiful and the most insane of our trip. Rollers, and hills, and walls, and turning walls with hills and rollers on top of them. And minimally maintained walls covered in powder. And cows. And horses, I think.
And fatigue.
















Sometime shortly after 7:30 p.m. we popped out onto Hwy 9 (?) about a mile from the city of Ponca. It was a relief. Got more soda and candy and shit and kind of split up, riding in ones and twos for the final three miles up to Ponca State Park.

















It’s an awesome place and if you’ve never been, may I suggest that you change that really soon? It sits on the Nebraska side of the NE/SD border nestled against the Missouri River and is home to a cornucopia of well laid out, rhythmic, single track, great camping, and lots and lots of shade.
For the purposes of this ride, Ponca was also our stopping point.

The real numbers will come soon enough, but if my memory serves me we got in 155 mostly-gravel miles in just over 14 hours of riding time in a total of 17 hours.
















Ouch.
But good.

LLLR.