Pedal Pushing for Panty Waists

I talked to my daughter-in-law Debbie shortly before 6 a.m.  She and her friend Paige were in the staging area at the University of Washington and preparing to move over to the starting point for their two-day bicycle ride to Portland.  They'll be staying in Centralia, Wash., tonight at a school.

Debbie said she had all of four hours of sleep last night, going to bed at midnight and getting up at 4.  By now, she's on her way down I-5 for what she calls the "ride of her life."  

In honor of Debbie and all the people who stay "in the saddle" a lot longer than I can, I'm going to leave you with a story I wrote a few years ago.  Just found it the other day, and it seems appropriate for Debbie's big biking adventure.

I still believe firmly in the concept suggested in the story below, and just thinking about it makes me want to get in the car and head off to Montana's remote Centennial Valley.  I told Debbie the two of us will have to go there some day and pedal through that vast expanse of Montana's Big Sky country.

Enjoy, and if you have any interest in seeing how the ride is going over there on I-5, go to this link and watch the streaming video  http://www.ustream.tv/user/stpexperiment

Pedal Pushing for Panty Waists:  Bill and Marianne’s Guide to Enjoying the Great Outdoors When Yer Older Than Dirt

by Marianne Love

Ladies, listen up!  If you’re  like me, and you’ve arrived at or are turning into an out-of-shape old geezer but still desiring to feel youthfully macho without too much expense or pain, the following paragraphs may offer some of the most helpful advice you’ve ever read.      And if you’ve been married to the same spouse for decades, you’ll find this story laced with valuable anecdotal gems for staying that way. 

Achieving these goals requires a road trip.   My newly-acquired wisdom evolved while on a week-long autumn getaway from our home in Sandpoint, Idaho, to Yellowstone National Park with my forester husband Bill.  Our itinerary included a drive through the isolated, expansive Centennial Valley in Southwest Montana.  To get to the valley,  we turned east off  Interstate 15 south of Dillon, Mont. a few miles beyond the tiny village of Dell where the Calf-A (a converted school house)  serves fresh deep-fried donuts every day.  Soon after driving off across that seemingly forgotten area settled in the early Twentieth Century,  we parked along the road and watched while a horse woman and her cow dog directed a herd of  about a dozen cows and calves to a new pasture. As a person who cherishes the past, this scene fed my soul.  

A few miles later, I experienced my significant life-altering epiphany while yearning to get out and get to know this valley for myself aboard my mountain bike.   Armed with a two-way radio, I pedaled down the gravel road while Bill drove on ahead.   I embraced the solitude as the truly big Montana sky reminded me of my insignificance on this earth.  Best yet, as I rolled along, the knowledge of burning off calories from that delectable old-fashioned donut made me realize that this flexible mode of cross-country exercise offers the perfect antidote to that stagnant apathy that often consumes a person from too much inactivity. 

Since that initial 2002 experience, my welcome revelation that husband-wife getaways no longer need to be soured by boredom from sitting too long in the car, weight gains from too much snacking or even squabbles from too much togetherness has continued to unfold on other remote Western Montana roadways.  

After a couple of these adventures, we Love’s have returned from trips rejuvenated, still speaking, and even living up to our last name.  I’ve also reaped an added reward.  Those first adventures signaled the start of a new attitude toward physical fitness as I  discovered a healthy, esthetic and moderately painless way to get in shape, to enjoy a sense of secure independence, and to view the unspoiled Western landscape with significantly more fulfillment than one could ever derive while zipping past inside a motorized vehicle. 

On my solitary open-road excursions, I’ve encountered cud-chewing range cows resting on the pasture lands with their cute and curious baby calves racing about.  I’ve rolled past shy wild turkeys scampering into the bushes, fleet-footed deer and antelope bounding across huge wheat fields, colorful and easily spooked pheasants launching off on brief airborne escapes to their perceived safety, and multitudinous birds darting to and fro to who knows where. I’ve even stopped alongside rail fences to converse with a friendly mule or two. I’ve inhaled crisp high-mountain air and listened to the sounds of water flowing through a lush, green meadow. Occasionally, I’ve even come across an assortment of abandoned, tumbledown log cabins and wondered about the lives of tough pioneers who inhabited them so long ago.  Along my sometimes bumpy way, I’ve even met an occasional chrome-laden pickup truck, exchanged the “truck-driver wave (quick flick of the index finger) with the usually male occupants,  and chuckled while imagining the curious questioning as the guys passed by and left that plump, unknown, middle-aged woman---smartly appareled in stretch jeans, bulky sweatshirt and tenny runners---out in the middle of nowhere in a thin cloud of  prairie dust. 

Since that first time, I’ve decreased my 56-year-old body flab by 40 pounds.  I’ve also strengthened my leg muscles, and---with no medicinal aids---have significantly lowered both my blood pressure and heart rate.  The “new me,”  along with indelible wonderful images and incomparable adrenalin highs has provided a dividend incapable of being described.  One must experience this phenomenon for oneself.    Therefore, through my “Pedal Pushing for Panty Waists” concept, I’d like to encourage millions of other women who don’t exactly look or move like Jamie Lee Curtis to share the joys of my discovery.

The concept is so simple and inexpensive that you’ll wonder why you didn’t think of it yourself.   To get started, you’ll need the following:

·        An upcoming road trip where you’re not in a big hurry to get from Point A to Point Z.  Having the flexibility to get off the Interstate and far away from the Comfort Inn, McDonalds, Walgreens, Hardees strip malls is a must.

·         A patient husband. If he likes spending long hours playing with his hand-held altimeter, meticulously scanning topographical maps of the area, happily reading the fine print of National Forest brochures, or even hiking, he’ll do.

·        A basic mountain bike on carrier or in pickup box.   We took my bike in our GMC double cab pick-up the first time, but for our most recent trip,  Bill bought me a rear bike carrier for our SUV.  Another important consideration with the bike is that it includes a large seat for a large-----well, you know.  Cycle seat comfort is a must, even if you already have plenty of your own padding.

·        A set of two-way radios with batteries charged.  If you have an Eagle Scout for a husband, all batteries will be charged; an ample supply of extras will be close at hand.  We use the radios when I set off down the road and he drives ahead five or six miles in search of a good hiking trail or shady spot for reading those topographical maps. The typical conversation occurs about 15 minutes into my ride:  “Have ya had enough yet?” Bill inquires.  Marianne:  Nope, I’m doing fine or----I don’t want to huff and puff up that hill----better come and pick me up.” 

·        Sunglasses or goggles.  Even when the sun isn’t shining, these will protect your eyes from bits of gravel or heavy dust sure to come your way when a big farm truck passes.

·        Apparel to fit the weather conditions---no spandex needed.  Jeans will do fine.  On chilly mornings, a layered approach for upper body, warm socks for the tootsies and a pair of gloves to keep your fingers from permanent petrification around the handlebars will often enhance your mood and assure you of comfort and the confidence to keep going.

·        A little-traveled, reasonably level back-country road---paved or gravel.  It’s an added adventure if you’ve never traveled the road before.  Seeing or hearing anything for the first time has always served as a life motivator for me. If I’m going to be working hard on my bike, I relish the sense of the unknown.  Being “out there, close to the earth” satisfies my pioneering spirit.  

·        Kleenex/toilet paper for emergency nasal or plumbing situations. These do occur.  My nose runs, and my bladder threatens to implode quickly, especially after two cups of morning coffee.  Be prepared----and if your road is remote enough, you may not even have to find a tree.   Cows have watched me go number one, and as far as I know, they haven’t told Dave Barry yet.

·        Camera.  If you pick a good road, the photo possibilities could be endless. In fact, one of my favorite photos features a handsome pinto mule nibbling the fencepost where a yellow metal sign reads “Caution, children at play.” I met this guy while pedaling past a ranch in the Centennial Valley where I not only saw some gorgeous horses but also scared off their herd of Scottish Highlanders.  Apparently, they’d not seen too many women on bikes pass by.

·        A certain amount of caution.  Depending on the time of the year, some dirt roads can turn pretty washboardy.  That means you have to adjust your riding speed, especially going down hill.   The trauma of rolling over rock-hard, bumpy dirt at high speeds can get your mind working on all sorts of possibilities, like brain damage or internal readjustment.  If the road is paved, avoid the abrupt edges and chuck holes.  Having experienced the sensation of handlebars slamming up against my chin and teeth meeting with my tongue in the middle unleashing a mouthful of blood at age 5, I learned long ago to be careful when a bike decides to take control.  So let that vehicle know who’s boss at all times.

So far, my bike trips have taken me on two Centennial Valley stretches as well as a seven-mile ride down a quiet highway leading from Anaconda to Wisdom, Montana, where I traveled through rolling hills, and stream-teeming meadows serving as summer homes to thousands of range cattle.  Gorgeous snow-capped peaks towering above the landscape off to the west distracted my concentration at aiming the bike down the blacktop, which I seemingly owned for seven miles except for encountering maybe half a dozen rigs, all with local license plates and friendly waves from within. On that trip, we spent so much time hiking and fishing in Yellowstone that the bike enjoyed a respite for a few days.  Later, though,  I did try my new routine on the highway leading to Wyoming’s magnificent Tetons but radioed to Bill after four miles that I’d had enough.  Too much traffic whizzing by and spitting rocks my way.   Isolated roadways definitely rule in this mode of recreation.

Our most recent trip took us to Glacier National Park and the Lewis and Clark attractions in Fort Benton and Great Falls, Montana.  Again, my first bike outing from the ski resort of Whitefish to the outskirts of Columbia Falls just west of the national park turned out okay in spite of the busy highway traffic.  The newly paved road shoulder offered me ample room for safety.  Probably the most exciting moment on that trip occurred when I tried to warn a female pedestrian in front of me that I was going to pass her from behind.  She apparently didn’t hear me the first time.  When I repeated, “Coming from behind,” the lady almost jumped into the traffic from shock.

That trip paled in comparison to the next morning when I set off down a dirt road from Choteau heading east toward the tiny community of Dutton.  My route took me through relatively flat terrain where farmers tend the grain fields and cows feed off the pasture land.   Guarded by spectacular jagged peaks of the Bob Marshal wilderness to the west, Choteau is a quiet farming community not far from the Blackfeet Indian Reservation and rich in both ancient and Western history.  The area around the town served as a dinosaur breeding ground a few years before I was born.  Montana novelist A.B. Guthrie and artist Charlie Russell found inspiration in the landscape for their literary and artistic works depicting the rugged Western culture of the Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

  

 The place also serves as home to a black bear that delighted in ransacking David Letterman’s getaway cabin in search of porridge and a good bed.  In fact, we stayed in Choteau the night after Letterman called the local high school football star to bring his Fourth of July high-powered fireworks to scare off the bear.  Fortunately, I had no bear or dinosaur sightings on my bike trip that cold, grey and windy September day, but I did scare up about a number of pheasant roosters and hens foraging in the harvested wheat stubble.  I’m sure it was my hot pink bike that spooked a trio of handsome mule deer headed for their morning refreshment  from the Teton River.  Speaking of deer, riding the road also affords a few not-so-pleasant, up-close-and-personal scenes.  That morning I saw three deer carcasses of varying decadence scattered along the ditch.  Toward the 8-mile mark, I turned around and saw the headlights of our  Gimmy headed my way. On this morning, Bill had hung back, gassed up and spent some time studying merchandise in one of the local stores.  Looking ahead, I saw a long challenging uphill climb off in the distance and reluctantly decided my adventure for this Tuesday morning would come to a close just up the road where Bill had pulled off in hopes of spotting some of his own pheasants.  Upon my arrival, he secured my bike to its carrier, we climbed in the car and spent the rest of the day studying artful and informative historical displays along the banks of the Missouri River in Fort Benton and later at the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center in Great Falls.

With the next day from Great Falls to Sandpoint being our final leg of this trip, I wondered where I’d ride.  As we headed west toward Lincoln through a beautiful farming valley along the Sun River, I  suggested to Bill it was time to stop. 

“I’ve got a spot picked out for you up the road a ways,” he announced.  “It’s off the road and pretty.”  My husband delights in  remaining mysterious about such plans, so I honored his wishes and didn’t spoil the surprise.  After crossing the Continental Divide, we arrived at Lincoln where hunting and fishing dominate both local and tourist interests.  The community also serves as home to Hi-Country Jerky, a favorite choice in grocery stores and convenience stops throughout the West.  Their gift shop and museum has since made my list of favorite stores I’ve ever visited.  It’s a gorgeous log structure near the processing plant.  A walk through the heavy wooden door reveals a wonderland of tastefully displayed merchandise appropriate for travelers, Lewis and Clark/Montana memorabilia buffs, readers in love with Western adventures, home decorators and especially snackers.  Smack dab in the middle, visitors can browse a counter lined with sampling decanters, featuring a variety of jerky flavors, including the old reliable and the hot and spicy jalapeno.  At the main counter, we found a tantalizing assortment of delicious fudge flavors.  We walked out with bags of jerky, beef sticks and four different flavors of fudge.  I knew I would definitely need my morning bike ride with all this stuff to tempt my palate.

Just down the road along the Blackfoot River, the sign for the small town of Ovando appeared.  With Ovando approaching on the left, Bill made a right turn onto a dirt road and announced that this was the place.  “About ten miles up the road is the Monture Station,” he told me while unhitching my bike.  “Follow the signs and don’t try to take your bike over the cattle guard.” Then, he headed down the road where he had first seen the Monture Station two years before while working as a fire-team member.  He’d spent three days while a nearby forest fire wound down and this visit would surely bring back a memory or two of the station living quarters, which he swore were haunted.

Ten miles over gravel would surpass anything I’d done on any other similar trip.  But with 40 fewer pounds to carry around and better conditioned muscles than I ever dreamed of when I made that first bike trip south of Anaconda, the ride through a patchwork of forests and beautiful horse and cattle ranches seemed almost relaxing.  An hour or so later, when I arrived at the station, located not far from the Monture Campground and trailhead, the resident mule looked me over and decided against extending me a welcoming mat.  He took off across his private pasture,  keeping his distance all the time we toured the neatly groomed complex of wooden buildings and corrals and Bill told stories about his own earlier visit.

I’m hoping that Monture Station, the Centennial Valley and the Choteau experiences serve as the introductory notches on a long list of back road biking experiences to come.  I’ve found these adventures to be the perfect  mix for a slightly plump, slightly cowardly but adventurous middle-aged lady who’d like to sample at least a portion of what the macho-bikers see when they take off across country.  Such trips need not be limited to any region or even to any gender or age group. I just doubt  that many  women or kids can derive as much joy in studying topographical maps as grey-haired menfolk do.

 Before my wheelchair days, I hope to pedal through the forests of New England in the autumn, across Arizona desert country in the early, early spring or even alongside the oceans or the Great Lakes whenever the season is right.  The land is the limit with this hobby.    I  hope that  Pedal Pushing for Panty Waists  (PPPW) catches on enough that I’ll meet you on the road and exchange with you the Panty Waist wave, which involves no finger flicking.  Simply grip those handlebars, keep on pedaling, send off a generous smile and nod.  Then, I’ll smile back with the satisfaction of spotting another PPPW convert.