Dave Cornthwaite | The Creative Explorer

There’s something almighty rewarding about perching in a $22 tent from Walmart, a few metres off the side of Highway 95, 18 miles south of Beatty, Nevada, and perhaps more importantly less than 100 miles north of Las Vegas, our final destination.

The sky is almost dark now but the moon is nearly full and gives us enough light to find laptops, cameras, torches, clothes and snack. There is no wind and apart from the frequent roar of a passing night truck we are in complete silence bar the tapping of fingers on keys. I love this. Writing in the night, in the wild, in the open, my chest bent over my knees and happily sore thighs. Every bit of me aches but I don’t feel at all sore, I’m content right here.

Seb just reminded me of the man in the bike shop near his house in Manly, Sydney. During an infrequent training ride prior to this journey Seb popped into the shop to have his tyres pumped up (already you see the levels of preparation that went into this, Seb doesn’t even have his own pump) and on telling the man what he was training for the response was, ‘Mate, you’ve got to use a bit of realism about these things, that ain’t gonna happen.’

This afternoon, in Beatty, a Wild West Town with the desperate trimmings of commercialism, I looked into the wide eyes of a young man who was serving me a Subway sandwich and heard him say those now ever-so-frequent words, ‘I’d love to do something like you’re doing.’ The usual suspects that deter the folk who speak and don’t act are money, time and the daunting fear of the unknown. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ said the chap.
‘You just start,’ I said. And if this Tandem Journey has proven anything, it is that a remarkable, difficult, satisfying and geographically wonderful challenge can be cooked up and completed with little more than a cheeky grin and an eagerness to experience stuff. ‘Get a map,’ I said, ‘look at it a bit, and then buy a bike, even a second hand one.’
‘One day I will,’ he said.
‘One day is never,’ I said, sucker punching him with my finest cliché, ‘mate, you’ll never regret doing something like this, you will look back and remember it for the rest of your life.’

And then I ate the sandwich, and it was good, and I popped up to the counter to tell him so. He should do his ride, but not give up the day job, because he’s splendid at it.

There have been several times on this journey when Seb and I have been psychologically on our knees. That second day where we were kicked off the Freeway in Seattle by a jolly cop and then proceeded to get outstandingly lost in the rain. My trainers began to simultaneously fall apart and fill with water. My toes, somewhere deep down in two pairs of socks and a holey shopping bag, they began to resemble prunes.

And then there was Day 8, the long push to Mt Shasta, first over the top of the Siskiyou Summit, a two-hour climb to the highest peak on the Interstate 5. And then we descended fast into California and became pummelled by headwinds on a long, flat prairie. Three hours, it took us, to pedal less than 10 miles. Heartbreaking. Mt Shasta was up there somewhere, in the hills we had been staring at all day, the ones that began almost as hazy clouds and then defined themselves as we edged closer. We climbed through the snow, still fighting the wind, pausing often to rub the cold from our fingers. We were both haunted by the next day’s challenge, the Cascades Range, a 135 mile stretch of mountains that lay between us and the flatter – we hoped – Nevada desert. Our spirits fell to our sodden shoes, our bike Tinkerbella continuously played up, offering resistance to which a solution could not be found. We were two men on an adventure at its lowest ebb, which is a good place to be if your intentions are decent, because there’s always an angel waiting to pick you up. In this case, the angel was named Kevin and he owned a pizza shop in Mt Shasta. We thought there was still a good ten miles to go when he pulled up in one of those unnecessarily enormous American cars that everyone here seems to own, and I struggled not to hug him firmly when he said that town was barely a mile away. Later, he brought us pizza, because he happened to own a restaurant called Say Cheese. We ate, we slept, we woke, we took on the mountains. And we won.

Seb and I haven’t cycled much before, certainly not seriously. Sure, we both keep ourselves relatively fit, but we’ve both got some muffin tops to offer round. Once upon a time we both decided to do something different and exciting and new. Something that scared us. That first thing is the catalyst, and since then we’ve both been saying yes to self-made opportunities far more than we say no, because once you realise that you can. Well, you just do.

Two weeks ago we were both en route to Vancouver, Tandem Bicycle Experience at a level of 0 out of 10. 12 hours before we were due to start our bike was in a box. The next morning we sat upon her and then fell into North America. Somehow, and here in our tent we can’t fathom how this is possible, we have now been pedalling for 13 days. We have covered 1296 miles, passed through cities, grasslands, mountains and desert. We’ve frozen our butts off at six in the morning and ended the same day in thirty degree heat. We’ve been inches from passing trucks, or they’ve been inches from us, and at times our pace has topped 45 mph and the slightest loss of focus could have ended everything.

Tomorrow we ride into Vegas, and all day long I can guarantee you that we will have wide grins on our faces, even on the longest, straightest roads that never seem to end. This has been the most ridiculous journey of my life so far and for at least 50% of the time it’s been a pleasure to ride with Seb. The other 50% has been less enjoyable, mainly because I’ve been sat behind him gazing open mouthed at the scenery when he made the decision to release the most toxic fumes known to man. And if you’re familiar with the nature of bike seat farts, you’ll know that they produce considerable squeezing noises that make the whole sensation quite unpleasant.

Still, let’s look on the bright side, we finish tomorrow, unless we get our first flat tyre. That might prove to be an issue, because this morning we accidentally left the bike pump behind and we still have 100 miles to cycle on America’s Loneliest Road.

Find out more on www.davecornthwaite.com, and meet Seb Terry @ www.100things.com.au

The shock of being flung off our tandem bicycle yesterday spurred Seb and I into action. Sure, there are some things out of our control on this mission, but we can only deal with whatever weather, injury, gradients and mechanical faults throw at us. Besides the hurdles, absolutely nothing stands between us and Las Vegas except for 900 miles of road, and our minds.

The more knowledgable among you will realise that cycling 100 miles in a day is a wholly doable task. Heck, there are folks currently preparing for a race across America who will pedal over 300 miles a day for a couple of weeks. So, let me put our task into perspective. Neither Seb nor I have partaken in any kind of cycling trip before, this is our first bash at touring with pedals. Although we sat on a tandem for the first time just five days ago, we’ve picked it up very quickly, and after five days on the road our bodies are now well adapted to 8 or 9 hours of pedalling each day. Even so, our 100 mile a day target is just about at the edge of our limits. Our bike, Tinkerbella, is not made for touring. She’s a city runaround. Fat tyres, heavy frame, relatively cheap - which suited us just fine! Then take into account the weight we’re carrying. Between us Seb and I weigh 175kg, our bags around 40kg, the bike nearly 23kg. This is a challenge and a half.

Day 5's landscape looked much like this

We strategised today, on Day 5, for the first time. Our last day of relative flatness before the land begins to roll south of Eugene, OR, we needed to lay down the gauntlet and show ourselves that 100 miles per day is not only possible, but that we could smash it. Up until now we’d taken coffee on a whim, lounged for an hour at lunch, and then with a knee bending crash yesterday the impact didn’t just swell my knee, it led us to cut short the day at just 88 miles. We realised for the first time that maybe, just maybe, we might not make it.

So this morning we rose at 6am. We were packed and on the road by 7am. We snacked on the bike, stopped rarely, and gunned it south. For the first time we went a day without heavy rain and it made quite a difference, waterlogging adds its own weight. With the sun on our faces we paced across pastoral grasslands, conditions calm, traffic gentle. One long, straight road took us 30 miles towards Eugene, our prospective stop for the day, and then our chain came off. We put it back. It came off again. Bugger.

Fixing the chain

There are two chains on a tandem, front and rear. We’d somehow damaged the central cog that links the left-hand chain between the riders, so without this we were unable to pedal at full speed. In fact, only the rear rider (Seb at that point) had the capacity to pedal. Before this episode began, our dreams of nailing 100 miles appeared to be fading. We are utterly inept at fixing bikes, we just pointed at the grease on our fingertips and made silly jokes. They didn’t get us anywhere.

Remarkably, Seb pedalling on his own kept us at a steady pace of 13mph, just 4mph below our joint average. I felt quite inadequate after that, although I was doing a very good job steering (straight road) and changing gears.

Eventually a man in a tractor factory holding a big spanner sorted out our cog. We blitzed the day. We made Eugene by 3:45pm and decided another 20 miles was in order, just for luck. We eventually pulled up in a Highway town called cottage Grove at 7pm, 12 hours after our day started. We’d cycled 114 miles, were stiff as two boards, and our bums are well and truly sick of being between our bodies and a hard seat for hours on end. We’re sore, tired and need to constantly stretch to avoid seizing up, but we’re jubilant at the task in hand.

Physically we’re fine. If you wake up and it hurts you know you’re alive, so the battle here is mental. We CAN cycle 100 miles a day, even through a mountain range, but fighting the demons in our heads that argue for rest and alleviation from the monotony of pedal pedal pedal is the crux of the issue. We still have 900 miles left to go. Nine days out of fourteen, we’ve only ridden for five so far. Endurance travel is a numbers game, and my number is 22:45. The time right now. Bed time. Goodnight!

Visit www.davecornthwaite.com for my story, and www.100things.com.au for the adventures of the mighty fine (in an entirely non homoerotic we’re two men on a tandem way), Seb Terry

‘What’s the purpose of your visit?’
‘I’m here to ride a bicycle to Las Vegas.’
The Customs guard tapped his badge absent mindedly as he looked up at me for the first time, one eyebrow raised.
‘And where’s your bike, do you have it with you?’
‘No, it’s a tandem, my friend is sorting it out in Vancouver City.’
‘How did you meet this friend?’
That’s the worst question he could have asked. Silly Customs man, asking questions he doesn’t want the answer to.
‘He came to my house with a bag of eggs, he asked me to help him break a world record.’
The man dipped his chin, and if he’d had glasses he would have peered at me over them. His eyebrow was now touching the back of his neck.
‘Are you ****ing with me Sir?’
I’m not sure they’re supposed to swear, but I began to sweat a little.
‘I’m completely serious. He broke a world record, and lots of eggs. He has a certificate, carries it with him everywhere.’
‘A world record certificate?’
‘A real one.’
‘You may go.’

So here I was, in Canada for the first time. I took the Sky Train, looked at the mountains, hoped we didn’t have to ride over them, and pondered the situation. We hadn’t really planned for this. The bike had only been sorted a couple of days earlier by a chap called Ryan from Reckless Bikes in Vancouver, and on closer inspection it appeared that just 17 hours until we were due to ride south, the bike was still in a box. It wasn’t until just after midnight that we left the bike store, our tandem bike all shiny and blue, and ready. Comedy horn, chrome dice as valve covers, a wicker basket, all the necessary stuff.

We’re not cyclists. We can both ride, but that’s about it. We learned how to change a tyre, fix gears and brakes. We had pizza. Five hours of sleep later we woke up and went for it.

The plan was to ride to Vegas. 1400 miles, 14 days. Day 1 took us into the USA and some 90 miles south. Seb’s covered all of that stuff in a blog that you can read here.

Riding a tandem is a new skill for Seb and I. We fell into America, literally, that’s how bad we were. As the first couple of days went on we became more adept at starting (we’re still not very good) but tandem biking is all about teamwork. First question: who goes at the front? Answer: Both of us. Not at the same time. The one at the back is chief navigator. The pedals are connected so there’s none of this mythical freewheeling on the back seat, but basically he can pedal with his arms behind his head. At intersections and bridges without shoulders the rear rider is responsible for checking traffic, the only other duty is the occasional back massage. The front rider, I realised late on Day 1, has incredible responsibility, like a superhero. You have to steer, operate the brakes and gears, watch the road ahead for potholes and corners, and stuff. Most importantly, as the front man, if you crash you don’t just hurt yourself, you hurt your friend. It’s in nobody’s interests, so concentration is paramount.

On Day Two we woke up in Everett, a little north of Seattle. We snuck out of our hotel by 7am and powered down the 405 Freeway, which runs to the eastern suburbs. We should have known because we were practically cycling through spaghetti junction with enormous trucks whizzing past our ears, but we didn’t realise we were on a Freeway. After 20 miles and 90 minutes we were stopped by a policeman, he told us we were naughty. (The incident was captured on camera, see it here). Luckily he was quite friendly, and so was his friend on a police bike, so they blocked traffic and ushered us out of the way.

After that it was tough going. We struggled to navigate through the suburbs and lost all inertia from our first sprint. And then it started to rain. A medium force, driving rain, it got everywhere. Down our necks. In our gloves. My trainers filled up with water and it seeped through the laces. Later, we would find that our waterproof panniers weren’t quite waterproof. By 5pm were were in a place called Orting. It was surrounded by hills, on all sides except for the one from whence we came. A big climb threatened. On these journeys sometimes a critical decision presents itself that will determine the outcome of the entire fiasco, this was our moment.

We’d pedalled only 70 miles, had no way to go but up, and we were very, very wet. We asked for accommodation. We asked for directions. No-one knew anything. Most people in these towns haven’t left these towns, seriously, this town with a Burger King and Macdonalds and three garages didn’t have a Motel or a B&B. Or at least, the town residents didn’t know if there was shelter for strangers. Then a lady named Macenzie told us her brother would be nice to stay with. He had a pool table. They were cooking fajitas. It was on our way, but 15 miles south west. We decided to pedal up the hill, and we found two angels. Kelly (Mac’s brother) and Hannah, a fine and happy couple, welcoming to the degree that they had an enormous drying machine. We put our belongings and ourselves in the machine. It was lovely. A pair of saviours in a world of delightfully friendly but sadly unknowledgeable people. We had landed. They gave us beer and fajitas. Travelling reveals the beauty in people, it really does.

And then, today. It was time to cover 100 miles in one day. We said we’d do it, we aimed for it, we cycled 101 miles. There were hills I’d rather not describe in detail. There were people along the way who gave us good directions. Some gave us bad. Everyone was amazed that we were cycling to Vegas, but only in between bites of their burger. We’re tired but not broken. My left Achilles and right knee have taken to screaming at me. Both of Seb’s knees are unhappy. But as people, we are ever so glad to be doing this. Three days ago we were new to this sport. We were new to this part of the world. We’d chosen to cycle from Vancouver because it sounded cool, because it began with V, like Vegas. It wasn’t a good reason, but it was enough, it was an adventure. We didn’t realise it was Winter, it’s rainy at the moment. Cold most of the time. And wow, nothing else in the world would previously have encouraged me to wear silly clothes like the ones I’m currently living in. It’s frankly, brilliant.

Do be nice and leave us friendly messages on my Facebook page, Dave Cornthwaite: Expedition1000

Find out about Seb’s bucket list adventures at www.100things.com.au