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BUNYAN VELO Travels on Two Wheels Issue No. 06

BUNYAN VELO ISSUE No. 06 â€“ MAY 2016

Travels on Two Wheels

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

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Lucas Winzenburg

lucas@bunyanvelo.com www.bunyanvelo.com

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Bunyan Velo PO Box 3621 Minneapolis, MN 55403 USA

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Patrick Murphy, Theresa McDevitt, Scott Felter, Kevin, Kirstie, Mabel, and Leroy Tweed, Julie McDevitt, Rachel Dye, Jake Mann, Buffalo Dave Knox, Gabe Ehlert, Erik Nohlin, Joe Cruz, Cass Gilbert, Aaron Ortiz, James Lucas, and Mike White.

CONTRIBUTORS

Vince Asta Nicholas Carman Skyler Des Roches Przemek Duszynski Carl Gauger Cass Gilbert

Donnie Kolb Matt McLoone Beth Puliti Mark Reimer Joachim Rosenlund Mark Sirek

Josh Spice Logan Watts Lael Wilcox Brett Ziegler

PHOTO CREDITS

Cover: Cass Gilbert Opposite: Przemek Duszynski Following: Lucas Winzenburg

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MADE IN MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA

CONTENTS BUNYAN VELO 06

10 NEBRASKA Carl Gauger and Vince Asta

NO WINTER Logan Watts

LOCATION SENSORS Mark Sirek and Przemek Duszynski

GOLD TEETH & DIRT ROADS Beth Puliti

SAGEâ€™S CASITA CAMPOUT Cass Gilber

THROUGH THE VIEWFINDER Joachim Rosenlund

124 SNOWBOUND Mark Reimer

138

CAMELS ON WHEELS Lael Wilcox and Nicholas Carman

154

KNIK GLACIER Josh Spice

166

THE DESERT SPEAKS IN CLOUDS Skyler Des Roches

176

KIGER GAP Donnie Kolb

186 GDMBR Matt McLoone and Brett Ziegler

Nebr

aska Written by Carl Gauger, photographed by Carl Gauger and Vince Asta

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“ How is this Nebraska?” We scrambled up and out to a point overlooking our past several days of travel. To our north, we looked down on the bare sandstone of the Red Cloud Buttes, overlooking Ft. Robinson and Crawford. To the east, Crow Butte and Little Crow Butte stood out from the rest, the ridge disappearing into the eastern horizon behind it. We took it all in for a good twenty minutes, barely able to stay upright against the power of the wind. We paused, drinking in the wild, open beauty of Nebraska’s Pine Ridge country. It’s one of the most breathtaking places I have ever been. I asked myself, “How is this Nebraska?” It’s a question I’m used to answering when I tell people how proud I am to call this place home and show them photos of our travels, but here I was asking myself the same damn thing. There are wild and wonderful places all over the earth, but you don’t need to travel to some exotic, faraway land to experience the planet’s grandeur. Chances are it’s in your backyard, and you’ve only missed it because you were hurrying off to find it in someone else’s. BV

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NO WINTER Written and photographed by Logan Watts

Location Sensors Written by Mark Sirek, photographed by Przemek Duszynski

ll you cyclists need to get off the road. Every kind of road. At least for a little while, now and then. There is a lot to learn from a road, but you can, and should, take opportunities to veer off it. See, feel, smell, and listen to the land it goes through. Assuming you’re wanted there and legally can, of course. Stop, get off your bike, and stand there with your receptors set to 10. Wonder where you are. There aren’t any wrong ways to ride, but I think you’re doing yourself a disservice if you only focus on the physical and mechanical aspects of forward motion when you climb aboard your bike. Just like a great work of art utilizes positive and negative space, or a good narrative requires some reading between the lines, a great ride out on your bike should be done in tandem with awareness of the environment. Over the last 10 years I’ve made a point to add a non-bike-related garnish to my rides, wherever they are. Bicycles have occupied three of my four decades. It’d be silly to explain why they have played such a dominant role to you bike-riding readers. Even those of you with shorter histories of bicycle symbiosis know why. Bikes are the best. There are universal commonalities among us, like the feeling of freedom on our first ride and frustrating flat tire stories. From there, the reasons we ride vary greatly. I have sporadically raced road and mountain bikes in my time, barreling through courses as fast as I could, but I’d be hard pressed to tell you much about the locations where they took place. I’m not against racing, but I feel I missed out on something each time. There are notorious events everywhere, hammered and shredded upon, but it seems they’re usually described by the features contained within the edges of the course’s tarmac or trail – that one hill, descent, corner, or drop.

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“Arriving by bike is a pretty disarming way to approach someone and start a conversation. It’s not unusual for one to get started before you can say a word.”

Gold Teeth & Dirt Roads

Written and photographed by Beth Puliti

“America.” The young Turkish bag handler looks in my eyes and smiles confidently as he pushes my frame bags through the scanner during a layover in Istanbul. I think apprehensively that he is scrutinizing my bright, form-fitting, western-style clothes. When my eyes fall on the passport positioned on top of my belongings, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I’m traveling with my husband, Justin, to Kyrgyzstan. We’ll be spending just over a month pedaling the country’s remote dirt roads before crossing into Tajikistan via the Pamir Highway. On the final leg of our flight, we sit behind a man wearing a traditional four-paneled white felt headdress and a woman outfitted in a scarf that ties behind her head. Every so often, they exchange wide, gold-tooth smiles and steal glances in our direction. From the familiar comforts of my airplane seat, I think of the unpredictability that lies ahead— where I’ll spend each night, what I’ll eat from local markets, who I’ll meet along the way—and a pulse of adrenaline stamps out the mounting anxiety inside me. We land in Bishkek a day before Nooruz, a central Asian celebration that marks the beginning of the Persian year. As part of the festivities, Kyrgyz horsemen participate in Kok-Boru, a traditional game that’s similar to polo, but played with a headless goat carcass instead of a ball. When the match is over, we head over to Ala-Too Square to watch locals pay a couple som to weigh themselves on a scale, pummel a punching bag, lurch themselves up and over a pull-up bar, and throw darts at balloons. The ancient festival is associated with the vernal equinox, but it’s only spring in a theoretical sense here. Cold and snow keep us confined to four walls for a few days longer than we’d like, so when the sun finally breaks free from the clouds, it’s all the motivation we need to point our mountain bikes out of the city. We ride in search of dirt roads and mountain passes. We find so much more.

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Sageâ€™s Casita Campout

A Miniature Guide to Family Tykepacking

Written and photographed by Cass Gilbert

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hile its distances may be Lilliputian, organising a family tour – with its many nuts and bolts – is not a task to be taken lightly. At least in our household. First, a suitable route needs to be considered and approved by all those involved. Riding hours have to be tallied. Gear evaluated. Entertainment considered. Naps scheduled. Roadside treats acquired. But, like all of our family excursions, its rewards are undoubtedly bountiful. As proved to be the case with our overnight ride from Santa Fe to Madrid, New Mexico. For a start, it began with a train ride. As all parents will know, there are few obsessions as strong as those of a three year old; in Sage’s case, his worldly desires revolved around trains, guaranteeing excitement before we’d even boarded our bicycles. Besides, other than the undeniable pleasure of rolling out from your front door, the cathartic ke-klunk of a locomotive is perhaps the most satisfying way of easing into a bicycle tour. We’d decided to run a child seat in addition to a trailer to keep our inquisitive cargo entertained. The former encouraged Sage to exercise his growing command of the language, and promised, for the lucky pilot, the chance of a toddler back massage. The latter was his cocoon in which he’d travelled from just 12 weeks old; it came complete with soft toys, dried fruit, and music.

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THROUGH THE VIEWFINDER Written and photographed by Joachim Rosenlund

Even more beautiful are the people. Never have I met such open and friendly people. It’s as if the harshness of nature has softened their souls. People pay for our food wherever we go, despite our best attempts to refuse. They invite us into their homes, bring tea, fresh fruit, and bread to our campsites. They want to talk to us, and even though we don’t have a common language, we do. Heart to heart. We laugh, we smile, we shake hands, we embrace. We communicate with sign language and laughter. When you’re traveling, strangers become brothers and sisters. The world becomes smaller. I travel to find this connection with people, and to let my compassion and empathy grow. Although taking photographs is an important part of this trip, there are countless occasions when taking my out camera would create a barrier between me and my new friends, so it stays in its bag. I would love to take more portraits, but I don’t want to disturb this beautiful human connection. BV

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Camels on Wheels Written by Lael Wilcox, photographed by Nicholas Carman

Sandwiches

pop the lid on the can of green olives and drain the juice into the grass. I slice them into pizza toppings on the plastic hummus lid with a pocket knife. I score the avocado, pull the halves apart, remove the pit, and scoop out the meat. I slice the purple-green tiger tomatoes, then a cucumber into spears, then a yellow onion. I open five rolls and we assemble sandwiches – a thick layer of hummus on one side, avocado on the other, tomatoes, onions, and olives in the middle. Nick closes them with cucumber and packs them in plastic. I set the alarm for five and fall asleep once the jackals stop screaming. In the morning the sandwiches are heavy in my hands. I pack four and give one to Nick. Will it be enough? I pedal past the cows, uphill to the roundabout with the

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statue of the mustached Druze warrior on horseback for the start. At five to seven, Zohar calls Nick to tell us that we’re starting at the hotel instead. And so we do. Nick starts with us and I’m happy he’s there because I’m so excited I feel like I’m going to jump out of my seat and fly to the moon. We’re on pavement for a minute, steep climbs, descents, and I’m sprinting the hills in the lead. The others pass me quickly. Nick splits off to take pictures. I follow Niv up a wrong turn. Now we’ve really started. Wind turbines cut clouds. There are no views. We pedal past farmlands and picnic areas and abandoned bunkers disguised as ruins.

I talk a little to riders – Ophir didn’t sleep well for the last two nights, Niv traveled Alaska on a motorcycle 24 years ago, Ingo rode the HLC last year and likes the south the best – but mostly I crave quiet. I want to ride alone. I pull over to eat a sandwich or pee or fill up water when I need to. Otherwise, I don’t stop. By the afternoon, I’m past the Syrian border and overlooking the Sea of Galilee. Nick meets me there. He motions to the cafe and a stack of loaded bikes. Let’s get out of here! Nick rides with me for an hour. We stop for sandwiches. He fills me in on the race. Niv and Omri are leading, they’re hammering. Niv looks like he’s riding a motorcycle. He descends like Mad Max. Nick found them at the cafe, wolfing down sandwiches and running out the door. Ingo and Eitam are just ahead. Klaus and Yam and a pack are stopped for snacks.

It’s four in the afternoon. I’ve ridden 70 miles of dirt and trail. I want to ride another 70 before I call it a day. I know I’ve got it in me, it just might take some time. So I continue – past Ingo and Eitam on the Galilee Trail, past banana trees by the sea, up to the heights at Givat Yoav, past grapefruit orchards, through the Jordan River, and up and down again. I don’t see anyone until I cross the road in the dark. A man next to a car hollers after me. He knows me. Do I need food? Do I need water? I tell him I can’t accept anything. He says he knows. He rode last year and he’s back to feed everyone. He gives me a paper cup full of spaghetti. “Ketchup?” “No, thanks. Can I take it to go?”

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Knik Glacier 61° 15’ 0” N, 148° 37’ 0” W

Photographed by Josh Spice

GDMBR Written by Matt McLoone, photograph ed by Matt McLoone and Brett Ziegler