Heartbreak in the Rockies - Crossing the Great Continental Divide

And so our journey across the wasteland continued (no offense intended towards anyone from Montana). We reached the city of Great Falls (finally - a place with things!! Like electrical outlets!!) and took stock of our current standing. The plan was to take a day off there, get some work done on the bike (our front chain was exceptionally loose), and then make a sharp turn North and start making our way to Glacier. Now, this wouldn't have been our trip if the wind wasn't blasting us in the face at high speed, so we struggled along to try and make it towards our destination of Choteau. It was a really hard day, with a series of staggered climbs with no descents for the first two-thirds of the 70 mile trek.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Just Try Not To Cry

There was a metaphorical cloud hanging low over our heads this day, as we had received some rather troubling news about 10 miles out. A friendly traveler had stopped to chat with us, inquiring about our trip and destinations. When we mentioned riding through Glacier National Park, he said "Oh, well hopefully they get those fires out by the time you get there" (or something along those lines). Cue the concerned pause and subsequent "...what fires?" Because, of course, we weren't really keeping up to date on news happenings for the last couple of weeks. So this is how we learned that the major highlight of our trip was currently an ongoing wildfire - standing in a gas station parking lot, eating cheap pretzels a day and half's ride from the burn.

(Foothills of the Rockies, taunting us)

We pressed on, holding out hope that maybe it wasn't really that bad. We passed some other cyclists going the opposite direction, and stopped on a really steep hill to record some owl roadkill (maybe not the best decision here, considering the traffic and incline). More pedaling eventually brought us to Fairfield, which is apparently the Malting Barely Capital of the World. We broke for lunch here, and signed their tiny little guestbook before heading onward.

(What the heck is this?)

(I later lost that glove in Missoula...)

(Oh. Guess that explains that...)

Once we reached Choteau, I gave Glacier National Park a call, asking about whether we could ride our bike through the park. I spoke with a number of people, ultimately coming to the conclusion that we could either ride along the border of the park on US Highway 2 (which we had spent almost all of our time in the UP in Michigan on)....or turn around and find a different way through the Rockies.

Well Isn't This Egg-celent...

After spending the night deliberating over some beers (and listening to a drunk refuse to get into his friend's car because he was "SO ANGRY, UGH!"), we decided that the potential for smoke and increased traffic along US 2 wasn't worth being on the outskirts of the park. So we once more looked at the (now falling apart) highway map, and determined we could make our way back to MT 200 and cross the Rockies at Rogers Pass, which appeared to be along an alternate route for the Lewis and Clark Trail. Come morning, we made our way out of town, now climbing up this incredible incline that we had ridden down the prior day (and I think one of us even made the comment of "HAH sure am glad we don't have to ride back up THAT" when we rode 6 miles downhill without once pedaling).

Erin still maintains that this climb was the hardest we had all trip - tough winds, hot sun, and a seemingly endless incline without any type of break. I think the first mountain of the Adirondacks in New York was still worse, but I won't argue that this climb wasn't absolutely miserable. However, it turns out this was the same place that the Maiasaura was first discovered. 

Montana. Go figure.

(It's hard to see but this one hill started way down in the middle of that valley)

(EGG MOUNTAIN GUYS)

(also that's a dead seagull next to the sign at the bottom left)

(why in the world is there a seagull here, there is seriously no water)

We made it to a small town called Augusta, and things were looking up. Call us privledged city folk, but it was awfully comforting to see alternatives to cow milk stocked in the little market there. Our next day was "the big one" - our scheduled summit of the Rockies. We had gotten a local tip about a low traffic, well compacted dirt road that would avoid major inclines, so we headed off in the morning with hope in our hearts. We also had a backup campsite in case something went foul, so we could split up the 60+ mile day into two parts if we didn't feel up to crossing the mountain pass all in one go.

Well, they day went foul. The heat was tremendous and the road a lot less ridable than advertised (this was the last time we took a local's advice). After almost getting hit by an SUV, we crawled over a hill to see...a freshly dead cow. Extremely off-putting...it was at that point we decided we would check out the upcoming backup campground, which was a Montana state fishing area. Well, when we rolled down that last dusty side-road, we were greeted with....this:

(Not our photo, but essentially how it looked)

This, folks, is Bean Lake. A dusty, shadeless, disgustingly scummy cesspool. We had heard Montana had to cut support for a lot of their camping and fishing sites, and we're guessing this was one of those. So we had the choice of setting up camp here, with no potable water or lavatories, or try to keep going over the mountains...also with no water. Because here's the thing - we were almost out. We had made it thus far on the trip without facing the limited water issue (although had had some close calls), but our luck had finally run out.

There were just about 2 full bottles of clean water, plus our platypus reserve (which we only ever used when we absolutely needed it). But we had probably 30 more miles of waterless climbing ahead of us, culminating in Rogers Pass. So after some deliberation, we (well, Erin) filled our bottles with the putrid liquid of Bean Lake and set off. Better to hope for some resources along the way than settle for nothing here. There was just no way we'd last the night and the subsequent day if we had stopped.

Now, I was being stupid and refraining from drinking as much as I could, for fear of using the clean water and hoping to leave enough for Erin. And of course, she too was holding back as much as possible. But right where it was getting to the point of no return (please God no, don't make us drink this stinky, dead-animal water) we rounded a bend and suddenly the harsh yellow of the last few weeks began to yield to green trees. Luckily for us, we had come upon the Dearborn River, and boy was that water looking crisp and clear.

(Talk about just in time!)

(You can see the mix of yellow and green over there)

(Looking down at the river)

We almost kept going without dumping the trash water, but once across the bridge we looked back and decided it was absolutely the right call to make our way down to the river and fill up our bottles.

(It was so crisp and clean down there I wanted to just lay in it)

Thankfully, we had packed a blacklight sterilizer, which we ended up using on this water. And it didn't get us sick or anything, which was amazing. It tasted pretty good, in fact!

So onward and upward we trekked, hitting some really rolling terrain. We had picked up some speed going down a hill, feeling much more jolly as the foliage continued to display speckling of greenery, and we hooted and hollered at the cows that stared at us impassively from the fields. And then we came upon some cows that had actually snuck themselves past the barbed-wire fencing, right on the side of the road! We gave them such a fright, they bolted back towards the fence faster than you'd think cows could move. One jumped up, one scuttled under, and in a flash (plus some screeching of wood and metal) they were back in the field running for their lives. Guess that explains the earlier roadkilled cow.

After what felt like far more than the 20 something miles from Bean Lake, we finally reconnected with MT 200, which was of course busy with traffic. But this was our final leg of the day, taking the highway through Helena National Forest and over Rogers Pass. As we began winding our way through the mountain peaks, the sun was starting to cast its long shadows signaling the day's end. And of course, when you're in a bunch of mountains, it gets dark faster. So we pedaled as hard as we could, already quite exhausted, slowly making our way upwards towards the summit. We took a break probably 5 miles from the top, finally busting open a bag of snack mix we had been holding on to for this very moment. The incline wasn't too bad, especially compared to most of what we encountered in the NY, NH, VT, and ME, but at this point we were really on our last legs.

I want to be able to say we rode across the pass triumphantly, and we certainly tried to, but I had reached my breaking point. We had probably 2 more miles of switchbacks left, and to our credit, we didn't go down without a fight, but eventually I just told Erin I couldn't keep pedaling enough to maintain our balance. So we pushed the bike, watching truck after truck rumble past us on the shoulder. But you know what? We still sumitted the Rocky Mountains under our own power, and there is absolutely no shame in that.

(At the top)

(Preparing to descend. If you notice, I put on another shirt. Sun setting = cold)

Believe it or not, we were running out of water again, too. There was probably only about 2 cups worth of water left across all 6 of our containers, and neither of us was drinking more than a tiny sip. Each time we did, we'd try to force what little was left on the other, insisting that "you need to drink this, you haven't had enough." I guess we're both just stupid stubborn.

The way back down was a cold ride, as it was rapidly getting darker (although once we had made it over the pass, there was a bit more sunlight, thank goodness). The campsite we were looking for was deceptively far away (or our odometer was a little off). Eventually we made it to a sad little campground that had many of its trees cleared due to disease, and we started setting up the tent and making food. Of course, that's when it began sprinkling. And then there was lightning. So we rushed to get all the metal under some sort of shelter that wasn't directly next to our little tent. But the storm passed without too much trouble, and we eventually climbed into bed - cold, tired, but a little giddy that we had finally made it to the other side. Especially since the terrain would now have at least SOME downhill grade, unlike almost everything leading up to the Rockies. That's what you get starting the trip from the East, but it doesn't mean we couldn't celebrate the relief.

NEXT POST - we aint out of the woods yet, and we race against fire and lightning some more!

You Have To Put A Lot Of Ground Behind You To Be Anywhere - Eastern Montana

When you've ridden as far as we had, and crossed as much terrain, you start to feel kind of invincible. After all the rain, wind, heat, mountains, and dilapidated roadways, it's like there's nothing else the world could throw at you. Heck, we made it out of North Dakota - anything afterwards should be smooth sailing.

Yeah, well...remember we mentioned running into a guy in Minnesota who let us take his Montanna highway map? He was close to finishing his Portland - Minneapolis journey, and was clearly exhausted. And he had said, when we asked about our oncoming ND terrian, that the real trouble was going to be East Montana. Foolishly, we brushed that off and figured it'd be an exciting world of cowboys and wilderness. And it didn't take long for us to realize after crossing the state line how very wrong we were.

(We didn't see any dinosaurs, unfortunately)

You hear that Montana is "Big Sky Country" - meaning that there's a lot of open space. But you don't really grasp the significance of that until you feel the immense weight of that vast nothingness bearing down on you as you pedal through an emptyness you have to see to believe. Montana is so huge, so open, so dry...and demographics-wise, nobody lives there.

Decisions, Decisions

After North Dakota (and honestly, Minnesota factored into this, too), Erin and I decided to start altering our route. We had gotten a little fed up with the Northern Tier, and decided that once we got into Western Montana, we'd hop onto the Lewis and Clark bike route and finish our trip along the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon. And since we had that handy highway map (and there's basically only 3 roads to cross Montana with anyways), we figured why not just jump routes now?

So we made the shift after hitting Wibaux, striking out along MT 200 west. Now, maybe it wouldn't have made a difference whether we switched or not, but we quickly found ourselves adrift. We'd see highway signs for cities 60, 90, 165 miles away, the only promises of civilization we had to look forward to. But then - nothingness, towns just barely hanging on before turning to ghosts.

(Seriously, this is what all the photos look like...)

When you pass a town who's highway sign reads "Go Ahead and Blink, We're Still Here", how do you even process that? Especially when being "still here" means there's like 10 people living in the town.

Life In The Void

Here was another stretch of days where battery life became a precious commodity. As such, pictures are sparse. And the thing is, nothing could really do justice to this alien world. There's little I can think of that feels more ominous and foreboding than pedaling across a wide open plain, seeing three different large rainstorms off in the distance, with no notion of where they are going to end up or how far away they actually are. When you're on a giant metal machine with nothing else around, lightning becomes the scariest thing you can see out on the horizon.

(Guys, look at these numbers. Remember, this state is huuuuuge)

Of particular note, by the way, is the increase of roadkill instances we encountered. Snakes (a lot of snakes), coyotes, and magpies replaced the raccoons and porcupines we had become accustomed to seeing. This was a different place, for certain. Along the sides of the road we'd see lots of strange looking deer, and every once and a while the odd live coyote would lope across the asphalt and sneak under a barbed-wire fence. Since there was still plenty of truck traffic, especially in the evenings, our guess is that the combination of low light conditions and creatures not afraid of being on the highway lead to some unfortunate collisions.

Morale started dragging something fierce around this time, too. The isolation, the weather conditions, and the monotony combined to make life in the void a real struggle. But we pressed on, in part because we knew the "best" part of the trip was oh so close. A huge reason for selecting the Northern Tier was so that we could visit Glacier National Park (which we planned to still ride to on a slight detour off our new course), and our adapted route would have us ride through the Bitterroot Mountains afterwards - some really gorgeous stuff after crawling across the Midwest. So with those promises firmly rooted in our minds, we endured.

(Oh, yeah. Not all parts of every road were paved here.)

Next post - even more changes, surprises, heartbreak, and accomplishments. Montana...was a tumultuous state.

North Dakota - Briefly Revisiting Our Descent Into Hell

Hi Folks,

it's been a while.

It turns out that updating a blog regularly while you're bicycling across the country is a hard practice to maintain. Conserving battery life became a major priority as we made our way across the states of the Great Plains, so cell-phone usage was seriously reduced - not that it mattered, since we barely had service (if at all) most of the time. But we think it's important to finish what we started, so we'll be posting updates and finish up our digital retelling. And since I no longer have to thumb-type updates from within a tent using a spotty cellular network, formatting will be improved, and you get goodies like hyperlinks!

(Studly, am I right?)

We last left off crossing over from Minnesota to North Dakota. It had been a hard ride to get there (but when has it not been a hard ride? Oh yeah, Wisconsin. God....we miss you, Wisconsin), and we weren't even greeted with a "Welcome to North Dakota" sign to take a picture near. What a bummer. We rode through Fargo, which is one of those cities you've heard about but never seen. Well, it felt like a pretty flat and cluttered place to us - but on the bright side, there were plenty of bike friendly roads and paths for us to follow as we made our way through it, which was super welcomed. We trekked on to Kindred and spent the night there, not really sure what to expect.

A Daily Grind

The thing with riding through North Dakota is, there's really not that much to it. We spent basically the entire time directly South of the interstate, with not much to see or do along the way. Rather than recount each day's worth of grousing and struggle (because there will be much more interesting grousing to come, trust me), we'll just cover the basic points of this period.

Most people probably assume North Dakota just flat (or at least, we did). Well, that's not exactly correct - it's pretty rolling in terms of elevation changes. Nothing compared to what we saw in the northeast, but much more similar to those long, grueling ups and downs at the tail-ends of Wisconsin and Minnesota. The difference being, however, there's way less water readily available. Believe it or not, there aren't many people living in North Dakota (in fact, we had seen a ND billboard advertising "The Daily Commute" of an empty road). So it was mostly struggling through continued strong winds, hot sun, and upwards tilting terrain. But we persevered, because Rocky Mountains, here we come! Right? Right...?

(RIGHT????)

Bismarck and the Badlands

There were some pretty cliff/butte type formations throughout the state, so don't get us wrong, North Dakota is actually quite scenic in some areas. And we got to ride through Bismarck eventually, which was a pretty sizable city. We didn't see a ton of it, because our route took us through a small corner of the city using bike paths, but we did have to make a detour to go pick up some food box deliveries. The city was one of the few much needed reprieves in the state, and honestly one of the only actual cities we encountered on the entire trip, too.

(Yup, it's rocky)

We also rode through a Little Missouri National Grassland, which....didn't look too different from the rest of the state, but we assume there was some sort of benefit to wildlife within the area? We did see some of the badland terrain, though, which was crazy rugged and wild looking. Something that was nice, though, was there was a significantly lower amount of roadkill observed across the whole state. Perhaps it was due to the increasingly sparse water supply. Or maybe it was because there's nobody in the state to hit any animals. Or maybe there's no animals in the state either! Who knows?

Overall, North Dakota was kind of....meh. We knew it was going to be rough going - both mentally and physically - and it was. And at the time, we weren't super happy about being there. But the difficulties of North Dakota was really nothing compared to what was to come. We'll discuss eastern Montana next - Hell on Earth if there ever was one.

Oh Minnesota - Our Journey Through The Heartland

And thus we departed from Dalbo, refreshed and ready for more. We said our goodbyes and we made our way further along the route once the storm had died down. Funny thing about the rain - we always seem to encounter more roadkill after a storm, as was the case today. But we also see a lot more wildlife - we saw many cranes, a racoon, deer, and rabbits! Good day for critters!

The Land of Trails - and Wind....

We were super excited about Minnesota - which might sound strange at first, until you realize that you can cross a vast majority of the state via bike paths!

(Minnesota in a nutshell)

First we had to bike along a good bit of roadway to hookup with the trail system. And it was a windy day, so it wasn't easy. We managed to outrun the storm system, though, so we stayed dry! Also, we crossed the Mississippi River!! Which was pretty awesome. But, yeah, Minnesota was a pretty, marshy farmland area with not a lot else going on.

(I know you can't tell, but that's the Mississippi)

We made it to the trail later in the day, and stopped in this cute town called Holdingford. There we camped in the city park, and got a bunch of free beers from the locals in the bar! We were, however, awakened in the middle of the night by insane wind buffeting our tent. We had to drag our shelter up next to the bathroom to try and shield ourselves. And man did that wind not let up for the rest of our time in the state (24 mph headwinds?? Whyyyyy!!??)

"Good Morning Minnesota!!"

(The trail out of Holdingford)

Next morning we kept on moving, making it to the town of Alexandria, which bills itself as "the birthplace of America." Check out this viking:

There was some runestone found there or something. Could be a hoax, could be legit, who knows. But they were having a big "dance party" in the street and the local DJ saw on on the road and took an interest in us. SO WE GOT TO TALK ON THE RADIO ABOUT OUR TRIP AND ROADKILL PROJECT! Cool, right?? We also got limegreen shirts as souveniers (useful later for visibility)!

We also had to buy a new tire at this point, as our replacement tire from Michigan had already died on us. It was another dissapointing bikeshop encounter, so we'll spare the details. But we got a new tire - but weren't able to replace the old one before another frustrating flat on the path! Never a dull moment - even during the dull moments...

(FLAT TIRE YAY)

We ended the day in a mighty fine campground that had a beautiful lakeview. Ultimately, not a bad day!

The next day we peeled off the trail in Fergus Falls (they have a huge plaster Otter) and were back on the road. It was still windy, still tough, and we battled increasingly large inclines alongside increasingly heavy truck traffic. This was supposed to be flat!! But we also saved a snapping turtle from the middle of the road, which was crazy.

(Using the wiffle-bat to safe a turtle dinosaur monster)

We ended up in Pelican Rapids, this cute town that had pelican statues all over and a really nice park to camp in. It was still really windy! Pitching the tent was hard :( but check out this hilarious graffiti:

(Hah! Minnesota, everybody)

The next day we passed through a lot more rural country as we approached the state line. We met a nice guy going the other way who let us take his Montana highway map, which came in super handy later. Some views are below - then we hit North Dakota, which we'll discuss in the next post:

(So many sunflowers!)

(Traaaaaaaains)

What We Were Racing Towards - The Dalbo Bunkhouse

We've been really far behind on blog updates - my bad, we've been out of service a lot and dealing with a ton of unforseen challenges and reroutes (which we will write about soon). But for now, we'll pick up where we left off in Dalbo, having biked over 100 miles to get there.

We pushed so hard to reach the Adventure Cyclist Bunkhouse, which is run by an extremely kind man by the name of Don Olson (look him up, he's a really awesome guy). The bunkhouse is located on his family farm, which his two parents purchased together almost a century ago (and they grew up next to it, themselves being neighbors in Dalbo as children before marrying). Don lets cyclists stay for free and supplies food and snacks to us for incredibly low suggested donations. He built the bunkhouse himself (with some help), and it has three bunk rooms, a large lounge, a fridge, kitchen appliances, television, and a moveable wall to bring your bike in from outside. It's amazing and such an incredible relief to cyclists. There's also a solar shower and soap/shampoo supplied to us.

(Shower and outhouse)

(Front entrance)

Don also was super nice - he warned us about incoming weather (seriously bad heat and then very heavy rain), drove us to the post office, gave us a tour of his farm and family land, and also showed us around crazy farm equipment and stuff!

(Climbing into a combine)

(In the driver's seat)

We also met a number of other cyclists at the bunkhouse, doing all manner of trips. The sisters we'd been leapfrogging with across Michigan and Wisconsin arrived, which was cool! We also met some college kids going across the country the other way (adorable).

(Crazy deluge)

There was also an old grain silo that had cots in it, which we slept in our final night and waited out a storm in. It was awesome!

(Silo cieling)

(Silo cots!)

Biking Our First Century - Hayward, WI to Dalbo, MN

To Cumberland, Erin's Home Away From Home?

We had a bit of a later start heading out of Hayward, due to having to mess with the bike a little bit more and quite a chatty neighbor. It was a very hot and humid day, and we got moving with the intention of going as far as we could given the heat. We stopped in Everton for lunch (already dripping with sweat - the air has been very thick around here), and the local convenience store owner told us it's been uncharacteristically hot these few days. Hah! That'd be our luck, wouldn't it? 

Another couple riding from West to East stopped for lunch and chatted with us here - they were originally planning to hit Maine, but have had to cut their trip shorter (guess it's taking them longer than they hoped). We talked about what was to come on either side, trading tales of the road. We took off we before too long, since it was only getting hotter - the other bikers had said something about it being hilly, and we didn't want to let too much time pass if we had to cross that.

(Wisconsin farmland)

Pretty soon we were seeing less and less forest and increasingly large fields of crops, which seemed like a good sign in terms of the terrain leveling out. Wisconsin's interesting in that half of what we saw was lush, beautiful forest and the other half was straight farmland.

We reached a tiny town called Haugen and already needed to refill our water. I hopped around to almost every building looking for a faucet, but they were either closed or unwilling to give me a fill up (one guy tried to sell me a gallon jug, though). Eventually, the bar at the end of town let me use a faucet (phew!), and we were back on our way after getting stuck in more than one conversation about our trip. People really want to talk, which is great, except when you're standing out in the sun and have many more miles to bike :(

(Haugen)

(The search is on!)

As we rode on, the terrain became these tall, really vast hills. We wouldn't exactly call them "rolling" as peak to peak it was about a mile's worth of distance, with over 200 ft in elevation change. This was hard riding, folks. We decided that rather than push for the 80 mile day, we'd settle for 60 and once more rework our schedule - the sun was going to set, and we'd prefer to play it safe.

(Hills, dude. Also, now Erin can take action shots as we ride! Woo fanny pack!)

We stopped in Cumberland, which is the same name as Erin's hometown in Maryland!

It was a cute town, and the city campground had showers (YES!), which was soooo nice after such a humid and gross day. Of course, we each found that after drying off, we immediately felt like we needed another shower - it was so humid and sticky, there's just not much you can do when you're living outside. The campsite was beautiful, though. It rained torrentially for about half an hour (all that humidity was leading up to something!), but it wasn't enough to break the humidity, so we spent the night with the rainfly open for some ventilation.

(Our campsite)

We wanted to get plenty of rest, because the next day we had an ambitious plan: Ride over 100 miles to get across the state line into Minnesota and reach the free cyclist bunkhouse in Dalbo.

The Big Day

Morning came and we left from camp at around 8 AM, which would give us just enough time to reach Dalbo if the terrain didn't give us any nasty surprises (that's a big "if" and we knew it). We stopped to pick up a gatorade and caffeine for midday, and were on our way. Of course, we got a little turned around leaving town, then had to struggle up a really steep hill, then got chased by three dogs at once. OFF TO A GREAT START! But seriously, it was a little worrying, and the sun wasn't even fully up and we were, again, already drenched thanks to the humidity. But, we were on a mission, so we pushed on.

(Overlooking a river in Amery)

(Lunch!)

By midday we had made it 30 miles or so to Amery, where we stopped for lunch. It was a quick break, and we looked up an off-route bike trail that would take us to the next town of Dresser (and knock off 4 miles of road riding). We took off on the trail from Amery, and it was a nice path that went along seven different lakes. It was just compacted dirt for 14 miles, so we got a nice grimy film attached to our bodies as the wheels tossed up dust and sand.

(Trail!)

(Lake!)

(Us!)

We made it to Dresser at around 2:00 in the afternoon, with only about 6 more miles to the state line. We filled water again and pedaled out through more fields to get to the border town of Osceola.

Somehow we lost an hour or more there, switching our maps and getting a second gatorade to replenish everything we'd lost. It was getting to be as hot as it was going to be, and we had made it about halfway in mileage. This is also the point where we finished the North Lakes route, and are finally reconnected with the Northern Tier (which we had departed from back in Niagara).

After almost getting hit by a driver who was not paying attention as we went through a crosswalk, we blitzed our way downhill only to come screeching back to a halt as we crossed the state line. At last, we were in Minnesota.

(Another state down!)

Then we climbed slowly out of that trough through some meandering highways that had thankfully large shoulders. Honestly, this part of the day becomes kind of a blur - it was hot, we were tired, and Minnesota was not immediately stimulating (big fields...biig fields). One road was in really bad shape, but we don't have pictures of this part of the day.

Basically we road for 50 more miles, racing against against the clock and the sun. We stopped every 10 miles or so to pep talk each other, chug water, and get back on the bike. The terrain was flat until the last 12 miles or so, and we split a Gu packet (crucial care package delivery) to get us through - our speed jumped from a lagging 8 mph back up to 16 mph. Finally, sun just slipping below the horizon, our energy sapped, we rolled into Dalbo. Dripping sweat and panting, we had made it.