Last weekend was an exhausting trip down memory lane. A reunion of sorts. And a great little vacation too. I just returned from "Bike the Border," a short 3-day bicycle tour through my old stomping ground near Mohall.

The minute I arrived in Mohall and began searching for the registration desk, I met up with Ronnie Marmon. He was one of my best friends back in high school. Then he went off on adventures in the Navy, bar tending in Oklahoma, fishing in Alaska, and hitchhiking around the country. So needless to say, we lost touch. We hadn't seen each other in years.

My brother, Ira, also showed up in Mohall for the ride. The two of them brought heavy mountain bikes on this road tour. So it was slow going. We had head winds for nearly the whole trip. We waited out a nasty thunderstorm in the Sherwood school. By the end of the three days, I was exhausted. But it was a blast. Maybe you'll join us next year?

Pictured above are myself, Ira, Ron, and the Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman, whose name I can't recall, at the Canadian border near Sherwood.

The rain poured down on Halliday, day after day. The unwelcome weather was unrelenting. And so Melanie and Mark, the couple to be married, were more than a little stressed about their outdoor wedding plans at Mark's ranch.

Friday morning, the clouds cleared off. The sun shone down on the hills and the puddles dried up. The wind died. And the weather was perfect.

And so my friend Melanie became Melanie McCormack Schaper in one of the most beautiful weddings I've seen. The ceremony was elegant, simple, and tastefully old-fashioned. Just the way I know Melanie wanted it.

After the ceremony everyone retired to a perfectly-decorated building on Mark's property for dinner and a dance. I'm usually not one who enjoys weddings or dances, but I had a blast. It must have been the good company.

From left to right: Jesse, Melanie's brother. Ira, my brother. Melanie, the bride. And me, on the right.

The newlyweds enjoy their first dance as husband and wife.

Congratulations!

My weekend schedule was free, and I was hoping to do something a little different. The forecast was looking rather nice. So the idea of a bike ride came to mind. After all, I have been one lazy biker this year. Getting some miles under my tires sounded like a good plan.

Then I thought, why not do a self-supported camping trip? I have the panniers (like saddlebags) and lightweight camping gear. So last night I packed it all on the bike, including food and clothes for a day. It fit into the panniers rather well. I took the loaded bike for a spin around the block, to test it out. The bike handled a little awkward, but that's to be expected with all that weight on the back.

So this morning I hopped on my loaded bike and headed north, towards Cross Ranch State Park, forty-some miles away. My plan was to camp overnight in a primitive campsite, then ride north to Washburn and back home tomorrow.

Good plan, right? Well, sometimes I get the feeling I'm just not supposed to be on a bike.

A few miles out of town, I hit a bump. Within seconds, I heard the disheartening "hisssssss" of a deflating tire. But upon removing the tire, I could not find anything that had punctured the tube. I started to wonder if my lightweight tires, tubes, and bike just weren't up to the task. I found the hole in the tube, and I was worried that I had simply blown the tube. It popped under the weight, I thought.

So I replaced the tube with my only spare. Concerned about heading farther from civilization with no spare and such a heavy load, I turned around and headed home.

Mere blocks from home, I heard what I thought was a spoke snap. Luckily, that wasn't the problem. The noise was caused by a nail scraping against the rim as it punctured my rear tire. With the nail stuck in the slowly-deflating tire, I made it home.

Some days I wish I had a touring bike - a road bike built for endurance and efficiency. I love my Schwinn Fastback Pro, a road "race" bike. But I'm not confident it's up to the task of loaded touring. It handled my lighter load when I road across Arizona and New Mexico without camping gear. But throw in a tent, sleeping bag, and pillow -- no matter how light, and I start to get worried.

So here I sit, wondering how else I can spend my weekend. First, I was going to go home to visit the parents. But they're busy, so that plan was ditched. Then I was going to go to Cross Ranch. Now that's scrapped.

Maybe I'm just supposed to stay home?