Clint Valentine & Paul Dorr
-Jonatahn Horn

New Englanders Clint Valentine, left, and Paul Dorr, who work together on a schooner off the coast of Maine, have just completed a cross-country bicycling trip, all the way to San Diego. Raising roughly $5,000 for breast cancer along the way, the two men, known as Team Bowditch, ended their expedition in Del Mar. Dorr, 48, said biking through one of the coldest winters on record made the trip itself the most memorable part: "It really is the journey and not the destination," he said. "So much happened during the time we left to get here that when we finally put our front wheels in the Pacific Ocean, it was like, hmm, where's the band?"

The Del Mar Times, Del Mar, California, April 8th, 2010

We have reached the Ocean !!

After an exact amount of 5 months on the road Paul Dorr and I have arrived at our destination. If there is one thing we have learned on this trip it is that a true adventurer has all the drive to explore but never plans on arriving. We have arrived to our one true location, our one true terminus.

I could write about 'looking-back' and summarize my experience for you but I feel like that would also take a true 5 months time. A very long story indeed. I implore you to read through our posts and make your own conclusions. I can tell you that when asked if I would cycle this again, I have replied "Yes! but let's mix it up, for I would pick a different route." Although not expecting a superior result I feel there is still too much left to see in a short time.

I am writing from my hometown of Mansfield, MA and have fully adjusted to my life of systematic alarm clocks and worldy expectations. It feels good to be home, but at the same time I still yearn for the sights not seen, the food not tasted, and the people I have yet to meet.

I hope Paul & I as well as Jo have been a true inspiration to some folks out there and I know everyone feels accomplished whether they biked or donated or even kept us in their hearts.

So I put this website to idle rest and for myself, well, hopefully just the opposite. May your bikes stay rubber side down.

~Clint Valentine

This has been the official completion of our coast to coast cycle ride. We have seen so much (rather slowly) in the last five months. I thought I would owe tribute to my riding partner.

Upon conception of this trip our dreams included the grandeur of cycling the best natural wonders this world has to offer.  We fathomed meeting every influencial and interesting person that inhabited this country and we excited at spending time doing the things we loved to do regularly.

Our only dissapointment may have come from the lack of timing for this was far from a mild winter. We saw the worst of it. We camped in snow and biked through rain; We saw a lot of rain! We headed into the wind our entire trip (a mild breeze, or a 50 mph continuous gusting, but never a steady tailwind). We continually adjusted our route to a more southern latitude but to no avail. Our winter wasn't metered in days or hours, but in inches and degrees.

We succeded in the fact that we stayed comitted and driven to press on. The sound of rain became a dirge and the praise of onlookers became a curse as we saw and heard the phrase 'worst winter ever' hourly. Within ideal contravance we descended into the desert for the vernal equinox. With sandy hillisides splashed with the royal purples and yellows of the desert flowers our winter had paid off. We could appreciate our bitter time in the rain.

Of course, this immense appreciation I recieve in completing our goal of cycling through seasons is indebted to Paul Dorr. Without his 'let's do it this winter!' attitude and help with finances and skills I could live my life without ever expiriencing what I have lived through. I owe it to him and to no one else.

Thanks to him for sticking with my (at the time) absurd notion that things would turn up and the clouds would clear, for the many times he awoke before me and started up a pot of tea on the coldest days, and for the fact that I had someone to talk to just before sunset after a long day biking.

We crossed the dwindling Colorado River and headed South to avoid the interstates. We were parched by the desert floor and exhausted from long months on the road. In the distance we saw what appeared to be a a heavily sculpted beach. Spanning the horizon. These were the Algodones Dunes and have drifted North from Mexico.

From desert floor to strictly sand, our paved road winded through terrain. Although short in width the length of these dunes spanned hundreds of miles. We met an eastward bound cyclist at the top of the sand bar and talked with him just long enough to realize he outranked us in every dimension of touring. He had crossed the country fourteen times by bicycle. We gleamed a few stories and philosophical teachings from this man and parted on our way. One thing he said struck me as memorable: "Stories are the currency of a life well lived."

Onward to the Anza-Borrego Wilderness. We passed by a Border Patrol Checkpoint and continued to Ocotillo Wells, a location known for it's off-road vehicle allure. Camping out at the base of the Pacific Crest we escaped the midday heat by a public restroom. We saved the continuous grade of 5% for 20 miles for the morning of the the next day. I promised myself a prepared burger at the summit, a town called Julian. We had are burgers later that day and many degrees cooler.

We camped out at a 'luxury' RV resort and contemplated the gravity of our last day cycling. Would it be eventful? Rewarding? Conclusive? We thought out loud before we retired for the night. 

We pulled into Scottsdale Congregational Church and set up camp in their Youth Room. Equipped with sofas and a centerpiece Foosball table, we were content to say the least. Our intentions were to rest up enough to traverse the Sonoran Desert so we setup a loose schedule and wished to see the most of the valley while we were their.

First stop was old town Scottsdale where we were treated to dinner and desert in a fashionable style while the night life sprawled around us. It was strange to be in a large city after sleeping in the woods for months. We each associated our experience with Boston or New York and remembered what it was like in the metropolis.

The following day we drove up to Sedona, AZ to be amazed by geography. Towering above the nestled town are large mesas of brilliant red sandstone, carved out by a 200 million year old sea and shaped by the softly abrasive wind. It was a spectacular place of nearly mystic proportions. We remarked that even the cheapest property value had a view none better than half the world.

On our car ride back we took an alternate route up Mingus Mountain to view the strange town of Jerome. Jerome is perched on what could be mistaken as an inhabited cliff. The houses are built on streets that switchback and tier over themselves. A town of novelty and fully worth the visit.

Up and over Mingus Mountain led us to the famed cowboy and outlaw town of Prescott. We ate at the 'Palace' where the Earp brothers and Doc Holliday had a few to drink. There we met a confederate reenactment soldier whom was making the rounds with the guests.

Each day concluded with most likely a dessert and a fastidious march to bed as we awaited our next day. When my birthday came around I was treated to a Boston Crème pie and a not-quite unison rendition of happy birthday by the church congregation. We were making memories in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Our encampment beside Sycamore Wash was one of our favorites. We listened to water surge down a once dry (for 10 years) river bed and were enamored by the beauty. The grass was sprouting and the cactus were alive. The sycamore trees were host to the most vibrant of greens and the entire scenery was verdant with ferocity.

I adventured off to into the canyon to sight-see when I came across a lady resting in the shade. I stopped to chat and she had told me of her mission.

She was hiking into the canyon and removing rocks of amazing structure. Each only a few pounds but composed of the many colours of Quartz, Jasper, Sandstone, and even some semi-precious stones. She found this place unique for her rock collecting. I offered to walk with her on her next trip in and carry out a load of her choice specimens.

We entertained small banter when I noticed her belt of weaponry. She told me of the dangers of rattlesnakes, coyotes, gila monsters, and even a creature we had plenty of imagination for, the javelina. I was happy to explore this canyon with someone so knowledgeable and fortified from animal attack.

Although I saw none of these creatures during our time there I was most impressed with the Giant Saguaro. Droves of these human-like plants dot the hillsides as far as one can see. Standing erect and without motion they are resilient to the wind. I found them especially creepy and completely interesting. One of my goals in life was to travel to Arizona and see these plants.

"The Rim is an escarpment defining the southwestern edge of the Colorado Plateau [and the White Mountains], and along it's central and most spectacular portions is characterized by high limestone and sandstone cliffs. It was formed by erosion and faulting. Dramatic canyons have been cut into it, including Fossil Creek Canyon and Pine Canyon. The name Mogollon comes from Don Juan Ignacio Flores Mogollón, Spanish Governor of New Mexico from 1712-1715."

We continually climbed in elevation to reach the tip of this Rim overlooking the Phoenix valley. Our day and night time temperatures plummeted with every foot upward. An average of 3 degrees Fahrenheit with every thousand feet gained. We longed for warmth and new terrain as we dreamed of the Giant Saguaros (səˈwɑroʊ) and palm groves.

Every thirty miles on route 60 was a warning sign for elk in the road. Upon arriving at the precipice of the Rim we scanned the vast horizon in all directions but the direction from which we came. It was only down from here.

Barreling down the highway we coasted for nearly forty miles and were duly entertained by the rapid change in temperature, scenery, and humidity. The world change before us. No longer was there snow on the ground or Pinyon Pines above us but gravely sand and chaparral scrub brush.

Further downward and further south we pushed through windless canyons and ravines. Up and down in the spring heat of the desert. Our goal for the day was Scottsdale (Phoenix), Arizona. We were amazed to to see the desert so vibrant and green. Flowering cactus and creosote bush all in extremely healthy condition. We appreciated all of the rain we had seen this winter for this one moment.

We stopped by Sycamore Wash amongst a legion of Saguaros and made camp. We had to enjoy this vista a day longer. We were off the Rim and into a regionally exclusive habitat. It was all very new to us and we loved it.

Breaking our trip into sizable way points is a means of managing the long haul. Our goal was the Continental Divide at roughly 8,000 ft in the middle of the Datil Mountain Range of New Mexico. Starting low at the Rio Grande we pushed upwards with shallow grades. We were well-equipped and well-spirited and saw only clear weather in the forecast.

It would seem this blurb of our trip would be rather bland if I held back the details on the turbulent scenery, high-altitude desert fauna, and hostile creatures; I will promise to tell all and not let the truth get in the way of this epic.

Coming up into a valley between two ranges we were greeted by a worn car, left to rot on the tarmac. Paul & I joked about the fate of the driver. Possibly he was driven delirious by the heat and wind to wander off, or was even pulled from his car by a pack of reintroduced Mexican Wolves, or maybe he was carried of by Pronghorn Antelope. We could not decide upon the proper scenario.

The next day was spent in the Plains of St. Augustin; These plains are the flattest at the highest elevation in the world. They are also home to the Very Large Array (VLA) where they visualize readouts from deep space transmissions. Visible progress when crossing these planes is nonexistent. We were anxious to arrive at the Datil Pass and stay at a peculiarly named town, Pie Town, NM.

Upon arriving at the Continental Divide and the town perched up there we soon realized the key to the town's namesake. The best pies in the world!. We stopped for a meal and sought out a place to bunk. We were offered a stay at the Toaster House.

the Payson Roundup
 

From Maine to San Diego, Clint Valentine, front, and Paul Dorr pedal their way into history in the Susan G. Koman cause of fighting breast cancer. -Andy Towle
 

Biking across the country, Paul and Clint stopped by our offices (Payson Roundup) on a deadline day, (not the best time) but I talked with them and set up a place along the highway where I could get a good shot of them whizzing past on their way to Phoenix. Once they zipped passed me, I jumped in my car to catch up with them and possibly get another shot or two.

They had stopped and were waiting for me  to catch up. I pulled over and we talked about their trip. Being from 'back east', way back East, like the East Coast of Maine, the conversation was a might short as they were conservative with words.

Perhaps it was because they were nearing their goal with a focus on San Diego, CA. No doubt they were eager to reach their destination and were tired of focusing on where they been.

Paul volunteered most of their information, but Clint said a few words and mentioned his run-in with a baby snake.

Clint had played with a baby rattlesnake not too long ago, which gave me a start as I had learned several summers ago, that baby rattlers release all of their venom when they bite you and are more dangerous than adults in that respect. But he seemed none the worse for the experience except, that he probably wouldn't be doing that again.

It appeared that the long trip had seasoned them into solitary travelers who had a great love of the outdoors and like mountain men before them they were set apart from others.

An economy of words is a sign of a solitary existence lived with confidence, and knowledge that whatever comes along would be dealt with successfully. Another case of lemons into lemonade.

Being from 'back east' myself (Wis.), I was surprised by the things I have learned and engaged them with before they left.

I knew by going down into the desert they were going to need a few words about the heat, the dryness and the sun.

For instance, before your mouth gets too dry, it is a good idea to find a clean small pebble or a button and suck on it, to keep your mouth from drying out. Always wear a hat. Rest often. Keep water handy and drink it in small doses.

I wished them a safe and speedy journey and we each went our separate ways.

I must apologize for my inhospitality at being irked on a deadline day. It is because one gets into a routine and then when an adventure comes along one doesn't recognize it for the opportunity it presents.

Be well, Paul and Clint. Be safe and may you enjoy many more adventures.

For more information go to www.teambowditch.com

Let it be known that today is officially Paul W. Dorr's birthday and his first birthday spent in Arizona. We awoke after battling a 50 mph headwind the previous day to a snow storm which accumulated up to three inches in some drifts. We pedaled through the last 10% of the snow and into clear skies with Springerville in the valley before us. There we reside, celebrating Paul's 49^th birhday here in winter wonderland Arizona.