I got up a bit early today so we could get on the road right away. I needed to change my flat tire, my first of the trip, and Dan needed to replace a broken spoke. We stayed at the Canoe Inn, an old hotel that probably was nice at one time, but that time has passed. We have had good luck with Continental breakfasts and all the Canoe Inn had was a packaged Danish, coffee and little containers of orange juice. Not what I need to get me going in the morning.

We decided we would find something else in town and when I went outside all I saw was fog. Riding with speeding log trucks on a two-lane road in mountains shrouded in fog isn't my idea of fun. So we fixed our bikes and went to get some breakfast and wait for the fog to lift.

I was hoping my bagel would provide the energy I needed to get me started. It didn't. The hills started punishing us right away. We climbed for the first 28 miles, going up to the 2,424 foot Denton Hill Summit. As I was climbing the mountain, I was thinking that they don't mark the altitude here like they do out west. As I got to the top, there it was, a sign announcing the summit. I guess that was a real mountain we just climbed.

I don't know if the pounding of 28 days on the bicycle, being close to getting home, the lousy breakfast, a bad hair day or if the thrill is gone, but I couldn't find my mojo today. I just didn't have my normal energy.

I resorted to my list of tricks. I ate an extra Clif bar, drank a couple of Cokes, ate bananas, stopped more frequently, ate a Powerbar and nothing was working.

Then I pulled deep into my reserve and resorted to disco music. I hate disco and to resort to the Bee Gees for motivation was an extreme measure. There I am, pushing up a hill with Saturday Night Fever bashing around in my head. Fortunately I don't know many of the words but the song kept playing. So I had to do what any Disco Travolta hater would do, stand up on the bike and do my best imitation of Johnny doing his pointing dance. In my delirium, I had this vision of me pedaling through the Pennsylvania mountains wearing a white jump suit. I can assure you there are no images of this phenomenon and there were no witnesses.

Disco Duck helped me for a few more miles and then energy lasted about as long as disco did in the ‘70s. Give me another Powerbar and Coke. All day I kept looking at my tires thinking I had a flat. As hard as I was pedaling and going this slow, there must be something wrong with the bike.

Dan was feeling just like me. With two days left in our journey, we decided 79 miles of hills was enough for today.

Fog delayed our start.

Dan rides through the highest summit we've seen since Colorado.

Dan and Loren take a break to regain some energy.

Loren's helmet leaves dork tracks in his new haircut.

Endless Mountain is the meanest thing I can think of.

There is no better road sign than warning trucks they are heading downhill.