Day 46 and 47: No more blue cheese dressing, please

As I was thoroughly enjoying my bagel on Tuesday morning, my attention tuned into the Weather Channel that usually remains background noise during breakfast as I try to fight my morning "stooper." There was a forecast for severe thunderstorms, capable of hail up to the size of a nickel, and winds up to 40 mph. Great...

I quickly finished my breakfast and rushed to investigate the weather forecast online. The storm was just West of me, but was about to hit Louisville, and then Shelbyville. I looked outside, and it had already started to rain, and we are not talking a sprinkle, either. Originally, my plan for the day was to make it a nice and easy 60 miles or so to Williamstown, KY, just south of Cincinnati, and then the next day I could go to Xenia, OH, and then just West of Columbus to stay with my boyfriend's sister. And as thunder started booming, I realized that I was stuck for at least a little while.

The rain and lightning was absolutely relentless. The hotel agreed to let me wait until 12 pm to decide if I was stuck there for the day or not before charging me for another night, and by noon, the lightning was still flashing. So, I really didn't have another choice but to stay.

Naturally, three hours later it started to clear up, and I was stuck as I wasn't sure what to do, because I had a few hours of daylight still, and I could still make some mileage that day. The forecast for the rest of the week was showers and thunderstorms. Unfortunately, I had already paid for the hotel for that night, and I had the option of staying, enjoying my recovery day, and splitting the next two days into two long days, or loosing money by trying to make some miles. I don't like wasting money, and I hadn't had a full day off in two weeks, so I stayed put. I went next door to Walmart and got a new toothbrush and a razor and lotion, and also some food. I was craving carrots and dip (I haven't had carrots in the longest time), so I bought some blue cheese dressing to go with them and so I could put some on the dehydrated Buffalo Chicken mix that I had waiting for me back at the hotel. This day was looking pretty darn good!!!

So, I enjoyed one of the messiest sandwiches ever that I created via microwave, (ciabatta bread, chicken buffalo stuffing, avacado, blue cheese, and american cheese melted perfectly... it sounds pretty good right?) I neglected to go ahead and refridgerate the blue cheese dressing, and about 5 hours later, decided I would enjoy the carrots and dip. Mmmmm. Not so much.

At 3:30 in the morning, I woke up with a twist of nausea in my stomach, and I knew, as I tossed and turned, that things were not going to end up well for me. And, sure enough, one hour later, I found myself violently ill in the bathroom, trying to rid my stomach contents of the blue cheese dressing.

I fell back asleep, and woke up to a really tough decision. The thought of food was nauseating, but I hadn't thrown up in a couple of hours. I also knew I needed to make some mileage today and couldn't afford another day off. So, I mustered up energy to get up, and forced down a bagel. I started talking to a lovely younger couple from Chicago. The husband had been up for the majority of the night concerned about the weather. He told me that there had been 37 sightings of hail and 7 tornado sightings in the county over night. "I just wanted to make sure that my truck was okay. That is how I lost my last one." I have to say, he had more energy after the one hour of sleep that he had, than I would have after 10 hours of peaceful sleep. And as we chatted, the Weather Channel was focusing on the storms going through the area. We checked the weather online, and I saw that I had a window of opportunity beginning at 10:00 am to make it near Milford, OH, so I could still make it to Columbus the next day. Otherwise, the weather would trap me in Shelbyville again the next day with more thunderstorms. As I have said before, the rain is okay to ride through, it is just the electric storms that I try to avoid, as I have an Aluminum frame. I truly had no choice but to get on my bike and ride as far as I possibly could, nausea or not.

It was a tough morning. I had a bit of tailwind, which helped, but the hills did not do much to help my stomach situation, as the heavy breathing really roughed it up a bit. I must say the the smell of worms after the rain is not one of the things that is not conducive to settling an uneasy stomach. Neither is the smell of roadkill, and it seemed as though there was a surplus of dead animals on the side of the road that day, and everything was extra "fragrant."

I was really just trying to hold down the food that I kept feeding myself, because I knew that I needed it for fuel for my ride. My stomach and my mind were at war the entire day. I just had to suck it up. It was totally worth it though, because I knew I had some exciting days ahead of me (visiting with my boyfriend's sister on Thursday and then my Aunt and Uncle from Michigan on Friday). The thought of seeing friendly, familiar faces put me on cloud nine.

I found Subway for lunch, and chose a sub other than Black Forest Ham so I didn't ruin it for myself in case I did get sick again. There was an elderly couple there, and the husband asked if I was part of the cycling event that was going on in town, and was curious to know what it was. We started chatting, and then he went and sat back down with his wife. As he was leaving, he came back over to me and said, "I need to thank you for fighting this, because I am a cancer survivor. It has been nineteen years now." He told me that he admired my courage, but my response was that it was his courage that should be admired:. All I do is get on a bike each day, while he had to fight for his life. A couple at another table said that they just lost their friend to a brain tumor. And again, I found myself just find myself speechless, and reminded again as to why I got on my bike again today. This disease affects so many people.

I knew that there was a chance of rain around mid afternoon, and as I left Subway, the dark storm clouds from the West started getting rapidly closer and closer. I had been making very good time, and was trying to ride as fast as possible to stay dry and beat the clouds. But alas, they were quick to catch up, and I found myself on the side of the road huddled under a tree as the thunder and lightning began. There was nothing I could but wait out the storm, and it didn't really bother me that I was sopping wet and getting cold, because I was so excited about the fact that I had just hit the 3000 mile mark, one riding day after I entered the Eastern Time zone. I realized that my journey is slowly coming to an end. It is hard for me to fathom that 3000 miles have gone by already, and that I have less than 1000 to go.

I can't say how excited I was to lay down for the evening, after yet another sub from Subway. I was exhausted. I had pushed through the day and 89 miles, and it was a relief to be out of the cold, in a warm shower, and then in a warm bed. I think I probably could have gone to bed at 8:30 if I hadn't been distracted by lovely conversation over Skype. I was just so looking forward to the fact that tomorrow I would be in a real home for the first time in six weeks.

Day 45: the road to Shelbyville

I woke up Monday morning to a cold, cold morning. Because I had signed a waiver that I wouldn't "cook" anything in the hotel room, (which was odd, because there was a microwave in there... Did someone call ahead and tell these people what a wonderful cook I am?), I decided it was the "right thing to do" to take the stove outside and boil water, even though I have used the stove indoors plenty of times before. A 70 year old man was out smoking a cigarette. He and his friend were in Kentucky to pick up a sports car (I can't remember what kind), and he was originally from South Carolina. "Do you know where South Carolina is?" I am no geography genius (I forgot that I was going to cross the Mississippi), but I would hope that most people know the general location of the Carolinas.  The man may have just taken a look at my hair, (photo attached), and questioned what was underneath...

Riding early in the morning in the cold fall air, it seems as though the humid air becomes heavy, and you can feel the difference as you ride through it; it almost feels like you are being sprinkled with the morning dew that has left a sparkle on the landscape around you. It adds to the chill of the air. At this point in the morning, the world around you is still waking up, and the sun's energy isn't quite enough to awake the wind's ferocity for the day. There is, however, a "direction" to the air; the air is energetic, it is constantly moving. Although it may not be strong enough to result in the movement of leaves or long grass, the morning air is still moving around you. On a bike, it is less subtle, because you are able to feel it's resistance as you ride. I usually look to the grass or bushes on the side of the road or the trees to see what the wind is doing during the day, because it sometimes feels as though it is coming from all directions. But at this time I have to really focus on what it feels like to know where it is coming from. But when I stop to drink water or find my location, it is hard to feel again. It is a revitalising feeling to be able to stand and try to feel the energy from the air around you, to try to focus on the world outside of you and how you interact with it; focus on what is happening in the moment, step outside of yourself to remind ourselves that we are constantly surrounded by energy and life. It can take you away for a moment as you try to still yourself and try to find the movement in the "stillness" around you.

I stopped at a gas station, about 15 miles in to my ride to warm up with some coffee and grab a quick snack. I was full of excitement as I knew I was about seven miles away from the Eastern Standard Time zone, the fourth and final time zone of the trip: the thought of which is completely surreal. This is a huge milestone, because I am finally in my "home" time zone; I am almost home.... Home. What a wonderful, yet far away, thought. (Attached are the pictures of the sign, including my attempt to do a handstand).

I know this will sound peculiar, but have really struggled with the coffee stations in the Mid-West convenient stores. None of them are the same, and I often find myself really having to look for where the coffee is as there is so much cappuccino and hot chocolate machines, and sometimes the coffee itself is in a machine (you press a button for coffee, strong coffee, or decaf). I have also found that powdered creamer is the standby for most of the gas stations I have been to, and it is stored at very interesting locations, away from the coffee station.  At this particular gas station, I couldn't figure out the spicket, and fumbled for a good minute or two trying to figure it out. Once I realized that I was fumbling with the spicket cover, and there was actually no coffee in this particular kraft, I must have made a face, because the man that was sitting at a table nearby let out this laugh. I looked over and he was shaking his head with a smile on his face, as he was chomping on a big bear claw. I told him that I was secretly hoping that he didn't see that. He answered me with a bigger smile, and a chuckle as he took another huge bite out of his donut. Glad I could amuse him.

Route 60 really was a wonderful ride. The shoulder was not too bad, and neither was the traffic, until I got closer to Louisville. It was a bit overwhelming, as I was travelling on a stretch with many stores and businesses. And while I had to be cognoscent of the glass and metal in the shoulder, it far more important to be weary of drivers that were looking to turn, or were made that I was not on the sidewalk (which was also crowded, (and bumpy), and I can assure you that it could have been hazardous for people waffling uh the opposite direction with the wide load that I am carrying. At times like this in traffic, you hope for the best, but expect the worse so you are 100% focused on what you are doing in the world around you, and what other people could do. I found myself constantly trying to be one step ahead of the game.

I found a Subway, and indulged in my regular black forest ham creation. A police officer was sitting at the table next to where I put my helmet when I walked in. He asked me where I was coming from, and when I told him, his eyes got wide, as he had just taken a bite. And then he just had this look of "are you nuts" as he shook his head, and I knew what he wanted to say. "I know, you think I am crazy, huh?" He smiled and shrugged, and pretty much acknowledged that I was correct.

It took me forever to navigate Louisville, but I got smart halfway through and used "Google Navigation" with one headphone in my ear so I could hear what the phone was saying and keep an ear on the traffic, etc. It definitely cut down on time as I didn't have to stop as much to check the map, but the stoplights and stop signs do add up. What was interesting to me was that although I was starting and stopping all of the time, I was doing so in my third chain ring, which basically means you are in your lowest gears. Six weeks ago, in San Francisco, I was doing much of my starts at lights and stop signs in my first chain ring, as my legs weren't accustomed to all of the extra weight I was carrying. It is exciting to see how much stronger my legs have gotten over the last few weeks, and that now, the starts are second nature to me! Pretty amazing!

Shelbyville was about 20 miles outside of Louisville, and I have to say I passed some of the most gorgeous houses I have seen, with beautiful lawns and landscaping. I really could have stopped and taken a picture of every house I saw, because each was so ornate and unique and absolutely huge, but I felt as though I had stopped and started enough for one day in the city (it really is exhausting after a while, getting a good pace, stopping and then having to start all over again at each stop). I told my sister later that night that if we had been driving with my dad on those roads, we would have needed him to let us drive, because he would have been rubber necking so badly as he passed this  landscape that it simply wouldn't be safe (he loved looking at houses and land).

Finishing the day with another 94 miles under my belt, I hit up Subway for the second time that day, (i apologize door any envy I may be creating) and, exhausted, found a place to rest my legs for the night. (The door to the hotel was open, so I practically rode my bike inside, slowly, which really startled the lady at the desk... whoops).

Later, I was on the phone, sitting at the guest computers in the lobby so I could look at the weather for the next day or so. As I was gabbing away, I looked over at the display of brochures to my left, that held about 60 different brochures. I had glanced at the display a few times that night, not really paying attention, but this time one of them caught my eye. The top of the brochure was red, and in white lettering, it read "The Stephen Foster Story." It was incredible. I am beginning to see, more and more, that even though I ride in solitude, I may not be making this journey "alone."

Day 44: Kentucky, where are you?

I left early Sunday morning, and it was wonderful because I beat the chaotic church traffic. Google Maps sent me on a rat race from the get-go. I am not sure why, but they had me touring through all of these small development areas, that were nice, but just not where I wanted to be. Like Adventure Cycling, it tried to take me on roads that were less traversed in the city (there are really no such thing as "quiet roads" in the city, by the way), but I am pretty sure that it added a bit of distance to my ride. The kicker is when I was 10 miles in and I was led into Alcoa, a highly secured power plant. I was stopped at the gate by security, who didn't really want to believe that I was riding my bike across the country for charitable purposes... he was very skeptical, but I guess that is what he gets paid to do. "No one told me that you were coming." I told him that I didn't know I was coming there, either, but that is where Google Maps led me, and all I wanted to do was leave Evansville and get to Owensboro, KY, (in one piece) He told me he was going to need to get me an escort through the plant, but as he called into the main office, and they informed him that I wasn't allowed in, and also that this used to be the old "Darlington Rd," but it was bought by the power plant  and they didn't think Google had updated it. So the security officer got out the map of his plant and showed me how to Yankeetown (where Darlington Road was supposed to take me) in a different fashion.

His route worked, no problem, but then there was a detour in Yankeetown and the road I needed to take had been closed. I followed the detour signs, and when I finally got to the connecting road, it was a rocky road. I don't want to say gravel because the road consisted of small chunks of lightly colored rock, not even close to gravel. The map showed that it went on for a few miles. I decided that this wouldn't be a good idea for my tires, or my time, and tried to look to see what other roads were around to connect me to the county road that would eventually lead me to Owensboro, KY. I found the main route again (which I should have just stayed on originally), and turned off on a side street to try and find the county road. A lot of the roads were gravel, so I was trying my best to avoid them, but then found myself by a "marina" by a river that was full of RV's and mobile homes on stilts so they would be protected if the river flooded. The "County Road," as it was marked on Google Maps, was about as wide as one lane on a regular road, and then it turned to this awful sandy road with big rock chunks. I was thoroughly unamused, because I had only gone about 23 miles and it was already 11 am. So, naturally my next thought was: "If I wanted to play in the sand I would have gone to the beach.... And not with my bike... WHAT IS THIS?!?!" Don't worry, because the sand eventually went away, and the gravel road got so rocky that I had to get off my bike and start walking... for quite some time. These roads are fine for what there were intended for: Trucks pulling RV's or boats, but not bikes, bikes with panniers, or your typical small sports car. If I had kept going, I would have rattled my brain and my tires to a crisp. I felt as though I might as well have been trying to swim through a gravel pit. It was just infuriating.

As I continued walking, a lady and her husband drove up in her truck and asked me if I was okay. I told them the situation, and she offered me a ride to the paved road that was a long ways away. I jumped at her offer, but then looked in her truck that was filled to the brim with old boxes, and we both realized that we didn't have a place for my bike. She asked me if I needed anything, "even a Coke?" I graciously declined the offer, but told her I could use a couple of beers at this point... jokingly. She didn't pick up on that and headed towards her truck and said "I have those, you want one?" She was very sweet, but I don't think it would have helped the situation in the long run.

So, I carried on, and a few minutes later I was stopped by someone else in a truck (which is amazing because I hadn't seen a vehicle in a long time, and now I had just seen two trucks). The guy was about 65 or 70 years old, very thin. He told me he was headed out towards Rockport and would gladly give me a ride to the road that would take me to Owensboro. It was music to my ears. He also explained that he was friends the lady I had just talked to, and she had stopped him as they passed each other and told him I could use a ride. I was so thankful. His name was Alva. He explained to me that the area I just passed was where he spent most of this weekends in the summer as he had an RV that he would stay at and then fish during the days. He lived about an hour away, and headed to the small marina on Friday nights. "I would stay there all week long, but the trouble is that I like drinking with my buddies too much and I wouldn't go to work, so I have to force myself to come back on Sunday." When he dropped me off, he wished me luck and then told me "Be careful out there, they'll run ya down in Kentucky." I'm pretty sure that he really meant to watch out for the drivers, but it is not one of the best send offs I have had in a while, I must say, but I was certainly grateful for his help and generosity.

It was a huge relief to cross the Kentucky border, as I was able to pick up the Adventure Cycling map back up in Owensboro and have an actual route (or so I thought). I stopped for coffee, chatted with Lindsay for a bit (which made my day), and then headed off against the wind, but was able to make up some considerable time. I stopped for lunch in a small town called Lewisport, that allegedly had full services according to the map, but that wasn't the case. I had gone about 60 miles at that point, and as I ate I studied the maps and realized that I had very limited options for lodging for the night. I could either go North 7.7 miles out of my way and pick up the route again tomorrow, or go 70 more miles to Brandenburg. It was 2:00 pm, and the wind was certainly making itself noticeable. Using Google Maps, I realized that I could go off route to Hardingsburg, 27 miles from Brandenburg, and I could get to Brandenburg easily the next day. I also decided to take Route 60, to get there and cut about 12 miles off of my travels. Route 60 is more heavily traveled, and certainly wouldn't be appropriate for a group of touring cyclists, which is what these maps are made for. However, the shoulder was fairly wide, for the most part, and it is not a problem for an individual cyclist. It is very stressful to not know where you should go, our how far you can make it. I have had to become more realistic, especially after traveling alone, and end my days earlier rather than potentially getting caught in the dark. Ultimately, where I end up lies in the hands of the hills, the weather, the wind. I may be able to think that I will be able to fit 70 miles in, but it always takes more time than I think, especially with stops. This is the most nerve wracking part of the adventure: trying to figure out where to stop for the day when there are few resources available to you.  Your decision comes down to safety, I have to be okay with a quick change of plans or not going as far as I had wanted.

When I finally got to Hardingsburg, after 94 miles of beautiful rolling hills, I inhaled Subway and I took a while to study the map, and realized that if I paved my own path to Milford, OH and left the Adventure Cycling map, I could cut off 70 miles.... Nearly a whole day. That is a significant amount of miles. If I did take this "new" route, I knew I would need to make sure that my route was on fairly safe roads and had stops along the way, checkpoints, if you will, in case I had a break down, etc. So, Shelbyville, KY, it was, via Route 60 through Louisville, KY. And as I put all of my marbles in "this" basket, I could not help but hope that Google Maps wouldn't do me wrong, even after today.

"Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." - Ralph Waldo Emerson.  I may not necessarily "leave a trail," and my new route will most likely present me with a few obstacles or it may not have been the best option, but it is part of the adventure, with an added element of surprise. I'm willing to take the risk of a set back due to routes for 70 miles of biking. And so, I made the decision, and I suppose that the rest will follow.  For now, full speed ahead, and embrace the "unknown."

Day 43: from freedom to confinement

Usually, when I go down to breakfast in the morning, there are very few people that can "out eat" me. In fact, I don't know I can remember the last time that it happened (except maybe Lindsay's last breakfast before we reached Pueblo, when even she was shocked). There are also very few people who are eating. It is nice, and quiet, and I have a lovely routine down. Today, I was completely overwhelmed by the University of Northern Illinois Men's and Women's Cross Country team trying to eat at the same time. I didn't really know what to do. Every time I turned around to get something, there were 3 people there. Luckily, I ate with the girls, (because the guys would have really put me to shame), and a family that was full of screeching kids. I certainly held my own, but it was certainly not easy.

The morning was gorgeous. I left the hotel by about 8:00, the sun was out, there were not too many people out on the road, that had a large shoulder; there was no wind, and it was flat with perfect, rolling hills. I flew. I was in heaven. In roughly 49 minutes, I had made it 15 miles to Marion. I'll tell ya, I was just on cloud nine. I went into the store to get a celebratory cup of coffee, and struck up a conversation with the wonderful lady behind the counter. She makes jewelry and gives it to her sister to sell, with proceeds going to research for juvenile diabetes. I gave her one of my cards, and she asked me more about the trip. I am still in the habit of telling people how far "we" have come, or where "we" stay at night. And because I am alone, they look at me and say, "Oh, so you are traveling in a group." And then I explain myself, and how I am headed to Rochester to see Lindsay, and I pretty much tell them all about her. And once it hits them that I am alone, I am usually asked "Aren't you scared?" And to be honest, no. I am really not. I was a little nervous in the beginning, trying to figure out what to do with my bike and what tweaks I would have to make. I was nervous to lose the best travel buddy that exists. I still channel Lindsay all the time and often ask her advice.  I now look at it as though I am just going to go for a long ride by myself everyday, and I have gone on plenty of rides by myself before. I have to be safe, look out for myself, and to look out for other people, especially in traffic. But the only thing that I can really control is how I take care of myself and how I carry myself, and I will lose that as well as my focus if I allow myself to be scared. People can also sense that. The hardest thing about the situation is that I am naturally a very trusting person, and now, because I am a young female traveling alone, I have to be cautious. I have to be careful about telling people where I am going, etc.  

My morning and early afternoon was absolutely fantastic. I was flying on the flats, and then a tailwind kicked in and bumped me up to the low 20's. It was miraculous. Just before I crossed Indiana, the wind started to change to a head wind. I do have to say that it is a remarkable experience to be riding when the wind is changing, because it seems as though you are witnessing, and are a part of, Nature's inner struggles. The wind fights itself, and it starts to come from many directions instead of just one, until the new direction wins and takes over.

The headwind was with me for the entirety of Indiana, but it wasn't that strong. I stopped and grabbed a quick snack, and then started the last leg of the day towards Evansville on Route 62, which is full of traffic but had a pretty good shoulder. I was using Google Maps for bikes, and I guess they didn't pick up on the fact that 62 becomes a major expressway through Evansville. When you are on a bike, it is kind of a crucial thing to know. So I quickly had to go to plan B, and get off the first exit. It may have been a saving grace, as the shoulder was starting to get full of metal pieces and glass and stones.

Exit 1 took me to the University of Southern Illinois Campus. From the parts that I saw, it was a beautiful campus, and I think my dad would have loved the fact that I got lost in the campus, because he really loved looking at random college campuses (especially if they had "All you can eat" dining halls). I reinvested my faith in Google Maps, as I really didn't have any other option at that point. When I got off the exit, I was at 92 miles and I had made it there in 5 hours even. I was headed for a new personal record. Unfortunately, the city slowed me down. I had to go much slower and I had to stop frequently to make sure that I was on course. I had to turn around a few times because I went past my turn, and then I realized that the turn I wanted to go on was a Parkway, and those aren't really good for bicycles either. It was a fiasco, but I hit the 100 mile mark at 5:45 minutes of actual riding time, and still beating my time in my training days by 9 minutes. I was pretty pumped about that.

It took me a good two hours to get to the hotel, 16 miles after I got off the highway. I was starving at this point, and it was not easy passing all of the hamburger stands, or the huge barbeque in a random parking lot. I was drooling. And while I did stop very frequently to look at my GPS on my phone, I was also being updated extremely exciting news: The Spartan Beast race results, that my boyfriend Nate, his brother, and my friend Meg, (my friend with wings as feet) had all just finished competing in. In short, I am extremely impressed and proud of all them. Nate finished in the top 1% (23 of 2500 contestants), which is seriously an amazing feat, as this is the hardest obstacle course in America that takes an average of 7 hours up and down an incredibly mountain. His brother and Meg also did exceptionally well.

Anyway, as I was getting deeper into the city, I was becoming more and more crowded by cars, trucks, and motorcyclists buzzing about on their Saturday nights. The traffic didn't really bother me, it was the amount of stores. It was just congested and overwhelming. It seemed as though there were buildings on top of buildings. There were chains and their spin-offs a block down the road from each other competing for the same customers. I was honestly just grossed out. Store signs lit up the sky as the sun fell. As I was rolling in to the hotel, I was truly overwhelmed by state of consumerism that I immersed in.  (That being said, I was not upset that there was an Olive Garden just across the street. I have seriously been day-dreaming about this since the desert). I am not really talking about the restaurants, although sometimes I feel as though they can be just as bad: doing anything to promote their label and make a buck or two, even if it compromises quality. I just felt claustrophobic and confined; I guess I am getting too used to the open fields that go on for miles, but I don't know if that is necessarily a bad thing.  In all fairness, I think growing up in Vermont has made me unaccustomed to tightly packed shipping plazas in urban areas, so maybe trip has only exacerbated that for me.  Of course, to each their own.

I did go to the Olive Garden, and there were about 30 people at 7:00 pm waiting to eat. Because I was alone, I was able to sit at the bar, stuff my face with the most delicious food I have had in a while, and then leave, seeing many of the same people on my way out that were there on my way in.

I had put in 108 miles for the day, and the navigation through the city really wore me out. I went to bed crossing my fingers and my toes that it would be easier to leave this city than it was to enter it. Maybe I should have crossed my arms and my legs, too....

Day 42:

During my rather leisurely breakfast, I had a wonderful conversation with a family from Northern Illinois, and then a lovely older couple from Memphis, TN, (because I eat so much food, breakfast usually takes a while, so I end up seeing a lot of people come and go). The husband, who had a thick accent, loved bicycling. He said that in the 1960's, he rode his bike to work everyday, which was, at that time, very uncommon for adults to do. It was enough of a rarity that one night, as he was biking back from work, he was stopped by a police officer, who wanted to see a receipt for the bike. So, the man started carrying his receipt with him, so he wouldn't be accused of stealing it. He was also asked for his driver's license, which "I just really don't understand, and didn't want to give him, because I was on a bike for God's sakes. But, it was the 60's, and he just stood there, tapping his baton in his hand, and I really didn't want to see my beautiful new bike marked up because of his darn baton." I could have stayed and talked with them the whole day, but alas, I had to put the finishing touches on my tire, put it back on my bike, and get to the bike store.

I'm not exactly sure why, but the seating was a bit off again as the ride was not smooth, so I went to the nearest gas station and corrected it, and managed to get covered in grease, and I wasn't even a half mile in. (I wouldn't call the sock on my handlebar white anymore). The nearest bike shop was about 50 miles away. I had to make it there, because I was out of CO2 cartridges, and had that one spare tube left. It was slightly nerve wracking, and I was crossing my fingers that the patch would hold. I took an alternate route that was flatter and paralleled the Mississippi a bit, because I wanted to see more of this magnificent river. And while it was a nice reprieve for my eyes, I really spent the first 16 miles racing along the road, because I had a feeling that time might not be on my side as far as my tire was concerned. Nothing like a Good Morning Muscles: WAKE UP NOW!!! Secretly, I loved it though because I was back up to high speeds... until I hit Cora.

Cora consists of a road called Cora Road, a few mobile homes, and dogs that are tied up that were itching to chase me, surrounded by a Levee that has a gravel road on top. I had been taking State Route 3 before this point, and although there was a bit of traffic, it was beautifully flat, and I was making great time. Then, the Adventure Cycling map took me to Cora, onto Levee Road, and Little Levee Road. While it was beautiful to be riding on this raised land that is higher than the meadows and plains and even the river around you, (and the coal plant), the gravel roads really made me nervous: My back tire was already compromised, and I really was hoping that my front tire would not decide to wear out. There was nothing but farmlands for miles, with a few houses here and there that looked vacated, for the most part. If I got a flat here, it would be a long day with my hand pump, 23C tube, and no CO2 cartridge. The gravel also slows me down. I was on this for quite a few miles. Such perfect timing. I guess Mother Nature thought all of this was pretty amusing, because then I got a lovely headwind. What a blast. Of course, there was nothing I could do except to keep pedaling.

Usually, I have to dodge the crickets that sit about a foot into the road and then try to move at the last second. Some of them jump into my panniers. Today, I had quite a few wooly caterpillars to dodge. At one point, I didn't fully swerve and ran over a caterpillar, killing it by mistake. What was interesting though, was that I really began to think about the how we have such grand effect on the world around us on a day to day basis.. We kill small insects and bugs all of the time, and it is interesting to think of the effect in the immediate ecosystems, as much of the casualties, if you will, become food for other insects/animals, or decompose. We cause a different chain of events to occur. And this quick thought (I had to elaborate here for clarity), turned into how what we do can really effect the lives of others, even if it is in the future and you don't physically interact with them. For example, the road graffiti in the desert, or the fact that I didn't put in the right tube yesterday affected at least one other person, as he stopped what he was doing to help... Or throwing beer bottles out the window, so cyclists like myself can run over them and get glass caught in their tire. So, it made me think of small things that I do that could would affect somebody else, and how I could do things different to bring about positive effects, like collecting all of my dirty towels in the hotel and leaving them in a pile for housekeeping, instead of leaving them in 3 different places, putting all of my trash in one waste basket in the room, or collecting an empty cup left at a gas station that was neglected to be thrown out, even though the garbage can is 3 feet away so someone else doesn't have to do it. So, practicing "doing the right thing," becomes beneficial for somebody else... in very small and seemingly insignificant ways. It may go unnoticed, and it may actually change a thing, but on the chance that it may bring about a positive change to someone, it is totally worth doing.

I rolled into Murphysboro around lunchtime, and sought after the nearest Subway. I didn't have a place to lock my bike, so washing the grease off my hands was "tricky," and admittedly, they didn't get that clean. Also, at the local post office, I had a package awaiting me from my boyfriend's parents. When I got to the post office, the three other people in there looked at me like I as slightly wacko, because I was just so excited to have such wonderful treats, sent from wonderful people. Not to mention it was all delicious. There were Vermont Honey Crisp apples that were the sweetest, juiciest, and crispiest apples I have had in a long time. I channeled myself back home as I was eating it, and I just didn't want it to end!!!

My tire was holding up pretty well, but I still wanted to race to Carbondale and get to the bike shop. Carbondale was a large city, but the roads were beautiful and flat, and it didn't take me long to get there. The people at the bike shop, (the Bike Surgeon,) were awesome. The kid helping me inspected my tire for me (it always helps to have another pair of eyes) to make sure I had removed all of the suspicious debris. He replaced the patched tire with a new tube, and I got two extra ones, as well as 3 extra CO2 cartridges. I also bought three packs of recovery powder to make recovery drinks with for after my longer rides. The owner of the bike shop is a woman who is fourth in the nation in her racing category, (CAT 3, It is from 1-4, and the highest is CAT 1), and she got me all pumped up about loosing my panniers and putting on some road tires on my bike seeing how fast I could go when I got home. Hopefully, the snow holds off a bit this winter so I can see what America has done for my legs.

I decided to call it quits for the day, as it was around 4, and I desperately needed to do laundry and mentally relax, especially now that I felt confident that I had everything I need as far as tire repairs go. There were a few options for lodging. I went into one place that was most reasonable, but the only rooms that they had were smoking rooms. The man took me in the room so I could see what it was like, but it was simply overwhelming, so I headed next door. Good thing, because as I was walking to find food later that night, I turned around to see that that particular hotel was up in flames. Weird how things work out, huh?

Today, after a short 55 miles, I finished the 3rd map of the Trans American Trail and I left it in Murphysboro to head to Evansville, IN, and then Owensboro, KY, where I pick up the Underground Railroad trail up top Erie.  Tomorrow will be a long day, and one of many.

Day 41: Tired of tires

No continental breakfast? No problem!!! Power bar jammed packed with protein and ramen to save the day, ( I also went for the Greek yogurt...) And I got to laze in bed while doing that... like a queen. Not too shabby, especially since I really didn't want to move my legs -- at all. My goal for the day was to get to Murphysboro, IL, which I thought as roughly 90 miles away. (I usually love numbers and working them out but there is something about these Adventure Cycling Maps warps my ability to add). It was chilly out, and my muscles were just in a funk, but I suppose that is what you get after two days of treacherous climbing. I was trying to be lenient with them for the first few miles, but after that I just wanted to get my act together. Even though the worst was behind me, I still had a good hill or two before I reached Indiana.

My first goal of the day was Farmington, MO, which had a much needed bike shop and was only about 19 miles away. I only had one spare tube left, and the tire I had changed was continuously soft, and the front tire was still holding strong from the beginning of the trip (and honestly could go at any minute). I also needed to look into a new hand pump, and my brakes were in dire need of changing. Lots to do!!! Farmington itself was a lovely, quaint little town, but populated enough that it was a stark difference from the meadows and farmland that I have been used to the last couple of days. I actually have found parts of Missouri landscape to remind me a lot of Vermont. It was nice, for the few moments here and there, to find myself in this familiarity and for a second feel like I was home on beautiful country roads, with lush canopies shadowing the weaving roads.

The guys at the bike shop changed (and showed me how to, per my request) my brake pads. The front ones were pretty much toast. They didn't have any gel for my handle bars to help my hand, and they were thoroughly impressed (aka grossed out) by the white sock now stained with bike grease balled up on my left handle bar and secured with duct tape. But, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. (Sometimes I think of it as an extra security feature... my bike becomes a little bit less appealing to people with the dirty sock). In all seriousness, the sock has really been useful, as I can rest my hand on it without bending my wrist too much, and when I make a fist and rest it on the handle bar to take pressure off the nerves, my fingers are a bit more comfortable and don't get jammed with every bump I go over.

They didn't have a hand pump better than the one that I had, but they did have a CO2 cartridge and adapter, which I jumped on. The cartridge is similar to one used for a Beebee gun, but screws into the adapter that you put on the tire valve and can distribute about 100 psi to the tire. Too bad I only got one cartridge (more on that later). They didn't have a spare tube that fit my tire, which is actually quite surprising, and disappointing. What I ended up getting was a tube for a road bike tire that, if worse comes to worse, I could use temporarily, and if I didn't end up needing it then I could use it as a spare for my road tires when I return to Vermont.

I left feeling quite content that I would have everything I needed, and the remaining miles wouldn't be too bad. Ahem... not so much. About 10 miles after I left the bike shop, I noticed that my rear tire felt like it was just dragging up the hill. I noticed that it was very soft, and my attempt to get my hand pump to work seemed futile. I didn't want to waste the one and only cartridge I had because if I did have a flat tire and was stuck in the middle of no where, it would not be a fun situation. I saw two men talking near a farmhouse in golf carts. Most farms have air compressors, so I went to see if they had one. Score. I took out my valve adapter, pumped it up, chatted with them for a minute, and headed off to the rolling Missouri hills again. About 3 miles later, I looked down, and my tire was soft. At this point, I decided that it may be worth just changing, because it obviously had a slow leak. I had to be very clever about how I went about doing this, as I knew my hand pump didn't work efficiently, so, noticing that there was a guy moving trees with a tractor, I plopped my bike down near the bottom of his driveway and got to work. I was lazy and grabbed the smaller tube, as I wanted to save my good tube. As I write this, I honestly don't know my reasoning of why I thought it would be a good idea to save my tube, and I can't think of a good reason why I choose to, in retrospect. The man stopped his tractor and came down to see if I needed help, which was very nice of him. He was a retired man, said that he has seen plenty of bikers that needed help. "I don't necessarily know much about bikes, but I can at least offer to see if there is something I can do."

I coasted down the hill, and noticed that my ride was not smooth. There was a "bumpy" sensation to the rotation of my tire, and, for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what the source was. I took the tire off the frame, twice, trying to realign it, thinking it might have something to do with how it met the axle. That didn't seem to help. So finally, I decided to call my friends at Onion River, and once again they were lifesavers. Dean instructed me that the tube was probably not seated properly on the rim, which could increase the chance of it blowing, and he also said my actual tire could pop and come off and it could be really serious, and he is glad I caught it when I did. What I had to do was let out air slowly and see if I could realign the tire and the tube so the tire was perfectly symmetrical when looking at it (and the beading on the tire around the rim was perfectly even). And then, for the third time that day, I was saved by another Missouri citizen who was out doing yard work. This 75 year old man had an air compressor behind his house, up a hill, so I pushed my bike up the steep gravel driveway while a chocolate lab barked into my ear. I really couldn't complain though, because this man was truly helping me out, saving me so much time, and so much effort, and allowing me to avoid so much frustration. He had 17 grandchildren, the oldest was my age. He loved that I was from Vermont, and told me I should hurry up and get back so I can make it back for school. When I told him that I wasn't attending school, he replied with a twinkle in his eyes "What, you are just like me? So smart that you don't need school. That is what I tell my grandkids: 'If you were smart enough like your grandpa then you wouldn't need school.'" He had worked his entire life, and he sure as heck thought that line was pretty funny, as did I.

Instead of letting the air out and trying to manipulate the tire around the tube, I decided that since I had the tire off of the bike, I might as well take out the small tube and put the right one in, as I should have done in the first place. Lessen learned: If you are going to do something, do it right the first time around, otherwise, there is not much point in doing it at all, or it creates more hassle in the long wrong (and not only for you... this lovely man's day was being affected by my poor decision making as well).

The rest of the day went rather smoothly. There were some big hills to wrangle, and the idea that the land would get flatter near the Mississippi really kept me going. As 3:30 rolled around, I was not too far from Chester, IL, and thought it would be a possibility to make it to Murphysboro, still, even though my energy was wearing thin. I fought the last hill, and as I got to the top, I could see plains for miles, and a weight lifted off my shoulders: I had made it, officially, through Missouri, through the one of the tougher mountain ranges yet. I was one state closer to home, to everybody I missed. I raced down the hill, and caught a few miles of tailwind on the flats, and I was absolutely in heaven. I was flying, again. I keep saying this, but it is the best feeling in the world when you feel like you are flying on a bicycle. The 70 lbs I am carrying feels like one. I feel like I am weightless. It is a feeling of freedom, and it is a feeling that I have really not experienced (that I can remember) before I got on a bicycle.

I took a moment to rest at the gas station before I crossed the Mississippi, and was honestly amazed at the number of cars and people at this gas station that seemed so randomly placed right at the border of Missouri and Illinois. I was informed that Illinois has a higher road tax, meaning the gas prices were higher, (25 cents/gallon higher), and the cigarette tax was higher. People from Illinois would cross the bridge to Missouri to take advantage of this, (which explained why the majority of the license plates were from Illinois). The man also told me that I needed to be extremely safe crossing the bridge, as he lost two mirrors on his tractor trailer in the last year. So... the sight seeing of the Mighty Mississippi would have to wait until I got across. As I got on my bike to ride across, I felt the same "dragging feeling" as I had earlier in the day. I looked down, and my tire was near flat. Looks like I won't be headed to Murphysboro tonight, because I had to figure out this tire situation first (and I also learned that Murphysboro was well over 35 miles). I only had one cartridge, a patch kit, and a spare tube that was too small and really would be a gamble as tubes that small aren't made to carry such heavy loads. Things were not looking that great for me. I thought I had enough air to cross the river, so I gave it a go. The water was really low, but nonetheless the river was extremely wide. It was beautiful. It was so cool to be riding over such a magnificent river, one that carries so much of our country's history.

I got to the welcome to Illinois sign, and the only two people around were two men walking towards their car, so I asked them to help them take a picture of me with the sign. One of the guys was slightly older than I, and the other was significantly older, I'm not sure how old. I propped my bike up against the "Chester, Illinois, Home of Popeye" sign (which was news to me), took off my helmet, and gave the younger guy some instructions of which button to push on my camera. Then, I started my somersaults. Now, I'm sure it is clear from my cartwheels that I am not naturally a gymnast, and these somersaults didn't come any easier to me. I tried to get a running start but always ended up doing a back flop on the ground, letting out a huge "UUGHHH" as my back hit the grass, and my legs would follow and do the same. Every time I got up, the older guy, who was watching, was doubled over in hysterics, which just sent me over the edge and I would laugh until my face hurt. We looked at the masterpiece photos afterwards, and it put us in stitches all over again. It was the best part of my day. It is amazing how laughter and people you don't know can really turn your spirits around.

The two guys were from Carbondale, the next town over from Murphysboro, and they informed me that there was a bike shop there that though was pretty well respected. At that point, my tire had pretty much lost all of it's air, and I had to get off the bike as I was concerned about damaging the rim with the extra weight. I didn't even like the fact that I had the panniers on. The best part is that I had a steep, long hill to climb, and the only lodging in the town was about six miles away. So, I started pushing my bike, 70 lbs and all, up the hill. It is not fun in bike shoes, I promise you that. My arms are also significantly weaker than my legs at this point, as the were easily fatigued by pushing the bike up.

Quite a ways the only hotel in town, I was crossing a street as a guy was pulling out in a Domino's Delivery Truck, and he smiled and looked at me with pity. He told me I looked exhausted, and I told him what had happened, my words heavy with frustration, and he let me put my bike in the back of his truck and took me to the hotel. It would have taken me a good hour at least to walk the next 5 miles and it was already 5:30. I was exhausted after roughly 70 miles and a long day of worrying about my tires, so I was completely indebted to him. In fact, the whole day actually went so well because of all of the wonderful people that helped me out. It could have really been far worse, and I am so grateful for everybody's generosity and kindness.

When I got into the hotel, I was slightly frazzled as I was trying to figure out the steps I needed to take to fix my tire, and what would happen if the patch didn't work, and I was kind of in my own world as I was checking in at the front desk. I found the leak, patched the tire, and found the small piece of stone in my tire that had punctured my tube and most likely my original flat, (I did all of this with moral support and guidance from my boyfriend, as he was the one who told me to put the tube under water and look for air, etc). I was kind of cracking up at certain points during this search for the leak and the puncture culprit in my tire, as well as when I was on the road when I was dealing with my bumpy tire, as I realized that when I left for this trip, it may have been a good idea to know a thing or two about bike maintenance, instead of learning the hard way. Luckily, I have some wonderful people to call to give me great advice.

Starving, and covered in dirt and grease (and I mean covered.. it was all over my face), I decided to seek out food before showering, and also see if Walmart next door had any extra CO2 cartridges or tubes (truly a shot in the dark). Upon doing so, I went back up to the front desk to apologize to the girl for being frazzled and thanked her for her help. Looking at my shirt, she asked me what I was pedaling for, and when I told her, she had a look of disbelief on her face. "I just lost my aunt to a brain tumor Tuesday." That was two days ago. They were very, very close. My heart melted, and I could feel this empty pit growing bigger in my stomach, and it was no longer from hunger. Her aunt had been diagnosed two weeks before she died. "It was just so fast." We talked for a few minutes more, I told her about our website and blogs, and she thanked me: "At least you are out there doing something about it," she said. And the only thing I could accurately say is that "I'm trying." Lindsay and I are trying, and all we can do is hope that it will make a difference, even for one person battling this disease, one family. It is that hope that fuels my fire; it is the motivator for this fight, this journey.

We parted ways and I went on with my night. When I made it to Walmart, one of the employees just starred at me when I walked through the door, and I think my state of appearance made her speechless, as she didn't even say "hello," when most people would. Catching on to this, with a smirk, I said to her, "I know, I am really gross right now, but can you show me where the Sporting Goods section is?" She laughed, and pointed me in the right direction. In appropriate situations, it is rather amusing to say what people are thinking and don't want to say for them. Walmart didn't have anything for the bike, but I definitely stocked up on some chef boyardee and ramen.

When I returned to the hotel, I took full advantage of the fact that the hotel had a computer for guests to use. The girl, Chelsea, who was my age roughly, left at 11, and an older man took over. I really should have been in bed, but soon after she left, the man came over to me. "Are you Kate?" he asked, and as I confirmed that I was, he handed me a sheet of paper folded in half. "Your room has been taken care of." Speechless, I opened the paper to see that Chelsea had paid for my room, and on the top of the paper wrote: "Good luck on your trip." What an incredibly beautiful gesture, and I will forever remember this gift, and it really touched me. And so when I went to bed I had one thing on my mind: tomorrow I will get up, and no matter how much I hurt or what happens with my tire, I will continue the fight. Tomorrow, it will be for Chelsea and her family.

Day 40: another mountain range

Once again, I ate as much as I possibly could to get ready for the long day. I had multiple options of possible destinations for the day, and tried to be as realistic as possible. It really comes down to where I am/how far I have gone, how far away the next town is, and how late in the day it is. It also helps to know the terrain/weather, as the hills and wind always add time.

I was so nervous. The waitress told me they were roads that she didn't want to drive. I had been told by many that the grades of these hills were over 20%, although no one ever seemed to be able to give me a number (the worst grade I have climbed is 14%, and I can assure you that this was worse that 14%). Unfortunately, it is like any other mountain range that we have climbed: the mountain won't go away until it is behind you, no matter how hard you wish it away. The only way to get it behind you is to do it.

I actually had a nice warm up, and while the weather was cold in the morning (41 degrees), it didn't take me long to start taking layers off as the sun climbed higher in the sky. I knew that I had some slightly tough hills and then two really awful hills before Emmience, which was 19 miles away. I was able to speed through the first part, and take advantage of my momentum up the smaller hills, and own the flats. But, when I got to these really bad ones, I will tell you, it was almost torture. Usually I don't shift to my highest gear until three quarters of the way up the hill, and on these, I was shifting toward the bottom, and literally leg pressing my way up the hill. Every stroke I took, it felt like gravity was pulling me backwards; my cadence was so slow that it seemed gravity would step up and try to take over at this opportune time. I had to use my arms and pull myself up the hill, because my legs needed all of the help they could get. I was going 3 mph. I could hear the cars coming from a half mile away, so one of the really bad stretches, I could make a zig zag up the hill. I tried everything that I knew how to do. And when I got to the top, it was the same thing as yesterday and the day before, you don't rest. You can't rest. You have to get back to the lower gear and gain momentum for the down hills and flats. What cracked me up was that there were the really steep parts, and then sometimes it would lessen up to what a normal hard hill would be like, and then get back into the insanely steep part again. This relatively "normal hard hill" section became the only opportunity to give your muscles a break and catch your breath, and if you were lucky, grab a swig of water.

I got to Emmience by 10:30ish. The next town was Ellington, 27 miles away. Two locals stopped me to ask me questions. They both said that Ellington would do me in for the day, and I would most likely stop there. (I knew i had more than 27 miles on me) When people asked what direction I was going in, they would just shake their heads, and more often than not, tell me that they don't like driving on those roads in a car.... which was such a great boost of confidence.  Mentally, I had to break the next 27 miles into two sections: 13 miles and then 14. I find that it is easier to get to the final destination after the end of a daunting day when you break the day up into small, realistic goals. As the hours pass, the miles tend to blur together and as your muscles start hurting, it is easy to doubt that you will be able to make another 50 miles. Breaking those 50 miles into 5 segments, 10 miles seems very easy to do. Before you know it, you have reached 50 miles.

It didn't actually take me long to reach Ellington. I stopped at this small convenient store because it said it had a deli. It was more of a beer/liquor mart with a deli thrown in the back. I should take this time to note that it is very common for people to smoke inside convenient stores, and motels. Needless to say, I would have enjoyed one of the biggest, meatiest sandwiches i have had in a while a bit more. If i didn't have to fight to breathe clean air. I did have a wonderful conversation with the owner though, and he let me sit on the big ice cream cooler and eat (away from the smoke, plus there were no more chairs) and we chatted while listening to Everybody Loves Raymond. He didn't think I would be able to finish the sandwich, but much to his amusement, I brought my "A" game. I was also very excited at this point because I had just hit the 2500 mile mark, and that meant that I am officially well into the second half of my journey, and I must admit, it those miles really flew by.  It is becoming harder and harder to fully grasp that we started in San Francisco 2500 ago and counting.  Each obstacle has made the next easier to overcome, but it has also changed the way we ride.  The mindset and way we rode when we left San Francisco was different than that when we reached Pueblo and now leaving Missouri.  It is pretty amazing what time, and i suppose experience, can do.

After lunch, I knew that there was going to be one last big hill ahead of me, but I had put the worst behind me. As I had been approaching, Ellington, I knew that each hill was one less that I had left to climb, and that thousands of bikers have come through this area, so it was not impossible to do, right? I read a quote the other night that I felt was pertinent to today, and to all of our other extremely hard days of climbs or headwinds. Actually, I think it is applicable to the entirety of this journey: "Nothing is impossible; there are ways that lead to everything, and if we had sufficient will we should always have sufficient means. It is often merely for an excuse that we say things are impossible." (Francois de la Rochefoucauld). I am learning that if you have the want, the desire, the passion to do something, it truly can be done (within your means). Admittedly, there have been times when I have made the excuse that things were impossible to do. It is an easy excuse to make, but now I realize how wrong I have been. I'm learning that it is the attitude of the approach that makes the difference. I had to throw my fears and anxieties out the window when I got on my bike. I had to put things in perspective, and I had to dive in, because those road grades were not going to change on my behalf. They would be extremely difficult, but extremely difficult isn't the same thing as "impossible." I wanted to put those hills behind me, to get out of Missouri, to get closer to home.  If I had said this trip was impossible, (which a couple years ago I would have), look what I would be missing out on.

With about 10 miles left to Pilot Knob, my destination for the night, I was so just so psyched. I didn't care that my chain had come off and I had grease everywhere (I am really good at making small messes bigger than they have to be). I didn't care that there were more hills. I didn't care that there was wind. The rumble strips didn't phase me: I was too busy being happy that I was almost done with 90 miles of hellacious climbs, of sweat, of pain, of blood, of dirt, of grease. Everything hurt, but I was just so excited that I combined 90 miles with some of the worst hills that I have ever seen (check out the elevation profile)

Subway was a beautiful treat for me in Pilot Knob, as well as the half gallon of sherbet. I slept knowing that even with another long day ahead of me, Illinois was in my horizon, with the Mighty Mississippi to welcome me to the seventh state of this trek.

Day 39: to the Ozarks

At breakfast in Marshfield, I was enjoying as much food as I could to prepare for a rather long day of riding through the "lovely" hills of Missouri. I had the place to myself for a while, until a young girl, who looked around high school age, and her younger brother came down. The girl didn't look too thrilled when she sat down, as if she had done this before. Her mother, dressed in some sort of uniform came in to say goodbye to her. Afterwards, I decided to be nosy and ask if they were passing through and visiting someone (out was really me wanting to chat with someone:With very little expression, she told me that their house flooded, and they had been staying in the motel for 3 months. She said that they didn't think that the repairs would be finished until December or January. That was the last thing I had expected to hear. It didn't seem as though she wanted to talk about out so I left it alone. It was extremely hard for me to sit there and imagine what it would be in her situation, to be completely uprooted from her home. My thoughts traced back to the conversation that I had with Dwight, (the man that was convinced that I should be a volleyball player). We were talking about flooding in Missouri, and I stopped him to ask him what it was like to live in a place where you are completely at the mercy of Mother Nature, when there are several times during a year when storm could blow through town that could destroy your homes, even your family. He said that he has lost people in storms, and that it is devastating, but it is part of life, something that they know it might happen. I asked him if he would ever think of living some place else, if he would give up what he had now to move to live where there are less natural disasters. He had slight smirk on his face as he should shook his head no. "You just have to be ok with knowing that it could happen. And then you just deal with it." I am beginning to see that society allows very little time for people to sit back and really contemplate what it would be like to actually walk a day in somebody else's shoes, and I think it can be used as a sobering reality check. It is a way to sit back and see all of the goodness in your life, what you do have instead of what you don't, to recognize your hardships, but count your blessings at the same time. The house I grew up on is still standing. My home in Burlington is safe and sound, and I have a place to go back to. And once again, I find that my bike seat won't really feel as bad as I thought it would.

My tire that I had changed the day before was a little soft, so I put some air in it and I was on my way. Oh, it was a long morning. I did learn, and felt pretty darn proud to realize this "on my own" (I was later informed that I had already been told to do this) that if I stopped or got off my bike, the dogs would relent. Sometimes they would still bark, or watch me longingly, wanting me to start pedaling again, and sometimes they would put their tails between their legs and run back to the lawn.

I stopped to get lunch in a very small town that consisted only of a country store. I was locking up my bike, and the owner came out and told me that there was no absolutely no one around that would steal my bike; they simply wouldn't want to. I walked inside, and there was a man sitting down who was fairly overweight. He grabbed his belly and told me "You think I am gonna try and take that thing? I would break it." He cracked quite a few jokes, and had no problem incorporating politics into them. The store itself was chaos. There were boxes all over the place, and the shelves had no rhyme or reason to them. I ate some pizza, and when started getting hungry at the end of the slice, the owner was laughing at me and have me another. He said that he sees a lot of bicyclists. He just recently saw two families that had two eight year olds on tandems. I could not imagine riding a tandem, and especially on the hills. I also could not imagine doing this when i was 8. He also told me that he saw a guy come through on a unicycle. No thank you. I have hard enough time balancing with panniers. He told me that the real fun would start tomorrow for me, that the climbs that I was doing today was nothing compared to what I would see tomorrow. Soooo exciting. It was 1:00 pm. My muscles were already fatigued, and I still had another 30 miles for the day. I really shouldn't even be thinking about what is in store for me tomorrow, because I had to climb the hills today to get to the ones tomorrow.

Unfortunately there are no shoulders in Missouri. To make matters worse, the drivers take as much advantage of the roller coaster ride as the bikers do, and whip through the hills and around the corners. Honestly, there are times when the shoulders are not advantageous, as all of the broken glass, stones, pebbles, and tire rubber collect in the shoulder, which doesn't make for smooth riding. That is also where most of the roadkill is found. Sounds like pristine riding conditions, right?? Not so much. When there are rumble strips on the white line, I honestly find myself riding on the left side of them, especially down hills, because I would much rather have to cut over the rumble strips on the occasion that two big trucks are trying to get by, than catapult over the dead armadillo in the middle of the shoulder because I have no where to go,or cross the rumble strip from the left and then I loose control in and have a chance of going into traffic.

Anyway, I was making my way up one of Missouri's spectacular straight up and down hills. There was a blind curve, and the hill seemed like it went on forever, and it was steep. I was creeping my way up, minding my own business, and I heard that a tractor trailer was behind me and was in a low gear. The hill was too steep for him to quickly pass and then get back over to the right lane, and the corner was far too sharp. So, he patiently waited. If there had been a shoulder, I would have been in it, but the white line immediately met long grass on it's right side. There was a small driveway ahead, and I tried to pedal as fast as possible so I could pull off and let the poor guy go past me. As I did so, there was a lady behind two cars behind them that started to incessantly honk her horn, and as she was passing me, leaned over her passenger and yelled at the top of her lungs: "Get the f*&$ off the road." After 70 miles of riding, it took everything I had to remain calm and collected, even though I was absolutely steaming on the inside. Honestly I would have been furious if my total mileage for the day was 2 miles. Not only was she going around a blind curve sticking trying to stick her neck out of the window to yell this to me, but I HAD NOWHERE TO GO. I'm pretty sure she hasn't been on a bicycle since she was 7. More importantly, it comes down to a concept called "sharing" the road. I understand why drivers get angry when cyclists ride three in a row. Yes. That is annoying, and they should move into single file when there is a car behind them. The respect should be reciprocated to the bikers, and this doesn't mean barrelling past them at 60 mph and moving over six inches. It is just not safe. Honking at a cyclist, alone, is not safe. It can be very startling. Most likely I can't move over, especially when I have bags that add at least another foot to my width, and honestly, if it bothers somebody that much to slow down, move over, and be "inconvenienced" (I use that very loosely), for 30 seconds of their entire day, then maybe they are the ones who should get off the road... and reassess somethings.  Unless their wife is in labor or there is something medically wrong with them, those 30 seconds (or 3 minutes in the trucker's case) are not really going to affect their life.... They will still get to where they are going.

I ended the day in Summersville with 90 miles under my belt. I couldn't help but worry about the hills the next day, after everybody that I had met in Missouri told me that this part was going to be the worse. The elevation map was absolutely daunting, and worse than the one today that is attached below. It is hard to get prepared for something that you really have very little idea of what it is going to be like. Elevation maps are helpful, but they are not always accurate, as Lindsay and I have learned the hard way. All you can really do is know that you will wake up, get your stuff together, and no matter how bad it is, you will give it all you have, and do everything you can to make it through; do the best that you can do. It reminds me of what Steve used to say towards the end of his illness, when Cindy or I would ask him how he was doing. Even when he was struggling the most and it was hard for him to communicate, he would always answer "It's as good as it can be."

Day 38: the only thing flat in Missouri is my tire

My new plan of attack is to take a few half days here and there instead of full recovery days, so I can still make progress, get laundry done, but also give my legs a bit of a break. That plan of attack started today! I got up early, made some oatmeal and coffee (in a real coffee maker!!) and stepped out top the, cold morning sun.

Goodness gracious... those hills are unbelievable. Descending down hills have always something that I have been cautious about, and I believe for good reason, especially when caring all of this extra weight. Now, I find myself actively biking down these hills so it will help me get up the next straight up and down, daunting, makes your legs shake and your body sweat just looking at it kind of hill. And I mean actively... Pedaling as fast as I can, going 36 mph, and then within 20 second, (even less than that it feels like sometimes) I am at 4 mph, and i have to shift down through my gears in an efficient manner and smoothly so i don't mess up my cadence or stroke. This happened over, and over and over. When I got to the top, instead of relaxing as I reached the crest of the hill and enjoying the ride down, I had to start shifting immediately to my lowest gears and try to gain as much speed as possible. This actually helps with the dogs: They can't catch me flying down the hill, and I'm a bore to them while I am going up because I'm going too slow.

Around 20 miles into my trip, I stopped in small town called Walnut Grove to check my back tire. It seemed as though something was spraying me. There were a few men standing around their trucks outside of the store who pointed me to the air compressor after seeing me struggle with my small hand pump. As I walked my bike back to the store so I could use their restroom, I got intercepted by these locals, that honestly reminded me of some of the small town Vermonters. One of them asked me where I was from. I told him that I was from Vermont, but didn't specify a town because I have found that usually people have never heard of some of the towns, and honestly it is just easier. But, this time, this guy's response was: "Oh yes, Vermont! I've been to East Montpelier a lot, near Lyle Haven Farm. Do ya know that town?" Actually, that it's where I grew up, and he knows a father of somebody I went to high school with. What a small world! Who would have thought, in rural Missouri! And, talk about being at the right place at the right time. We kept taking for a while. They really cracked me up. I locked my bike, went inside, and when I came out, they were laughing at me. "You know," one of them said, "We are not gonna take your bike cause we are too lazy, and we don't bike, but we would let anybody else take it... Not that they would want to. No one would be crazy enough to take your bike and all of that stuff.. Maybe your stuff, but people aren't crazy enough to bike on these hills. Plus, they wouldn't get very far." They also asked me why on Earth all of us bikers are "nuts" enough to go this route through Missouri, because in Northern Missouri it is flat. Oh I really didn't need to know that... what I was missing out on. I told them it was the Adventure Cyclist Association map that I was following, that I was now incredibly angry with, especially since I knew that the hills would only get steeper and longer in the best couple if days. Flat lands sounded too good to be true. I was also asked by them how many times it i had to change my tire on this trip, and I totally jinxed myself when i told them that i hadn't had to change one yet.....

3 miles later, I got my first flat. The wonderful people at Onion River had put some liquid in my tires that would seal harden if there was a puncture or rip... Like "Fix a Flat." I had put about 2300 miles on my tires at this point, and I think it just wore thin, because at that point in time, I couldn't find anything in the tire. It was my back tire and is supporting the majority of my weight. There are no shoulders in Missouri, and I didn't want to pull off in the tall grass and hang out with the tarantulas or scorpions, so my next option was a farm house driveway/lawn. My bike pump didn't really want to cooperate, and I was about to call the store I had just left to see if the guys were still there when the owners of the house. I can't really say that they were all too impressed by finding a grubby, greasy, frustrated girl on their lawn battling with a tire tube, but they were quick to help out. Mr. Creed assisted me in what became the easiest tire change I had done, especially since my left hand is still very finicky. His air compressor was a huge help to the process.

And I was off. I scarfed down some Chef Boyardee and Pizza at a convenient store, and I was off to finish the last half of my "recovery day" to end in Marshfield, although it was much later than I had wanted. The hills had no problems slowing me down, and I rolled into Marshfield at around 4:30.

After a nice delectable turkey sub from Subway (September is their birthday month, so their variety of footlongs has tripled, which is great news for me), I made my way to the hotel lobby to work on the guest computer as a group of people came in and plopped down on the couches and chairs next to me, looking worn out from a long day of travelling. As they waited for their group lead to take care of the reservations, they said something about biking, and the clerk announced that I was biking across the country. So, they just turned at me, and stared for a second, and then started firing questions at me. There was a large range of ages, it seemed, and they were travelling to do work. One of the kids, around 20 or so, just couldn't believe that I could bike not only as far as I did, but at all. He really cracked me up, actually, because as I was making conversation, he would make comments like "Oh my gosh I couldn't do that. I just got tired from riding in a car," or "I just can't believe it," or "55 miles, that is not short, I don't think I could run one." Obviously, he was exaggerating, it went on and in, but he made a point that he wasn't an avid cyclist. His mannerisms and facial expressions were very amusing. Later, after they ate, one of the project managers who was doing much of the "interrogating" came and sat down and we chatted for about an hour. He was so easy and enjoyable to talk to. We talked about everything from acupuncture to volleyball (he was convinced that I should have played volleyball, his daughter (one of three) had played at a D-I school). He told me that he lost his uncle last year to brain cancer. His uncle had worked as a riverboat captain on the Mississippi for 37 years, and he fondly recalled the many adventures that they found on the river together. It has been incredible to me how many people that I have met throughout this journey who know someone or has known someone with brain cancer. I know that it is a disease that is more common than most of us would care to admit, but it just seems that this trip has allowed a network of support and connections to grow... It is healing to have the common ground of the experience itself. I'm starting to think that it is more than we were just in the right place at the right time, that it possible that people walk into your life, or paths cross at particular moments for a particular reason, and it more than just coincidence.

The kid, Chase, who was in pure disbelief, came and sat down with his buddy, and they were telling me about all sorts of trails near the Mississippi (after they all made fun of me for not realizing that I was going to cross the Mississippi... and yes I admit, kind of a big one to "forget" about). And then all of sudden as Chase was telling me about a particular trail made from an old railroad bed, his eyes grew wide, and sat up in his chair and said, "I kind of want to do it now... I don't know.. I think it would be kind of cool don't ya think... bike the KMT? Yeah I could do that."

He went on, but that is pretty much all I needed to hear. I was ecstatic that his thoughts turned around. I gave him my card and told him to let me know when it happens. He told me that it might take him a few years. I told him to start off with small rides... 5-10 miles... "10 MILES?!?! How about one?" (I'm pretty sure he admitted later that he was kind of excited). And he was right.. That is really all it takes. Just start with one, and the rest will follow. After all, big things, have small beginnings, right? We all have to start somewhere, as long as we start.

Day 37:

It was NOT hard getting out of bed to run down stairs and eat a fresh breakfast... Fresh eggs, (no egg patties) juice, fresh fruit, bacon, toast... made by someone who cared. When I entered the kitchen, Janice was standing there, with coffee made, and a lovely setting for one at the counter. I might as well have been a little girl in a candy store.

It was really nice to be able to sit and chat with Janice, and her husband who later joined us. Her husband had visited Vermont before and sold a Morgan horse there, but couldn't remember the name of the town. They also informed me that the building was a former funeral home, after I told them about our haunted house situation. And then things started to make sense... (I tried to remain calm in my reaction, and then realized that no one actually died here). Funeral homes tend to be one of the nicer buildings in town. The two of them had done a lot of remodeling, as the first floor used to be totally open. But the old stove that had been installed when the house was built in 1907 was still there.  They also had old call bells from the kitchen to the rooms.  It was obvious that they liked antiques, as pretty much every room was filled with them, namely chairs, tables, and lamps.

After I gathered my things and was set to depart, I said my thank yous and goodbye's, and then got talked into having some watermelon. I really couldn't pass it up, mainly because it was a watermelon that I had never had before, called Star and Moon watermelon (characterized by small white circles on the dark green melon, the bigger circles are the moons). It is not as sweet as the "typical" watermelon  but it is quite delicious.

Pittsburg was the last town in Kansas, and I stopped to stretch my ultra tight muscles. And then, I had about four miles until Missouri!!!! Ohhhh how exciting! Unfortunately, there was a swamp around the sign, so it was very difficult to do many fun jumps/tricks. I tried very hard not to soak my shoes, but I guess I wasn't that careful. It was very difficult for me to get my camera to stay in any position that wouldn't really fall, or get a good a photo. Finally, a wonderful woman from Girard stopped to see if I needed any help. She was 40, and had just completed a half ironman (super impressive), and she had a change jar at home that she is using to fund a bike trip across the country. I think she was slightly relieved when I told her that the only thing that I really need help with was taking a photo. I tried to do a cartwheel for her, but I don't think she realized how badly I am at cartwheels, and it doesn't help that my muscles are so tight. It was a pitiful attempt, as it is probably obvious from the photograph below. I am so glad she stopped to help though.  It was really sweet of her.

It is funny that I thought that Kansas was hilly. It was nothing compared to what Missouri had in store for me. I got to Golden City to have lunch around 2:00 pm, and I thought that the hills were pretty bad. I had the world's best blackberry pie and ice cream. I couldn't help but keep saying "This is the best pie ever. Oh my gosh," repeatedly, without even thinking that it is probably not something that people really need poured want to hear. Luckily, one of the owners in the booth next to me was one of the owners, and she was thrilled with my reaction, and we had a lovely conversation afterwards, that eventually included two full booths of people. Pie is such a great ice breaker.

I had another 30 miles until Everton, where i was trying to get a hold of cycling lodging off route. There weren't very many options other than that for miles. The towns are small, and usually have an abandoned building or two. When i was talking with the ladies in the cafe after i inhaled the pie, they shook their head when I asked them about camping.

The hills were really picking up, and they were steep, were very much like a rollercoaster. They look straight up and down, and when i got to the to of one i laughed in disbelief about the ones before me. Sometimes they look like they are stair steps... Each one is higher, and steeper.  Sad part is, I hadn't even gotten to the Ozark Mountain Range yet. Three dogs shook me up a bit. They got very close to me and i wasted a whole bottle of water trying to scare them with it, but they had surrounded me so it did nothing! I sped through an intersection and they finally relented, but my legs were shaking when i was far enough away from them to stop and collect myself. Missouri's roads are exceptionally odd. Roads are numbered but mainly lettered, such as: turn right at junction A E, and then pick up MM. There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason for this naming system, and I'm not sure why some are numbered and others are not... I thought because they were county our state roads, but that doesn't always hold up. As you can see, the lettering system is all over the place. I have spent hours trying to decipher this from map to map (yes, it is as exhilarating as it seems, but i need something to amuse myself with!) I just can't crack the code.

Eight miles away, I finally got a hold of the owners of Running Spring Farm, a Pheasant Hunting Reserve farm outside of Everton (very small town, population of 318) that hosts bicyclists. (www.runningspringsfarm.com it is a really neat place). Just in time, too, as the storm clouds were looming and those hills were tough and my legs were screaming. On my way there, besides the mushed Amardillos that decorate the road here in Missouri and account for the majority of the road kill here, (as far as odor goes for road kill, they are pretty discreet and there is not much smell), i saw a scorpion. At first I thought it was a crayfish (it had been a long day, give me a break), and then at the last second realized that it was actually a scorpion, and a crayfish wouldn't make sense. I'm pretty sure i yelped and got as far away from it as possible as fast as i could. Don't worry though, because a few miles later, when I saw the tarantula in the middle of the road that was the, size of my palm, I had no problem knowing what it was and almost fell off my bike.  I have goosebumps just thinking about it.

The farm was gorgeous and in fields miles from any roads, and i was greeted at the end of the driveway by the sound of crickets.  Bob, the owner of the farm took me to a large building next to his house with a covered patio with table, chairs, and a grill.  He put his hand on the door and paused, and looked back at me and said: "now, this is going to be the best place you have stayed so far." It was pretty fabulous, I must say.  There was a full kitchen, with a stove, and a coffee maker and microwave, bathroom, camo sofas and lazy boys.  It was an awesome lodge, and i was pretty much in heaven (takes very little these days). There was hunting gear for sale,  books, pheasant, boar and deer taxidermy.  I had the place all to myself.  I cooked up some dehydrated buffalo chicken to put in my tortillas, got my fig newtons and went outside to enjoy the serenity of the quiet landscape around me.  While i was eating, 10-15 hummingbirds were swarming the feeder about 5 feet away from me,.and you could almost feel the air vibrate with their humming.  It was so cool. I stretched, relaxed. Drank a beer (first one was free, and then 2 bucks a piece after that.. Everything was on the honor system, and there was a jar on the fridge to put money in).  I had a wonderful nights sleep ($20 if you sleep in a sleeping on the bed.. What a steel!)  It was a sanctuary. 

I had thanked Bob as he was leaving for having such a wonderful place for cyclists.  He laughed and said " well, it is meant to be an oasis for you crazy people on your bicycles."  I agree with him on both accounts: some days I think you have to be crazy I'm order to do this..