Day 36: I'm sorry, Kansas, but we are over

I woke up full of energy, excited that this would be my last battle with Kansas. The weather forecasted low winds and chill temperature, and by now I really should have known that it was just too good to be true: I wasn't going to get off that easily.

I looked out the window. Even though it was still dark, I could see that it was overcast and misting, offff course. I walked to the gas station to grab coffee, made some ramen, and indulged in a protein bar. I totally took my time, as the morning forecast said that the sun would come or in the next hour and a half. I'm not a wuss; I can ride in the rain, let alone mist. But when it is cold, as I have said, the cold rain chills me to the bone. I had a wonderful conversation with my Aunt, and then, bundled up in long Spandex and 4 layers, I faced reality.

It is really a good thing that I didn't wait for the clouds to disappear, because I wouldn't have left the hotel that day. It took less than 5 miles to get covered in dirt from the spray off the road: my shoes, pants, panniers, gear, water bottle. Everything was damp. At this point, I was on to the little game that Kansas was playing, and it was not cute. That being said, the winds were only 5-10 mph. I'll take mist and rain any day.

I stopped at a store off the main road to try to warm up with coffee. The clerk took out a 1.5 inch spiral notebook that was the store's cyclist log. It was a wonderful feeling to be able to put my name down with the other thousands of cyclists who have made this trip--A sense of pride.

I really had quite the unintended leisurely morning. There were many meadows along many hills, and really felt as though I was still mostly climbing. I chomped on power bars every 15 - 20 miles until I got to Chanute, 62 miles in, and took full advantage of the fact that Subway was one of the first signs of "actual town" that I saw. I rejoiced.

There was nowhere to lock my bike, so I pleaded with a young employee to let me being it inside as "my life as I know it now is on my bike." When I went up to order, the two girls who would make my sandwich started asking me questions: what time did I get up in the morning, where I would stay, etc. They were both amazed that I could be motivated everyday to get up and bike miles upon miles, all day, everyday. And before I answered that question, I had to really think about giving them an honest, yet positive answer. In reality, the majority of the mornings, and especially now that Lindsay is no longer physically with me, it is hard to get out of bed and climb on my bicycle, especially when my muscles hurt to even change position in bed. Sometimes the thought of the seat hurts my butt, and it is daunting to know how stiff and in pain I will be in toward the end of my ride, seven top nine hours away. However, here I am in Kansas, a long way from home, but a long way from where we started, and each day, I am getting stronger, and it helps the next. Each day is an opportunity to chip away at the remaining mileage, little by little, pedal by pedal. It helps that I have loved ones I miss at home, and Lindsay in Rochester, but the biggest motivating factor is to remember why I am here, why we started this journey, and what we are fighting for. So, I get on the bike. Just start it, the rest will follow: It will hurt at first, but I'll get into a rhythm, my muscles loosen, I'll fall back into contentment as I seek out that day's adventure. I try to ignore anything small and negative that my body is telling me or make frequent small adjustments to quiet myself. After all, my fight is nothing compared to the fight that others are facing everyday. I have to put it in perspective: all i really have to do is get on a bike, fall into an adventure, and do something I love... to win a greater battle: brain cancer. As for the pains and the frustrations along the way, I have to keep telling myself that they are only temporary. I was listening to a Radiolab podcast today and their guest they were interviewing made a comment about being an athlete and getting the job done, and our is very applicable to our journey: "we have to confuse ourselves into believing that no matter what's wrong with you or what you are dealing with is not going to be a factor to what you are trying to accomplish."

So, back to the lovely Subway girls... I told them it helps if you love what you to, but when you are doing it for something you are passionate about.  It is worth the aches and pains, and sometimes when you look back, it is not those aches and pains that you actually remember.

As I was eating, I sort of chuckled to myself. One of the girls was saying she couldn't imagine doing that. She wouldn't want to get on a bike. When she said that, I wanted to tell her that Lindsay and I didn't even own bikes when we started this. The Aunt that I had been talking to previously in the morning had given me a necklace at Christmas in support of the trip. The necklace is about a 1 inch square, with two metal plates. The top one has a cut out of a tree. The bottom plate has a quote that says: "Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it." -- Goethe . And that is how this journey began: We believed, even dream,  if you will, that we could do it. So, we decided to do it, to jump in, albeit naively, but we started the process, made a commitment, and tried to dismiss our fears. Now, I am here in Kansas, about to cross into Missouri tomorrow. Lindsay and I just had the time of our lives, and we have raised $21,000. That "bold" decision was hands down one of the best decisions I can ever remember making.

Girard was 45 miles away at that point. So I rallied up my full stomach, restocked my supply of power bars, and I was on my way. I was supposed to make a left hand turn to ride towards Neal after seven miles, but the road was closed. Everything in Kansas is in a grid system. All of the roads (even minor dirt roads leading to a farm) are spaced one mile apart. My map showed that I had five roads further South until I hit K-47, which would bring me right to Girard... So convenient-- except when the road turned to an ungrated, muddy road, ridden with pot holes. It was like I was going over a big rumble strip. The mud would suck my tires into it, making it extremely hard to go anywhere, and I had to be very careful to avoid it. And then the dogs came to give me a good chase. It is really hard sprinting away when you are trying to dodge potholes and be slowed down by mud. They relented, I'm not sure why, but I was thankful. Being chased by dogs really shakes me up, because they can get really close to me. I don't think that they actually want to attack me, but that it is more instinctual; they need to chase.

107 miles later, I made it to Girard. The next town over, Pittsburg, was only 15 miles away, and I had really wanted to make it there, but it was too late, and I was starving. I stayed at a local Bed and Breakfast. It was a beautiful home, very old, and furnished with antiques. It stood out from the rest of the buildings of the small town, that were falling down or abandoned. The owners were very sweet and hospitable. I could come and go as I pleased, I had an incredible bed, I put my sopping wet clothes in the drier, and she also recognized that I was doing this for charity. Best of all, I went to sleep knowing that not only would I be out of Kansas in the morning, but I would have a home cooked meal to start the day.... A Home. Cooked. Meal.....