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.
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