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.....

Day 35: the man at the motel

For some odd, and incredibly annoying, reason, I just can't fall asleep on the nights of Recovery Days, so getting up this morning was almost near impossible. My intentions were to get up early, get organized, and head down to to breakfast by 6 and get on the road as early as possible and go as far as possible.... Instead, i waited to get out of bed until 6:30 and then took a 15 minute nap after breakfast. I realized at breakfast that it was drizzling out a bit and still a bit cold, so it was easy for me to find things to procrastinate with, like the map. About 100 miles away, there was a small town with few services but there was biker only camping at the church. I called to see if I would be able to stay there if i could make it that far. The Pastor was a riot. He owned the store in town and lived at the Parrish. With a thick mid Western accent, he told me he a dog that was really nice and there was a sheep that followed the dog around, but "that darn sheep, it has to stop eating the dog food because it is getting way too fat and i simply can't afford his habit anymore." I was immediately intrigued, and it was probably the only motivating factor of why i would want to make it to that town today, because my body was sluggish and needed a kick.

So i rolled out at around 9:00, completely bundled up and faced the headwinds (technically they were from the NE, but it felt more like East to me... Very little force from my left (North) side). It only took me a few miles to take off my fleece, but I wore a long sleeve shirt and my windbreaker for the rest of the day... It was very chilly! I would like to take a moment and talk about my windbreaker. The color of this jacket is the only thing that Lindsay and i disagreed on over the month that we were together, and I say that with certainty. I believe it is red, but she believes otherwise, and i was almost speechless when she told me: "i don't take you for a hot pink kind of girl, but I like that jacket." I almost had no idea what she was taking about at first because i thought it was clearly red. Then she started to point out things around us that were red and compare them, for example: "that truck is red, it doesn't match your jacket because the truck is not hot  pink." It was never really resolved. The other thing is that it had a "butt flap" that you sit on so the water spraying from the road/water from your tires doesn't make you shorts wet.... (it is an awful situation when that happens... Soggy shorts aren't fun shorts). Well, i as we pulled out of the gas station where i first put it on (right outside of Cedar City) all i could hear was Lindsay laughing. "i just can't take you seriously right now because it looks like you are wearing a hot pink leotard with a built in diaper." She lost it. She lost it every time I put it on, even after the 1st hail storm the night we stayed in the shower. So, in Lindsay's honor I didn't tuck the flap in today (even though it wasn't raining) and took a picture for her this morning, which i am including in tonight's blog.

At mile 6, I saw a dog wandering in the middle of the road, and a good sized one. Immediately, i was on defense mode after heading all of the horror stories about dogs chasing bikers, and getting chased by my first one the other day... And this one would have an advantage of starting from the road and not a lawn. I stopped my bike, and we had a stare down. I was secretly hoping that a car would come my way and i could use it as a diversion as the dog would be too afraid of the car to chase me. Naturally, all of the cars went in the opposite direction, or turned. I finally decided that i couldn't wait there all day (even though it had only been a few minutes), and decided to slowly pass him. We stared at each other as i crept by, and then free, took off, feeling extremely witty (even though i had nothing to do with the fact that the dog didn't feel like chasing me)

So Kansas doesn't stay flat. And to be honest, much of the day was spent wondering it was possible that I was going lower in elevation, but these "so called" rolling hills were only rolling up! I felt like i was tackling hills for much of the day... because the headwind just wasn't enough (only about 15 mph today, actually, not too too bad). The roads were horrendous, very rough and gravely. I was tired and frustrated, so i concentrated on my music and some podcasts, which I really love (for example, i leaned all about flesh eating bacteria today on "how stuff works") I also loved looking at the changing colors of the prairies. There were so many different shades of greens and yellows, and even blues and purples from the clouds.

Even more satisfying is that the cows had large pastures to roam that were rich in grass. Also, apparently I am a Cow Whisperer. Usually as I ride by a herd of cows the majority of them stop eating and look up and stare at me. Usually, i stare back or moo at them to try top elicit a response (never really works). Typically, the cows chewing the cud would stay put. But today, I was riding along a quiet road, and as i approached, all of the cows stood up and started walking towards me and huddled up to the fence. I know they probably wanted food, but i felt pretty cool at the time, not gonna lie... Like they could sense how much i detest the feeding farmers.  (the only thing i had to offer them, ironically, is beef ravioli)

I stopped for lunch in a small town hoping that i could grab some coffee or a warm meal, but there was nothing available. It is hard to sit outside and eat, even if i am bundled up, because my sweat dries and and the cool air is quick to chill me, so it is best to keep moving. I don't have much insulation these days, so if i wait too long, I get to the point of no return and can't warm again. I caught a bit of a tailwind on beautiful country roads with fields of beautiful horses. What majestic creatures  they are. I have had had quite the itch to ride one since starting this adventure, and would often give subliminal messages to Lindsay about going on trail rides in Utah (we had no place for our bikes, and were kind of on a time crunch). I feel like my attraction to riding horses is similar to my love of cycling. The feeling of speeding through the air, of freedom, of the sudden and beautiful connection with the world around you as you move air and become part of the wind. It is a moment when the rest of your life stops, and you can just be. I imagine you get that same rush while racing on a horse...

I saw some alpaca, and a deer farm. It was a great change of scenery from all of the cows, i must say, ( i really don't like the idea of captive deer, although a venison burger may have popped into my head at some point within the vicinity of the farm, i
cant lie).

I was just exhausted, and felt and thought i could just fall asleep as i was riding. The hills and the wind just wore me out, so, i called it quits in Eureka, Kansas, with 74 miles for the day, at the Carriage House motel.  I walked into the office and was grated by am elderly gentlemen and his two small dogs who were trying to bark as ferociously as a small poodle -like dog can. Finally, the man just grabbed the dog's head when it wouldn't stop baking and said to it "don't you know I am trying to listen and can't hear a thing when you are barking? Now be quiet." The man was tall, wearing black sweatpants and a worn cream colored sweater. You could tell that his health wasn't the greatest with his large belly, swollen arms, and a jaw that moved as though he had Parkinson's between his words. He was very excited to have me come in.

As I was filling out my information in this very old, un-modernized office with paperwork scattered, and bulky, load appliances, I started asking him about where to get food. There were a few places, and he also decided to add that a lot of bikers camp in the city park. I thanked him, but told him that it was hard being a young female travelling alone by bike, and that i was trying not to camp unless i had to in some of these towns. He nodded his head in understanding and then his eyes lit up as he said, "well my daughter, she ran track and always insisted running on doing her workouts at night- it drove me crazy. She was a good lookin' girl, so i just drove my car along as she ran. Couldn't bear the thought of anything bad happening to her." And then he paused, and asked "what does your father think about you doing this alone?" And after i got over the stab in my chest of wishing i could hear my dad actually say it, i said "i think he would absolutely love what i was doing... Maybe not alone, but he would think it was pretty great," and I told him about why i was standing in front of him, that it was my dad that brought me here. i went right back into asking him about his daughter. The twinkle in his eye quickly returned, and he started showing pictures of his grandkids and his daughter and told me all about them. And then i noticed his eyes were watering, "all i know is that i miss her." And as he looked up I could see a tear work itself out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't seen her in 5 years. It broke my heart.  We both had something in common, it seemed: we both had a void in our hearts.

He was a truck driver for most of his adult life. He said the trucks he used to drive had very little steering ability, and he would have to call the sheriff's office in certain towns so they could stop traffic so he could make a turn. He said his max speed was about 48 mph. He got pulled over once for going to slow because the wind was so strong it was slowed his truck. One time he was making his standard route from Seattle (he didn't say where he was going). "Now normally I could get there and back on one tank of fuel, but that day it took me a full tank just to get down there because the wind was so strong that my engine had to work twice as hard." Now, this was incredible to me but it is a great way for me to portray how taxing the wind is-even on a tractor trailer.  So you can imagine that the amount of extra effort you have to put forth to bike in strong winds is great. It is easier to imagine of how much extra food one might need to eat to have the energy to combat these brutal winds, if the truck needed twice as much fuel.

I was cold, exhausted, and hungry, but we continued our conversation.  i could tell he was lonely, and i kind of just let him talk and go from one story to another. I loved it.  We talked for an hour, as he explained instances in the wind, the snow, telling me  about Kansas. It was a reprieve for me after being on my bike all day in the countryside with no one else around, and i think it was a reprieve for him as well: he had someone that he could share these stories with.  It was if it brought him back to early, happier moments of his life, and his partially toothless, ear to ear grin was proof of it.  I felt privileged being the recipient of those stories, of being invited into his past, hearing and seeing his vulnerabilities.  Storytelling is an important part of life.  And while sometimes it is healing to be the teller, it can also be healing to be the listener, and your world gets a little bigger, a little richer.

Day 33 and 34: green is a beautiful color

Getting up was not an easy task. I forced my sore legs to breakfast. Thank god there was a guy that kept burping to make the "defrost your own pancakes and sausage" so much easier to get down. Getting on my bike was some what painful, and it took me a bit to warm up, but once I did, I felt the rush of excitement to be back on my bike. (For some reason this made me think of a morning when Lindsay and I got on our bikes for the first time that morning at a gas station, after enjoying an ice cream sandwich, and as we were weaving through people and cars to get out of the parking lot, all we could say was "Oh!" "Owww" "Ugh" "Holy crap" "Ouch", and people just stopped and starred, with blank faces, in wonderment.)

The wind was a lovely crosswind, nothing like the day before. It was almost like a nice breeze. The sun shared the sky with the clouds, and I appreciated not having it beating on my shoulders. The morning was just absolutely brilliant. Not to mention that I went through a National Wildlife Reserve, which meant fields that were green, decorated with bright yellow flowers and trees that were lush. Birds danced, crickets sang, and the dragonflies and butterflies joined me periodically. There was a feeling of life in the air and I loved it, and joined right in. I am not sure if I was still riding on the exhilaration of knowing that I had pushed through the wind yesterday, or if it was just brought out from by the fact that I was no longer looking at feeding farms or brown land. I even started singing out loud to songs I was listening to, which is easily as hard as cursing, crying, or laughing on a bike, but it is fairly amusing, even when you are alone (but, then again I am pretty easily amused). I also hit mile 2000 at noon, which I was thrilled about, as it seems hard to believe that we could have accomplished 2000 miles in 27 riding days. My thoughts easily slipped back to hitting the 1000 mile mark in Utah with Lindsay, and yelling our excitement in the canyon, and hearing it echo. (attacked is a picture of Lindsay, overwhelmed with excitement (she is not on the phone even though it may look.like that)) I remember thinking then that it was going to be a long way to 2000, and it was fun to think of where we would be and how exciting it was when we got there. But it really wasn't a long way. It just flew by. Now, at 2000 miles, I am thinking, man, this is awesome, but I'm still a long way home, (well, from Rochester first, at least).

I had one of the best sandwiches I have had in a while at a local pizza place in Nickerson, about 60 miles into my day,.at a local pizza place recommended to me by one of the locals (food is definitely something you do trust the locals on). It was perfectly toasted, with salami and fresh tomatoes. (sorry, Subway) After lunch, the sun took over with a vengeance, heating the air to about 96 degrees. I was flying along at 17 mph at some points--it was lovely, and a far cry from the day before--but I was sweating profusely, and the water I had from the pizza place was quickly warming up. I went a mile off track and got some ice water in Buhler, which really got me through the last 32 miles. By mile 90, the typical aches and pains of being on a bike all day were creeping up to me. The wind started to pick up just as I was supposed to head into another headwind for 5 miles. Compared to yesterday, this was nothing. It was more mental than anything. If I stopped, my body was sore and slow to get back to a even cadence when I got going again. Nine miles outside of Newton, the only choice I had was to keep going, but everything hurt: my toes, my feet, my hands, my arms, my abs, my butts, my legs, so I constantly had to readjust my body position while fighting the wind. It is not bad when you know it is merely temporary.

I was done when I got to Newton. You could see it on my face, I'm sure. I went West instead of East, and had to turn around. I couldn't find anything, so when I finally got to the hotel, I almost fell trying to get off and stood at the counter chomping on Boston Baked Beans while I was trying to see what the lady could do for me. I was completely suckered in by the breakfast, and by the fact that there was a steakhouse right next door and I would receive a 10% coupon. (Yes, food is really at the heart of a lot of my decision making this days... funny how things work). And after I put my few prized possessions in my room I didn't shower, but walked right over to the steakhouse, with salt all over my face, my arms. My clothes were filthy. My legs were covered in dirt and bike grease. My shoulders had melted sunscreen running down them with plenty of little black clusterflies that drowned in my sweat along the way (wouldn't you want to serve me, too?). Ending at 112 miles for the day, my third century in five days, I just didn't care that much. I just needed (wanted) food, and then a shower.

Later on, I was using the lobby computer and noticed that the weather was going to consist of rain and thunderstorms (which are very much needed here) with 19 mph headwinds. I had to make the tough decision of riding hours upon hours in the rain with rain getting pelted in my face by the wind, or taking a day to recover after my 450 miles in five days. I was leaning towards recovery. I ended up chatting with a lovely couple that are staying here until their house closes on October 8th in Northern Kansas. They are in the restaurant business, and have an adorable four and a half year old, and have moved four times in the last five years. They know a lot of people in the Ohio and Indiana region that may be able to help, and we exchanged contact information. I stayed up until 11:30 chatting with them, and it was just so wonderful. They are really nice people. This morning at breakfast, the husband kept offering me the keys to one of his cars in case I needed to get things done during the day after telling him i was staying. I also got to play with his son a bit, which was so much fun. They were going up to check on their home outside of town and look at schools for their son, but we briefly set up tentative plans for dinner (which I don't think we will make).

So, this morning I took a lovely recovery day. It was a beautiful rainy day. I did much needed laundry, checked out their gym, went into the sauna, took a nap, ate, laid in bed, ate. I did go outside at one point and was immediately glad that I stayed indoors today. It was so cold and bitter.

I have also spent a lot of the day blogging on the guest computer. I started talking with a man who looked like he wanted to use it, but as I gathered my things, the conversation just kept on going. He was an extremely intelligent, extremely nice guy who had just come from an interview for a lead engineering position . He was telling me about his previous jobs, and his positive attitude was most definitely contagious. He said he could have sued his last employer, a multi-billion dollar company, and his friends were all urging him to do so. "I just don't see the point in fighting that fight. I might win a million dollars in 10 years, but I will be 10 years older. I would rather be spending that time trying raising the bar and achieving goals in my life, getting further that way, making it count. I had an awful divorce, and I had to make that fight....But this is something that I can choose not to fight and I would rather be looking at from my rear view mirror. Life isn't about fighting or money, it is about happiness, love, children, and family."

I told him that I would have hired him, and that he should email me when he hears about the job. He smiled, got up, gave me a huge hug, and said joyfully "Wow, this is great: a new friend." And as I walked away, I realized that this new chapter of my journey is not solely solitude, (and introspection) but rather the people I will meet. There are wonderful people, everywhere. And when you are solo, in a foreign place, if you open yourself up to those people, they can make all of the difference, and you can learn many interesting things. More importantly, there is no such thing as too many friends.

Day 32: "you have my mercy"

Fueling up with ramen and lovely protein bar for breakfast, I was ready to hit the road. My goal for the day was around 100 miles, as I had taken it "easy" the day before, (relatively easy, that is). Although I left early, it did not take long for the sun to warm up and unleash it's dry heat on me. The wind was far stronger than the day before, with 28 mph crosswinds. Leaning into the wind took a little bit more effort, and as I was being beaten up by the wind. Sunglasses are a must for these kinds of conditions, even if it is cloudy (which it definitely wasn't), as the dry air will dry your eyes right out, and the dust easily finds it's way in.

I stopped midway for a snack and to refill my water bottle with water from the three liter jug. My water got caught with the wind, my cap fell, and got quickly whisked across the road. Even standing, with my bike propped up against me was difficult, as it felt as though I would be pushed over. Think about the worst winds you have ever driven through on the highway, you loose speed as you try to maintain control of your vehicle. This is the same for riding a bike, except you only need to turn the steering wheel to gain control of your car. On a bike, you have to thrust your whole body to one side, and then watch out for waning gusts, when your leaning then becomes an overcompensation. When I finally got to Rush Center, 33 miles into the trip, I was in need of a break--my body was so exhausted. To make matters far worse, I was about to turn into the 28 mph, with gusts from 31-37 mph, for NINETEEN miles. This was the area where I intending to stay the night before, 4 miles North, instead if Ness City. I wanted to kick myself for not making it here last night, but things work in mysterious ways. The nature of this trip allows me to wonder how things would turn out of I had made a different decision. For example, where would I end up today if I had started from here this morning and not 32 miles away? Obviously, I had made a decision that was best for me at the time, and I will continue to do so, but it is interesting to think about how simple decisions you make really can have great impact on how you get things done, even if the end result won't change.

I sat down at pretty much the only open building in the small town, which was a restaurant and bar. It was packed. There were no windows, so I had wanted to sit outside to keep an eye on my bike. I sat at the picnic table for a bit waiting for the waitress, thinking about the hellacious experience I was about to undertake. I have never seen wind like this before on a bike. Nor did I ever think it was possible to have sustained winds like this and be able to bike, and here I was, having to face it. I had a choice: ride the tailwind north 4.5 miles and stay there and wait for the wind to pass overnight, or show the wind who was boss and try to make more than 32 miles progress for that day. So, I decided to fight the battle, to make progress, even if it was only another 33 miles for the day (but it would be 33 miles closer to getting out of Kansas). At that point, two older gentlemen walked passed me and chuckled as they asked me how my day was going. "Enjoying this wind?" they asked. I shook my head no with wide eyes. One guy told me that he couldn't believe I was out in it, and asked me where I was headed. When I told them I was about to head right into it, the man in the blue checkered shirt and overalls looked at his friend in the red t-shirt strapped down with navy suspenders, and then back at me. "You have my mercy," he said.

I eventually went inside (I think they forgot about me, they were so busy, so it would be easier if I just went in and checked on my bike periodically). As I was shoving my meal into my mouth, the waitress came up to me said "the man in the red shirt just paid for your meal, just so you know." I got up (and I didn't realize it until after, but I had my fork and dirty napkin in my hand when I went to talk to him) and thanked him for his generosity and kind gesture. He looked at me and said "Don't worry about it. I just know that where you are going, you are going to need it."

My waitress was nice enough to fill up my water bottles with ice, even the 3L bottle. It was 96 degrees out, and I knew that I was going to be working up quite the sweat. Every part of me had a bad feeling about how taxing this was going to be, mentally and physically. And that is where Lindsay came in. I had been texting her all morning (and previous evening), and told her what I was about to go into, because she fully understands. Her words to me were "You got this buddy." It is amazing that someone 1500 miles away can still pick you up and motivate you, just like she had everyday for a month. I was serious when I said that Lindsay would remain a part of this journey, and I am not talking about only words of encouragement, but we still are communicating throughout the day. She is constantly making me laugh. We are still constantly joking and reminiscing.

And I was off, with the mind set of knowing it was going to be awful, but I knew that it was only 19 miles. I knew where it was going to end, and that it would end. And so, like everything else, I just started doing it. I started by doing one 1 mile at a time. 19, 18. I was going 4.7 mph and only as high as 7.8, averaging around 5 mph. I was on my second to highest gear. The gusts would literally pound into my chest and force my torso backwards. My grip was tight on the handle bars, and I was crouched over and immediately would fight back after the initial blow and reposition myself. I felt as though the wind was just beating me up. At mile three, my water was already warm, which is not a position you want to be in in 96 degree heat. It is hard to keep your body cool with warm water.

The only way I can describe the wind is that it felt violent. I know that wind blows stronger than 28 mph, but I am pretty sure I have never stood in that wind before, let alone bike. I have only seen wind before that whips through the trees so fast that there is that stormy "howling sound." There are no trees where I was... only fields, but it was whipping through the dry grass so fast, that the howling sound was still very much audible. I pulled my bandana fully over my ears because the sound was deafening, and even that didn't do much. I felt like i had to focus just to hear myself think at times. When the gusts came, I told myself "I am stronger than the wind," and tried to keep pedaling.

I found a deserted building in a field near the road with about 4 miles left to go, and I stopped there to get out of the sun as I knew I was beginning to overheat, and needed some fuel. And then I was off to face the next few miles. I think I only really cursed once, because I just knew that I couldn't do anything about the situation. It wouldn't help.. I was trying to maintain my mindset that I learned the other day. This was just so hard. It is amazing what you will do to try to distract yourself. I thought about what I would eat for dinner (Subway, obviously), if the Subway would be in a gas station or in it's own shop, how far away it would be from the hotel. I couldn't down miles now by halves, because they were so long and grueling. I even recited a tongue twister over and over that my boyfriend taught me, and was highly amused at the fact that I could still mess up even after doing it perfectly three times in a row (The sheet is slit, who slit the sheet? Whoever slit the sheet is a sheet slitter).

And then, finally, after 3 hours and 45 minutes I saw it: the most beautiful intersection that existed (to me, at least) at that point: CR 156/CR183 that would take me to Larned. The thing was, those last 13 miles in the cross winds were long because I had very little reserve in me. I stopped at a National Park to get some shade as I noticed I had heat rash all over my arms. The fountain water was warmer than the water in my water bottles, and the women's room faucet didn't work. A ranger drove up to lock the facilities and I pathetically ran over and asked him if he had any water. He let me into the janitor's, and I splashed water all over myself. Wow, did I feel good after that. I pushed through the last few miles. My left hand was so exhausted from gripping the handlebars that i couldn't even use it to shift, and had top reach over south my right hand. I rolled into Larned, dropped my stuff off, indulged in Subway and a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

Lindsay had "bliped me" a quote from T.S. Eliot the night before that is in the prelude of the book "3 MPH:" "Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go." Finishing the day left a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment, not because my legs were supported by a mattress and not clipped pedals at that point, (which undoubtedly helped ), but because I had just conquered 28 mph of crosswinds with incredible gusts. I would have typically avoid winds higher than 10 mph if could while training (and had the chance to do so today).

Today i was reminded to always fight, if you have the choice, because chances are that you will be stronger for doing so, and maybe even better off. The next battle will be easier because it seems as you dig deeper and deeper, what you end up finding is what you are really made of, and what you are capable. Scratching the surface will only give you a glimpse.

So, may the winds of Kansas hear me
now: You can try to knock me over, but you won't knock me down. The headwinds will certainly never be a favorite of mine to take on, but I have a feeling that after this fight today, my remaining battles with this particular element won't be so bad. It's all relative, right??

They say that wind is the Power of Spirit of life; it can move water, lift things up, and it can reshape mountains over time. Today, I was stronger than the wind. What an incredible concept to sleep on.

Day 31: alright Kansas, i like your people.. Let me think on the rest

I had a very lazy morning on Monday, one that I would later regret, but it just felt so good to not get up. The continental breakfast was superb. I even had the lady at the desk put on sunscreen for me on my back (don't worry, no one could compare to Lindsay's sunscreen application skills). I asked her about the feeding farms, and tried to fight an expression of disgust on my face. She knew exactly what I was getting at: "Yeah you will see a lot of those, that is pretty much all we have around here, feeding farms and fields." I don't know if I could handle living here and seeing that on a day to day basis.

And with that I was off, with my new-found acceptance of the wind, and I actually had a lot of fun with it, when it wasn't swarming me with dust (see photo). The wind was a cross wind from the South, but it was pretty strong (21 mph), and was whipping at me at my right side. Most of my time and energy was spent leaning into the wind, as the gusts would throw me into the middle of the road if I didn't. I had very good control, and the weight of the panniers really helped stabilize me. Believe me, going into a 21 mph relentless cross wind can slow you down significantly, but it is no headwind. Once in a while, there would be a gust from the SSW, and would push me along, so the majority of the morning, until I reached Dighton, the next town over, I tried to use my body and my panniers as a sail and catch the wind. It was quite fun, actually. (Who would have thought?)I was making much better progress than I had the day before, albeit it was still slower than I would have liked, and exhausting.  It was like the wind wanted to be a tailwind, but I guess it is the thought that counts.

I pulled into the gas station to fuel up, as a man was getting out of his truck, and as I was lifting the 80+ lbs over the curb to lock up my bike, I think I gave him a look of "phew what a day," and he chuckled and came over to talk to me as I was getting my stuff together. When I told him that we started in San Francisco upon his asking, his eyes got wide, he got excited, and wanting to know more, sat right on the dirty garbage can and we started chatting. Finally, after I don't know how long, he said "Are you going to get something or did you just come to visit and stand outside?" We went in, and I grabbed protein bars to restock my dwindling supply, chef boyardee, coffee, gatorade, and then all of a sudden he told me to put all of my things with his, as he was going to pay for it. "I am not going to be able to help you during the rest of your journey because i won't be there," he explained, "but I can help right now, so that is what I am doing." It was such an incredible gesture of kindness, and it is so incredible to be a part of. Lindsay and I had many talks about "paying it forward," as people we met have been so generous and supportive, and have helped us in so many ways. These kind acts have meant the world to us, and it is my goal to "return" these acts of kindness to other people that I come across when i am able. That is where the $20 that I found on the side of the road comes in. That being said, the acts of kindness doesn't have to achieved with money, and honestly, some of the best ones leave money out of the picture, like the cup of tea the lady brought us while we were sitting on the top of the mountain in the shower stall.  Those moments can mean the most, they can change a day around. There is something about perpetual kindness that has a beautiful sound to it.

As i was sitting enjoying my coffee and beeferoni (weird combo, I know) one of the convenient store staff was dragging a box full of cardboard with one hand and a pail full of dirty water.  She looked uncomfortable and annoyed so i tried to get up and help her with the cardboard and in my attempt to help, the box totally broke and the went cardboard everywhere, all over the sidewalk and slightly under a customer's car and she just kind of laughed at me.  Between the two of us, we eventually made it to the dumpster. Whoops.

I fought the wind to Ness City, about thirty miles away, where I thought I would indulge in some lunch. Unfortunately, there was nothing in town, except for a Mexican restaurant in the only motel in town. (It was a rather odd atmosphere to the entire building). Word to the wise, don't get a burrito smothered in cheese sauce and then think that your stomach is going to allow you to ride another 37 miles. Not a good scenario. Not to mention, the whole right side of my body was sore from my run in with the dust tornado, and then leaning into the wind for five hours. It was 3:30 pm, and the wind was slowing me down as it was picking up, and I was worried about getting to my destination within daylight hours. (It was hard enough being with Lindsay and not knowing where we would stay as the sun fell... Not something i want to mess around with on my own if i can help it... Very stressful.) So, I stayed in the motel, enjoyed from dehydrated Pasta Primivera and sherbet and put my feet up. It was a wonderful thing. (The motel room was a little sketchy, but that is what you get when it is the only one in town. Although two of the three locks on the door were broken (the chain and the button on the door, the padlock was intact)), don't worry because you can be assured that the rotary telephone above the toilet was in great shape). After doing a 112 and a 106 mile day back to back, ending the day at 57 felt pretty good, I must say.

Day 30: this might be a rocky road, Kansas

I woke up Sunday morning stiff as could be, and staggered my way over to the dinner next door and indulged in their all you can eat buffet. I was the only person there for a while, and it was lovely having the waitstaff fill their small plates half full, as I was going back up for some major seconds. Before I forget to mention this, again, I have a very impressive tidbit of info from yesterday that I thought I should share: I climbed a total of 200 ft yesterday. I know, I know... I don't know how I did it. It is simply incredible ;) (i made sure Lindsay, was sitting down when i told her)

I started out at around 8:00 am, and immediately, I noticed the headwind. It was from the SSE, so it was partial crosswind, partial headwind. I was not too excited, and hoped that it would dissipate as the morning progressed. About 10 miles into my struggle, I spotted another biker, and chatted with him for a bit. His name was Ben, and he was traveling alone, he is from Boston, and started from Yorktown, VA. roughly mid July. Lindsay and I had learned that as general rule, you don't take the locals suggestions of what roads are steep or flat, or far away a town is, unless, of course, they are bikers. I am not trying to sound like a snob, and I know those people are just trying to be helpful, but when you travel a car the grade of the hill is not likely on the forefront of your mind, and it is a lot different using an engine's energy than it is your own. For example, a few of the locals in the desert told us that we would never make it to Austin, NV that night (that was our big 112 mile day), because Austin was half way up a mountain and the mountain was 11,000 feet high. In reality, we did make it, (yes, it was horribly hard), and the mountain that they were talking about was only about 7,400 feet. Huge difference.  Ben concurred with his, and we both traded explanations and details about the terrain we just crossed, helpful hints, etc. As Lindsay had left, he was the first person I had seen in a long time that knew what it was like to make this trek with lots of weight. He was the first person I talked to who understood what I was doing.

My first stop of the day was Sheridan Lake, about 28 miles from Eads. I was excited that I might get to see a body of water. The head wind had not let up, so by the time I got to Sheridan lake, it was hot and I was ready for some ice water, or any water at all. Just like the town, the "lake" had dried up. There was nothing there but dilapidated buildings, a large mud pit where the lake was supposed to be, and a convenient store that was closed on Sunday. I went down one of the town streets to investigate a bit more, and the only building in the town that was really well kept, including the grounds, was the church. The parking lot was full with cars.

I found refuge from the sun in the shade created by the convenient store shadow. The flies joined me for a lovely snack, and I was on my way, praying that the wind would go away, and that I might see some people, and excited that in a few miles I would be leaving Colorado to enter our 5th state.

As I was approaching the Kansas/Colorado boarder, the road made a slight deviation from due East and the head wind greeted me full force, and I will admit that I had a tantrum and started shaking my bike (Lindsay had suggested it). It didn't work. The wind didn't go away, and in turn, it made me more exhausted. And then that's when I saw the back of the "Welcome to Colorado" sign (it was the same as the one we had seen when we entered Colorado). Eagerly, I scanned the horizon for a "Welcome to Kansas" sign. There were two metal signs that said something about a Kansas transportation law and that I was crossing into Wichita County, nothing else... but then...

There were two wooden poles 50 feet ahead with a wooden cross bar on the top connecting the two poles. Where the sign should have been, there was nothing to see but the fields behind it, and a long metal piece that was flopping in the wind, that must have once held up the sign... that was not there. I noticed, however, as I got next to it, that someone had dutifully written "Welcome to Kansas" in small lettering, off center, written in Sharpie. I'm sure that sign is on somebody's bedroom wall.

And so my lovely relationship with Kansas began. The winds got stronger as I pedaled into Tribune, Kansas, population of just over 1,000. Tribune was in slightly better shape than the other towns I had passed through, but there was very little there. Two of the restaurants and small bowling alley had clearly been vacant for quite some time. There was gas station, as well as a new restaurant that advertised that everything they used was local. The manager/owner took me around back to lock up my bike, as there was no where to leave it in the front of the building. She said she had always been so curious about bikers and wanted to know where people were going, but was always too busy. She was so sweet.

My waitress was one of the friendliest people I had seen in a while. She was young, maybe 24 or so. She informed me that there was a huge drought that had been going for decades, and it has been the longest drought in 50 years. She said it was from the all of the dams that have been built, and since the 60's when they were first beginning construction, the land started to dry up, and "little by little, it has gotten worse, to a point that nothing really can grow." It made me uneasy to think of the enormous impact that humans have on the land. Once upon a time, these fields were once flourishing, untouched prairies. Now, growth cannot be sustained, and there are few animals and traces of wildlife to be found. Our laziness and negligence leaves a more permanent indication that we were there than most care to realize, from the can thrown out the window (even the trees and shrubs around those houses look deserted, forgotten), to the house built years ago that is now crumbling to the ground, to the old telephone poles that have been left while new ones were built on the other side of the road. If I were the wind, I would be angry, too. The waitress told me that by 2013 they would be letting most of the dams out to let the water take it's natural course back into the land. I hope that really happens.

As I was inhaling my food, the husband of the woman who helped me with my bike, (co-owner) came over and started talking to me, asking me about my trip, where I was going, etc. I had told him that I was expecting that the wind would be behind me. He had a grin on his face as he shook his head, "No, not this time of the year. It only blows North and South." Annnnnnd of course. He laughed at me as I threw my head into my hand, and muttered my disbelief. He said that they never stop, and that the current wind situation was nothing. He told me that on this past New Year's Eve, they were sustained at 100 mph an hour for 1.5 hours. "That is some wind for ya." I asked him what they did when tornadoes came through, and what they did. "We chase them; not like Storm Chasers or anything, but we want to see what they look like... You know where they are because you watch the Fire Trucks and rescue vehicles. If they drive East, then the tornado is in the West, because they want to make sure that the vehicles are not in the town in case the tornado comes through... they go in the opposite direction."

Back at my bike, behind the store, I was getting my gear in order, and the waitress was smoking a cigarette as her friend, who was about the same age, stood and talked to her. The guy, Josh, started telling me that he thought the "Insanity" work out program was hard, but he thought differently after seeing my loaded bike. We shot the breeze. I told him about my tantrum. And then, as I turned back around after fiddling with something on my bike, he was right in front of me with his hand out to shake. "I want to thank you for what you are doing," he said, "I couldn't help but notice the back of your shirt. I want to thank you because I am a cancer survivor." I was speechless. He told me that his 5 year anniversary was this October 5th. He was diagnosed at age 17. The cancer had started in his chest and spread rapidly. He had to get a bone marrow transplant, and the steroids destroyed his bones. The cancer was also found in his CSF. He battled the cancer for two years, and his doctors said that he would not see his 20th birthday. "I just kept telling them that I would see them at my next appointment. I just kept that attitude. And then, one day, I went in for my regular spinal tap, and the cancer was gone." He kept telling me that I was doing a great thing, and he was so thankful for what we were doing, and that I should keep on being a "Rockstar." It was truly meaningful that he shared his inspiring story, and I was totally in awe of his bravery and courage. It is moments like this and people like Josh makes it easier to get back on the bike, that highlights why we started out on this journey, and what we are fighting for. When you think about what he went through, his fight, and the fight that many people are fighting right now, 106 miles in the wind is nothing. He gave me his number and told me he lived in Scott City, where I was going, and if I got there and needed anything, to contact him. He gave me a huge hug, thanked me again, and I was off to face the wind.

I had a wonderful time at the "Entering Central Time Zone" sign with my camera and timer. I was really enjoying myself, actually (and was channeling Lindsay through the entirety of it). And as I was back on my bike, making slow, but sure progress, a car slowed down, pulled over, and Josh got out of the car. He marched right over to me, and as he was sticking out his hand again, he said "I just wanted to remind you that you are freakin' awesome, and to keep doing what you are doing, because it is a great thing." He gave me another hug. He reminded me that if I should need anything let him know, even if I needed to have another tantrum. And just like that, he was off. And I just stood there, my eyes watering, my heart touched.

Josh's words stuck with me, and I seemed to ignore how the sporadic gusts of wind grew more regular and closer together, until the wind became unbearably strong. It was 5 ish, and I was 26 miles away from Scott City, and I was cutting it close as far as daylight goes. I went into a gas station and inhaled a can of chef boyardee (the lady literally just gave me a blank stare when I walked back in the door with an empty can 2 minutes after I left... (I was under pressure, and hungry, what can I say?)) And then I started on my last leg. It was during that 26 miles that I got chased by my first dog. I tried to sprint away from it, but it only gave me a lead for a moment. I was thankfully saved by a tractor trailer that came zooming up behind me. Sorry, dog, not today.

A few more miles into my trek to Scott City, I looked up and at the last second saw a dust tornado coming at me from my right.  I stopped, had time to put only one got down before i felt the dust and small pebbles sting my face, and it then picked me up and the next thing i knew i was on the ground.  There was a dried up weed in my bike tire.  I could tell there would later be a bruise on my hip, but other than that i was just shaken up.  A car had turned around to make sure i was ok.  Really, the only thing i wanted was to look up at Lindsay and say "did that honestly just happen?"  I asked the kind couple if that would happen again, they said probably not, so, instead of riding the tailwind back the few miles to the next town to refuge and safety i got back on my bike and faced the wind again.  I was now, more than ever, determined to get to Scott city and not let the wind get the better of me.  I honestly think Josh's words resonated in me everyone i got frustrated with the wind.  His fight made mine seem much easier to endure, and insignificant.

Miles later, i looked up again just in time to see a skunk crossing the road.  I slowed down, as i didn't have enough time to stop, and the skunk turned around to spray me.  Luckily, the wind was so strong that it his spray was taken by the wind in the opposite direction before it hit me.  I kind of just started cracking up at that point.. It was very much an "are you serious" kind of laugh.

I was exhausted  and tired of putting so much effort into a stroke and having it seemed almost rejected by the wind.  When i looked up next, (i kept my head down to keep my face out of the wind/make myself smaller for less resistance) i saw more feeding farms, with cows crammed in these tiny fences, and i forgot about the wind.  It it's such a sad thing to see and i felt so bad for all of them. I wanted to free them (which would have probably made things wise for both the cows and i) so instead I try to eat chicken as much as possible now out here (although I'm sure that is not much of a  different situation).

It occurred to me, as i was rolling into my destination, 106 miles later, that my frustration about the wind was slightly pointless, because i was wasting energy on something i could not change.  And as i had threatened Lindsay with calling the D.O.T. and complain about their roads, who would i call about the wind? It wouldn't change anything about the current conditions anyway, but i would simply passing on my frustrations, my "problems" for someone to fix. It would be easier and less infuriating if i just accepted the fact that the wind is part nature, that it it's there and there it's nothing i can do about it.  It becomes easier to focus on more important things.

Day 29: parting ways

Naturally, i didn't sleep much the night before (recovery days do that to me sometimes), so being over tired didn't help with the fact that it was sad to say "goodbye." I gotta say, it is not easy crying on a bike. It is actually very exhausting.

The morning was quiet, and it didn't take me long to realize that this was going to be a tedious, flat ride. Thankfully i have music to distract me from the monotony of the flat lands into horizons, and to distract me from the fact that i was now by myself, and this day had finally come.

I continued on Route 96, the same route that had tortured us on our way into Pueblo. On the other side of Pueblo, 96 didn't get much better, that is for sure, as there were still plenty of cracks in the road, and the wind didn't really want to help me along. Because it was "flat" (and i say that lightly; there are a fair share of rolling hills out here), I was holding steady at 17-19 mph. On the bike, I was not that bad I was able to get in a groove and meditate on the repetitive scenery. It was when I stopped to take a break that things became (and become) hard, as I was reminded that Lindsay wasn't there, and i was by myself now, (well, the flies couldn't wait to keep me company, and thought there should be a party), and the trip had suddenly taken on a new and foreign light.

Lindsay told me to download an app called "blip me" which is pretty much like a walkie talkie, but if you are busy when the other person tries to communicate, it saves it until you can listen to it. It is an awesome app, easier and more fun that texting as you get to talk to the other person. This is a godsend, and it is a way to keep the other person in the loop. For example, i was able to tell Lindsay that one of the locals in Ordway, where i thoroughly "enjoyed" beefaroni and a tuna pouch, had told me that i would be a bunch of tarantulas as I headed farther East. She was able to hear the fear and outrage in my voice. There, was one point that i was leaving her a message about something or other and was snacking on Sports Beans for energy, and her response was "ooh wow, thanks, i definitely missed the sound of you chewing." There is a lot of fun to be had with this thing.
Eastern Colorado is barren. There are fields that go on forever. I did see a prairie dog on my way out of Pueblo, which I loved! What curious little creatures, they are, starring, without movement, absorbing its surroundings. I thought it was interesting that it didn't even flinch as a tractor trailer went barrelling by.

Outside of Pueblo was a Small town called Boone. There was a small convenient store, a small park that was being mowed, but there was nothing much going on. There was maybe one store that was shut down of the 3 in the town. What i didn't realize was it would be the most kept up and loved in town that i would see... For miles.

On my map it lists what services each town has, if any, so you can plan accordingly for food and water. The problem was, is that the hardly existed any more. They were barren, deserted, and dusty as the fields that surrounded them. It was sad. Very few people lived in the houses, must if which were falling down. These towns were starving for rejuvenation, and so were the few people I saw. It reminded me of how lucky i was, and really was thankful of where I grew up and the strong sense of community that I was able to be a part of.

I stopped for lunch in Ordway, with a population of 1080, the biggest in a while. I ate outside of a grocery store where i could get an avocado. It was the first time i had to enter a store with my panniers and my bike with no one to watch it. I locked my bike up, obviously, but it was networking that the rest off my stuff could easily be taken off my bike. Everybody was so friendly. They were shocked that i was coming from San Fran, and even more shocked that i was alone. The interaction with these people was very refreshing. Ordway was honestly in no better shape than it's neighboring towns as far as dusty store fronts go; there were just more of them and blended in a bit better.

The fields go on forever and there is nothing growing in them, not even grass, and then it looks as though the Earth just drops off as the land hits the horizon.  There was one point when I stopped to get water and looked around. There were no birds, no cows, no horses... Nothing but brown dirt, baking in the sun. I'm pretty sure i had given the flies that surrounded me a ride from miles back. There were no cars. The wind made three dried thistle weed crackle together. The only thing that was full of life was me. It was a sobering reality, and a pretty incredible one at that when i took a moment to really feel what that felt like.

I battled with the heat for most of the day. The roads were absurd and frustrating with the surface, but i was making good time. I pretty much absorbed my surroundings, and filled the emptiness with my thoughts. I had no idea what the next town would bring, if there was a place to get ice water. I had no way of knowing, and there was nothing i could do about it, so instead of worrying about it, i just concentrated on what was happening then... What the wind was doing, what the birds or cows were doing (if there were any), what i was doing. It was wonderful.

When my farther was sick, it felt as though all of the control i had and stability in my life slipped away as I watched my best friend slowly deteriorate. It was frightening, and scary, and I found myself to be a bit lost. It has been a struggle since then to try to maintain balance and get my control back, (of my life, that is, i don't see myself to be a controlling person with others). I have learned throughout this journey that on a day to day basis, the only thing that i have control over is how much food i have, how much water i have, my attitude, and what i am doing at that single moment. Everything else is a mystery, the weather, the wind direction and strength, what services are provided in the towns, traffic, road conditions, hills, where i will be staying, the route i am taking, what other people are doing around me... And most of those are subject to change. Plans i make for the day usually don't follow through.  So, i have thrown my hands up, raised the white flag, and given up on worrying about these things that are outside of my control, for the first time in my life. It is liberating. I am not stuck in the future, in the game of "what ifs" and "back up plans," because they usually don't work either on this trip and just provokes unnecessary anxiety. I have found myself living in the present moment. I am content, and I love the freedom, i love paying attention to "what is" instead of what "will" or "could be."

I think that not "living in the moment" is a product of our culture, the anxiety of what is to come is a product of such a fast paced society.

Steve Foster was most definitely a man who lived for every moment, and I think that is what drove his passion for photography. He was always taking pictures. Cindy, his wife, told me after he passed away that he had climbed a mountain one day that he frequented and he ran into a friend of Cindy's at the summit, who told Cindy this story. Apparently, they were chatting and Steve was mid-sentence when he said "i have to take a picture of this" (by this he meant the mountains. She looked and asked him why. His response was "because this moment will never happen again." While those words have influenced me to stop more often than not and take a picture, and to notice how things change over moments as the sun is setting or rising, they have come to take on a deeper meaning as i have continued on this great adventure. Take those moments for all that they are worth while they are happening, and it seems the world will slow down, and you notice what is going on around you.

At one point I passed a farm that had small fenced in areas, back to back with far too many cows in each. I didn't notice this at first and at first glance i only really saw the cows, and cracked up thinking about what Lindsay would say about the smell, and thought back to get earlier comment about the farm threw other day.  Then it sunk in and I realized that these tiny pastures went on forever, and there were hundreds of cows in them, grazing on nothing. It was completely gross and inhumane and disturbing. I have heard about these "feeding farms," and never wanted to see one... They are everywhere..more on that later.

I rolled into Eads at around 530, after 112 miles. There was a fair in town, as well as a school reunion, and at first i was told that there was no vacancy at the only hotel in town, and there was nothing for miles. I was then told that there was one room available, and i thought he had said $150, upstairs. Starving, i went to go too a cafe to eat and see if i could stay at the police station (camping is out of the question per my mother, and i respect and understand her request) I called the hotel back and leaned that the room was for $50... Whoops... The guy lashed at me when I told him what i thought he said, and he was said " i don't have a single room in this place that is worth close to that, even on the busiest weekend of the year." He let me fill up my water bottles with his water and his sons helped me carry my bike up the stairs, and asked me if i was crazy, because of how heavy it was. I told them yes, a little. They were so nice. Everybody I interacted with was.

It had been a long day, and an emotional I've at that. It was nice to know that it was over, and i got through it. The first day is always the toughest.