Friday we left Eads for another short, quick ride through the high plains with little to see and stop by, the exception being tiny Arlington, which comprised of two occupied houses, a Post Office in a barn, and a traveler's outhouse which is frequented by a lot of cyclists going along the TransAm. route. It was a nice outhouse, complete with lights, flowers, reading material, and a guest book that went back a few years. I felt I was adding to history by signing my name and our team info. The lady who lives across the road came out and talked to us, apparently she had resided in that house for the greater part of her life and had helped build the outhouse. I pointed out amazedly a tumbleweed blowing across the road and she showed us an entire yard full of them, as well as a cactus or two. I had anticipated seeing both of those during this leg of the journey and I was overjoyed to finally see the two plants that, in my mind, define the western part of this country. We up and left after my teammates got yelled at for playing a rousing game of "throw the stick at the stick." I wasted no time going the last 20 miles having been told by the lady that the mountains were "just around the bend." I didn't see anything and only strained myself speeding and squinting trying to see something far beyond the horizon. Sugar City was once the home of the National Sugar Company and once a lively town that in its heyday had brothels across the street and next door to the church we stayed at. The factory burned down 30 or more years ago, leaving behind a stone fence and gate and unfortunately lacks the excitement and immorality of its former self. It's now a quiet little burg with an air-conditioned church that I quickly took a nap in. I woke up to see Rory, the Irishman from Wednesday, who joined us for our spaghetti dinner which was provided by some parishoners and was also much appreciated. I drank too much iced tea and had trouble falling asleep that night. Before that, one of the ladies invited us to use her showers and while waiting I saw broadcast television for the first time since standing outside of the Today Show more than a month ago. Bob Saget is now a game show host and the quality of television had not improved much.
Saturday I woke up feeling less than rested, but enjoyed a breakfast of biscuits and gravy that again one of the parishoners had provided. It was the most satisfying, hearty, and filling breakfasts I'll have all trip. Rory and some other cyclists he stayed with the next town over joined us for breakfast and we ended up seeing them in Pueblo. This would be the last time we would see Rory and we wished him the best on his next set of adventuring. The ride was quick and the terrain changed from flat to speckled hills rising out of the Arkansas River valley. As we got into Pueblo I first had a glimpse of the mountains, having not noticed the low and only slightly darker-than-the-sky-around-them rises pop out of the distance until turning my head to the south and west. And as they grew, I remembered back to my childhood when I would imagine that the clouds in the distance somewhat resembled mountains. Within the hours, I knew I would see them up close. Someone flatted behind us, so Sehee, Sandy, and I stopped roadside to wait for them. I tried to take a picture of a praire dog but they were both too scared and quick to come out of their mounds. I threw rocks down their holes and didn't feel bad about it; according to the lady in Arlington, they destroy the soil which tears up the thin grass which is the literal basis of the ecosystem. I got into Pueblo, got lost, regained my bearngs, waited for the van, and rather than assuage my hunger, replaced my rear tire which I discovered in the morning had warped near the valve. By the afternoon it had not only warped but a tear was propagating through the tread; the inner threads were coming out. I had a bone to pick with the Schwalbe corporation for making a tire that lasted me only 700 miles, so I bought a more durable Continental Gatorskin which, to stay in budget, means I can't eat for the next five days. That done, I biked through the town's historic downtown district to get to the library and was impressed so much that I figured we should make the town a rest stop. At the library I finally ate and blogged for two hours and only made it up through Eads, I was that far behind blogging. It's the second Sunday after Pueblo and I'm still not finished. Sheesh.
I carried my full messenger bag back from the library the 20 or so blocks to the episcopal church we stayed at. Pueblo being in a river valley, the ride was uphill and good practice for the days ahead. Also it made me miss my fixed gear even more. Some of the guys on the team bought a guitar and I thought the whole situation was non-sensical given that we had just gotten rid of stuff and still had a packed van, but I kept my mouth shut. As a compromise, the ride leaders made them give up stuff to send home. Zach and Alicia were kind enough to make us a dinner of make-your-own burritos which were delicious and the least they could do for letting us tag along. There were supposed to be fireworks in the evening and I wanted to go, but ended up falling asleep post-dinner and cursed myself for not staying awake. I figure there would be more fireworks to come.
Sunday I didn't have to unpack breakfast with Sandy as per my day's assigned chore, one of the parishoners provided us with juice and fresh fruit and I reveled in having cheerios with whipped cream. Our ride out of Pueblo was complicated by some street closures due to a criterium that was taking place in downtown Pueblo. A few of us felt that Pueblo being a big town and hosting a bike race the same weekend we arrive should be a rest day, but we would get one tommorrow. The ride took us up and out though the city zoo and the sleeping stone and terra-cotta roofed neighborhoods to the west, further towards the majesty of those ever-increasing rises. It started out innocently enough with a lot of rolling terrain and deep washes where once a mighty flow cut through the rock but only now is reduced to a trickle. The shrubs and cattle increased in proportion to the decline of humans, save for the recreational traffic and tiny villages that if you blink, you miss them. I had taken my time and been cautious enough not to overexert myself but managed to do so over the highest, steepest rise yet that would nearly convince me of the difficulty of the day. I stopped too suddenly halfway up and nearly blacked out and probably did momentarily. I walked to the top or at least where it leveled out enough so I could build the momentum to clip in to my pedals without falling over. Jon was riding with me and was worried about my state, and I just continued in silence, telling him I had to save my breath. And then I was surrounded on four sides by steep walls of douglas fir and cedar and whatever other evergreens grow on the side of mountains around 7000 feet. I was plunging right into altitude and was feeling the effects of a misguided breakfast and struggled up something that farther away looked so benign and inviting but up close tells you to slow down a lot. Relief came half-way up the day's peak altitude and I sat down, drunk on mountain air, lightheaded, and containing an appetite just enough to enjoy a peanut butter snack, but not a sandwich. I consumed a lot of water and knew I had to and as such was willing, which was a good sign that I hadn't been completely consumed. And Drew and Zach scrambled up a rock face as I left to find a rhythm that would find me alive at the top of the climb, and it worked. It became manageable, I enjoyed the sights and crested the top of 9200 feet and had a "WOW! Gee Whiz!" kinda moment as the snow-capped sight of the Sangre Christo Range unfolded in front of me and then the road dropped dramatically and winded down at a steady pace, and around a bend, a large mound to the right and an unfolding collection of buildings coming closer to the front. And in those moments, I felt the most elated out of any of the days in that oxygen-starved sense of the feeling. The downhill lead me through the tourist-supported facade of a closed-down silver mine town and brought me right into another sunday-afternoon-in-the-mountains town where we would be staying the next two nights. I stopped at a cafe with Mark, Allison, and Mike and treated myself to a BBQ pork sandwich and milkshake, I needed something filling, not necessarily economical. I settled into the Westcliffe Baptist church outside of town and read Keith's Discover magazines to pass the time. We're on our own for dinners, so I purused the local supermarket for the most nutrionally dense foods for under five dollars and my search came up with a loaf of 99 cent wheat bread, single-serving deli meat and a half-gallon of chocolate milk. Despite my earlier misadventure with half-gallons of milk, I both suffered and enjoyed 64 oz. of the stuff. And then the sun-set time of night rolled around and I wandered into the park with its expansive view of the mountains to the west stretching north and south and to the east, the distance range I saw from up close doing the same. And there I was, in the saddle of a wide, green valley, on a park swing still clutching my jug of milk while Alex read J.D. Salinger out loud. And then the combination of darkness and a day of climbing wrestled with my stomach, itself fighting my taste for milk.
Monday I woke up under a table and decided to go running for the first time in a while. I had promised myself I would run in the mountains, at altitude, just for the experience. I got yelled at for not closing the door quietly and went into the morning, down a dirt road by the park with the sun peaking up in the east, illuminating the mountains in a way that made sense and kept me chugging along. It wasn't a long run and it wasn't a flat run and all the memories of running for years came back to me and all those long ascents up hills that pale in comparision to the landscape I was now looking at and thinking it would be cool to climb. I stopped too quickly and found myself on the ground, looking skyward. I stood up, hunched over and seeing black. I walked back to church and after eating my remaining slices of bread, fell asleep for a few hours. It was an overall satisfying experience. At lunch, wandering the supermarket aisles, mouth agape at all the food I take for granted, I bought enough to make turkey and cheese sandwiches for my afternoon and evening meal. It was back in Kansas when I determined what my budget was that I began recording personal food purchases and their caloric merit, and my meal was consumed by this process. For dinner I would end up buying a gallon of kiwi-strawberry punch, which at 99 cents, had 1760 calories of sugary goodness. Jon told me that was sick in his half-serious way, but I would get approximately 1600% of my daily values of vitamin C, whatever that means. Before our evening team meeting, outside, with a dazzling sunset and series of foreboding cloud formations to distract us and make me forget what the meeting was about, we took liberties to the church library and watched Iron Will, the Disney pic about a boy's struggle against the odds and a dog-sled race, the stuff that helps inspire us on our journey. I hadn't seen that film since fifth grade. That's pretty much how my rest day was spent.
Tuesday morning we left our rest stop for a long stretch of mountain travel, which fortunately was downhill for the first few moments. I vowed to finish my gallon of juice by breakfast, but would end up dangling it off of my handlebars for the first few miles of the day. I hit a pothole at a good pace and it knocked one of my water bottles filled with precious amounts of Gatorade, which spilled onto the road. I would later suffer a lot of bottle malfunctions where the cap would fly off and the liquid inside spill out. I avoided bombing down a particularly steep stretch of road and a rock or something flew into my jersey. At the gas station at the bottom of the grade I felt a biting, itching sensation and opened up my top to unleash a bee, which had stung me six times on the shoulder. Luckily the bites did not swell up like the time a bee flew into my face in high school and caused my left cheek to swell up. We had insect sting relief and a headset wrench to loosen my stiff steerer. And off I went, up U.S. 50, up along the rapids of the Arkansas river, surrounded by high canyon walls and faces of cut-away rock. And somehow, they managed to put a rail line on the other side of the river. The road made some impressive bends on its gradual uphill travesal, the kind that, again, would remind you of car commercials. Before a water stop I was tempted to ride a child's bicycle sitting at the side of the road with a "free" sign in front of it, but it had no pedals or a seat. A lot of folks have been finding souvenirs at the side of the road, and yet I have managed to not pick up a thing up to this point. We spent a few hours at our lunch stop in Salida for various reasons. It's a neat little town, like all the mountain towns we've been in, with its boutiques and historic downtown districts. For me, it was the library, the computers, the stacks of books and magazines about cycling which I read long after the van left. I made my way to the town park, which is situated right in front of the Arkansas and a perfect place for Kayakers to float on top of the cataracts in the river or for a tired cyclist to take a dip. Tufts of white were blowing from the cottowoods along the bank and some of my teammates went to climb the hill embalzoned with a gigantic "S." I went to the bike store with Sehee to look at the bicycle museum there, and all of a sudden a fascination with mountain biking came over me because this part of the world is the place to do it. I then went back to the park to regroup and get people to join me to our destination five miles away, but instead we met a cyclist who graduated from Bowling Green, which we had passed by a month ago, with his father and brother, who it seems has had everything bad happen to him - dehydration, sunburn, black outs, etc, all things to look forward to in the desert. I was hungry and left to yet another mountain town, except this next one was smaller and luckily finding the church was not too difficult. I got to the Christian church of Poncha Springs and sat down to a viewing of Castaway, where Tom Hanks loses 50 pounds and learns to survive in the wilderness. I'd like to think that I haven't lost that much weight but have learned much about survival in that reduced-means sort of way. The young pastor and wife made us hamburgers and they must have been marinated in something, they were tasty. I had about five. They also invited us to their house next door to take showers for the first time since the truck stop in Eads. And through their living room window, casting light onto a stuffed wolf, another stunning mountain sunset putting to end the day and casting light on the next stage of the Rockies.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
High Adventure on the High Plains
Last Wednesday (computer access has been just that sparse, that or I missed my oppurtunity to blog on Saturday, but I'll get into that) we finished up our rest day in Girard, KS by taking a dip in the local pool and crashing on a picnic dinner hosted by the Bible church. They were more than happy to feed us and kept the grill fired to satisfy our taste for hotdogs. We mingled with the locals, tossing the pigskin and playing volleyball as the sun went down. We unfortunately missed the en masse tossing of water balloons, but we had already spent our time in the water. The walk back from the park gave us time to appreciate the expansive, painted Kansas sky at dusk and a preview of what it had to reveal to us. Back at the church, we watched Adaptation and I finally appreciate it having seen it for the second time. The movie screening set me back a few hours so I fell asleep on a pew without getting much done.
Thursday we got out of Girard right quick, and by then my warm-up had consisted of 20 minutes of fast spinning to get my legs going and then keeping on from there. It was easy to hit 20 mph, even on the slight uphills, it wasn't draining to keep up momentum. Some people managed to leave gear back at the church, but the group and the van pressed on. Having learned that, it was a good reminder to get things packed, ready, and accounted for before saddling up. I ended up in front with Dan and Brandt and a route detour dumped us onto a busier highway than expected, so I charged ahead for safety's sake. The inclines got longer, but not much steeper, and it became a draining up-and-down affair had it not been for an intermediate stop in Chanute, KS. I fueled up on sugary drinks expecting to have to go immediately after, but I stuck with the van, and we ended up waiting for Nick and Mike who had left stuff at the church and for a reporter who stepped out of the newspaper bureau we had parked in front of. We had a long, friendly chat and he pictures. He also mentioned having family members affected by cancer and a nationally recognized, oversized, mobile colon meant to raise awareness for colon cancer. I knew immediately I would have to check out the Colossal Colon once I got internet. We high-tailed it out of there and the break I was in ended up doing an echelon, which is a quick double paceline in which riders in a faster line fall off into a slower line as soon as their back wheel is in front of the next, slower person's back wheel. It was a rush, so to speak, and got us to lunch only so much quicker than the following group. I had sliced meat for the first time in a while. Sehee got fascinated by an oil derrick, or whatever you call the things that tilt up and down to get oil out of the ground. I gave some passing cyclists a bike salute by lifting Drew's bike above my head and giving a lot of encouragement. As I could tell, they were carrying a lot of stuff on really nice Bianchi touring rigs. As the smaller group I was in continued on, we ended up lost on some gravel roads which is never a plus and after some instructions from a UPS driver, ended up in the right direction. We went through some of the more "forgotten" parts of Kansas, extremely rural, wooded and overall secluded country lanes. And the landscape had still not flattened out like I expected it would. We ended up passing the cyclists I saw at lunch. From what I gathered, they were heading out to Page, Arizona, so they had a ways to go and many a mountain to climb up. Our destination was a state park outside Toronto, KS, but Dan, Drew, Sehee, Brandt and I went to town to fuel up and see the sights, which consisted of a short, wide stretch of Main Street, a smallish grocery, and a charming little cafe run by a diminutive lady. Brandt and Drew satisfied their tea fixes and seeing Dan's chocolate milkshake get made seduced me into getting one of my own. It was a sight to see, four smelly, tanned cyclists sitting at a lace-covered table sipping out of tea cups. We stayed long enough to avoid having to set up camp. We took our time getting to the campsite, and cresting the hill past the unguarded welcome booth, the park below opened up, woods and reservoir and beaches in all. I set my sights on the water and waded in after a necessary change of clothes. The water was muddy and warm, and I only went knee deep before having a change of heart and a badly needed warm shower. Dinner was cooked over a fire pit. We really were "roughing it" for the first time except for the semi-indoor bathroom facilities. Dinner consisted of the now-usual beans and corn meal mush and a treat of boiled brocolli and melted cheese which I had the pleasure of watching simmer over the fire. In between there, the leaders called a team meeting to more or less discuss protocol and ended up in discussions of meta-democracy and the suggestion that we should vote to see if we should vote on things. At that point, they gently reminded us that they would take suggestions and polls into consideration but the ultimate decision would rest with them. That said, I think the discussion should end there as there is not much to be discussed about how things should be run. Gripes now aside, I sauntered down a bank of fallen tree logs and crushed rock to the shore and watched the sunset. As it dipped below the trees, I felt happy and uncomplicated for a few moments and for the first time in 24 hours. I also began to smell like rotted oak from the driftwood I was sitting on. I tried to skip rocks, but unlike the Lake Erie shore, there are no smoothly polished pebbles from thousands of years of the lake lapping at the foot of the land. In the scheme of things, the Army Corps of Engineers had only dammed this lake yesterday and the crushed brick at the shoreline was still just crushed brick. So, in my final attempt to throw a stone across the water, it made a satisfying "ker-plop" and just sunk straight into the water. I walked away not so disappointed. Rather than packing, I inisted on lifeguarding for Alex, who had designs to swim in the lake after dark. There was enough light from the glimmer of the sunset and the moon above, but it was not enough to justify going in safely. Instead she pointed out all the stars which for reasons for optical correction or perception, I just couldn't see. I came to the conclusion that I have bad eyesight, despite the years of eyeglasses and visits to the optometrist. I then fell asleep on Alex's sleeping bag perched on the edge of the slope going into the lake and too tired to get up and lay on my own sleeping bag, fell asleep. I ended up going to the tent I put my things in after scaring Alex into thinking some stranger had fallen asleep atop her things, but it was only me, too exhausted to get up.
Friday we de-tented and got out with a quick start. I was with the lead group for the first 20 miles before our water stop. I filled up and didn't stop until Rosalia, another 20 away. There was no van, there was nothing in town except a closed convenience store with a pop machine and Dan, Mark, and Brandt waiting in front. I popped in three quarters and tried my darndest to get a can, but my first few choices were sold out, in true sparse, rural fashion. I settled on a Sierra Mist and its paltry 150 calories per can and no caffeine. By this time I had run out of on-the-road snacks and normally wouldn't drink anything carbonated, but during this trip alone I've already drank more soda than I have in the past five or so years. It also looked like rain, but it didn't end up that way thankfully. I left my worries in Rosalia and pressed on. The group I was in decided to take advantage of a great tailwind and all of a sudden cranked up to 25 miles per hour, leaving me behind and trying to catch them at a slightly slower pace. By this time, we were also traversing what is known as the "Flint Hills" region of Kansas, which by the standard with which we compare terrain, Pennsylvania, is still pretty flat. I caught them and we arrived in Cassoday, KS, which to our delight had a lunch buffet, and a good one with that. I loaded up on sauerkraut and breaded pork chops among other delights. After an hour of so of gorging, we settled into the city park we would be staying at and after a long nap on the grass and the myriad of biting insects, I took a longer nap in the park gazeebo. Having been thoroughly napped and lost my hunger satisfaction, I tried sitting on the park swings to alleviate my boredom. We lounged around without a clue in the world where the van was. It turned out that the leaders had decided to stop in the town by the first water stop to get things done at the library, buy things in the shop, maybe have a tan by the swimming pool, leaving us oblivious and unsupported for about five hours. All was well when I was able to get out my sleeping pad and laid myself down on inflated surface. For dinner, Nick broke out the camp stove and yeah, we were really roughing it for the first time, no quotes about it. There were not adequate bathroom facilities but a smelly, fly-infested outhouse. The trees were thick and plentiful instead. We ate pasta and passed around the last bits of the noodles and ate one at a time in a contest to see who would eat the last noodle. Instead of deciding a winner, the ride leaders apologized for not informing the group before departing during yet another team meeting. It was worth the wait. We met some college-aged cyclists who were heading east and warned them about Pennsylvania and the Ozarks. They were travelling relatively light and long - they said they would be in Virginia in 11 days, no small feat given it had taken us 31 at that point to get from NYC. I made the decision to camp out in the park Gazeebo with Andrew, Alex, Keith, and Drew, thinking that I would wake up easier with the sunrise. I left my bags inside a tent for good measure. Feeling safe, I fell asleep in the dark to the chattering of my non-tent mates.
At three in the morning Saturday there was some commotion as my non-tent mates all started packing up. There was a foreboding look in the sky and the wind had picked up. I thusly knew I needed to pack. It was a walk of the waking dead back to the tent I had put my things in, and rather blind except for someone's headlamp. I made it to the tent and threw my sleeping things inside just as the drops began to fall and quickly got in, knowing others would follow behind. We had not set up enough tents for everyone, so in come Sehee and Alex with her soaking wet sleeping bag. The drops increased and I curled up in my bag. I woke up tired. Minutes later I would be tired, wet, and indignant having to weather the outside. It was cool, moist and windy and going along the ever-flattening landscape, the sky had that familiar stretch of grey directly above and far beyond, stretching across my view, and somewhere to the south, the black streaks that only mean rain. We would be dry and ended up going through Newton, KS as the sky broke open to reveal another medium-sized Kansas town complete with it's wide boulevards, churches, car-wash fundraisers, charming retailers and those familiar national brands. I was with Mark, Mike, and Allison and we resisted the urge to stop at T-Bell. We sped along to the lunch-stop town and they went ahead and ate inside a diner, and I had my subsidized lunch of peanut butter and jelly and bananas oustide. I buckled down at the sight of cheap cones of ice cream and had strawberry. I also finished their unwanted leftovers. We left into the hot afternoon and I would soon run out of water having expected running through a town with services, but they weren't close enough along the route to bother visiting. I took a quick nap in the shade before seeing everyone congregated together. So we would then enter town in procession. And so we entered Hutchinson, lured by its attractive salt mine and cosmosphere with Omnimax theatre and strips of retailers that could only mean a large town. Our mission was to stop in at the library where Anish would be advertising for the American Cancer Society and trying to collect stories from those affected by cancer. I was a little skeptical about that last part and trying to approach strangers and stick a camera and a recorder in their face rather than through some congregation like we had been doing. I went into the library and instead used the computers. The wait was long and I was given a pager that vibrated when my time was on, so I left after checking my e-mail. I should have blogged then instead of letting the days accumulate like this, it's just that tedious of a process. In the wait to leave for our destination I read yet another book about Lance Armstrong and his cycling and non-cycling achievements, like beating the cancer that had metastacized to his brain and lungs. The church we stayed at was just down the street, so we settled in quickly before hearing reports of a dinner pizza buffet which most people agreed on as appropriate. Everyone headed out, some via bike, some stuffed into the van, but all enjoyed their pizza buffet. I gorged and had four plates and numerous glasses of sweet tea, knowing full well that I would have a long day ahead, despite having miscalculated the route distance when drawing up the route for the group to copy. Instead of packing I watched the Big Lebowski which Mark had rented for others to appreciate. I promptly fell asleep using the Sprint water bottle a representitive thereof had given to me as a pillow. It was rather uncomfortable as a pillow.
Sunday we headed out of Hutchinson and stopped at an exotic animal farm and bed-and-breakfast along the roads to look, fascinated, at their ostriches, which are rather large and dumb animals that will try to eat the food off of your hand even if you have none. It's definately somewhere to stop by the next time I'm in Hutchinson, along with the salt mine and the Cosmosphere. We stopped next in the middle of nowhere, nothing but wheat, fallow stretches, and tiny bullfrogs jumping across the road. The route would be changed due to a road closure and instead of a long stretch of nothing, we would be on a long stretch of something and thusly have more services availiable to us. We took it upon ourselves to stop in a gas station to fuel up and sit around for about an hour. It took a while to get out, leaving us the last to arrive at our lunch stop in Great Bend. I had a few sandwiches and napped. It was a tiring affair to get up and go the last 32 miles with Brandt and Andrew, but it all flattened out in a familiar Kansan style. Nothing was open at our destination and I had a craving for milk. The town was smaller than expected despite the map's indication of full services. Our arrival increased the population by 10% to say the least. I napped. A lot. I ate the familiar beans and corn meal mush and laid down again. I was undernourished and not doing much about it because there was not much to be done. I still managed to get up and pack and got frustrated at the bugs and the general lack of skin unbitten or clean despite the earlier hose shower.
Monday would be better - or worse. A shorter jaunt into the next town that began with a slow procession that I dropped quickly and sped off to meet the next town. And finally the high plains of Kansas with its long stretches of nothing. To put it in Truman Capote's words, "The land is flat, and the views are awesomely extensive; horses, herds of cattle, a white cluster of grain elevators rising as gracefully as Greek temples are visible long before a traveler reaches them." At the penultimate stop 60 or so miles in, I finally had my milk, a half-gallon of whole, vitamin D, bovine growth-hormone induced milk. I drank it over the span of half an hour or so as the others filtered in to do the same, but with more sensible ingredients. I thought it would be a good idea, but it wasn't. To say the least, I suffered a lot of gastrointestinal distress and had to leave the group to go ahead. There was a lot of farm equipment on the road being that it is harvest time, and wheat trucks carry behind them their oversized green John Deere combine harvesters that either honk at you, go around you, or given no choice, will cause you to temporarily become an off-road cyclist. And worse yet, I was on an empty stomach. I made it into Scott City to our destination church, the Holy Cross Lutheran, to be greeted by pastor Warren, who was good natured and humorous. Like the pastor in Girard, he suggested sleeping on a pew, and in the evening, turned on the lighted cross that stood behind the lectern, giving the sanctuary a glow that would either remind me of vegas or the Arcade Fire's Neon Bible motif, but I'm only familiar with the latter. I ended up sleeping in an extra pew in the basement. I still had stomach distress for the next series of hours, but made it to the pool with Keith and Dan where we played H-O-R-S-E with a local kid and met a cyclist named Ken who was biking the TransAm. trail and had started from Astoria, OR. I was impressed by his rig, which was a nice Surly Long Haul Trucker. I've actually been taking photographs of all the loaded rigs I've seen along the way. This is high season for touring, and the number I've encountered has increased noticably. When we got back the pastor had fired up the grill and I would end up eating numerous cheeseburgers despite my stomach. We also encountered another cyclist who sort of wandered into the church and introduced himself as Xiao Yu (sp?). He was following along the same route as the fellow we met in the pool, had even ridden with him for a stretch and would end up leaving in the morning with him too. He's a sophomore at U. Mich. and was by himself, which I was impressed by, and was carrying a mere 70 pounds versus the 110 that Ken had said he trudged up the mountains. That made my supported efforts feel weak, but it's inspired me to do something similar for sure. After dinner we headed to the county hospital where we met a terminal cancer patient, who after her third bout with intestinal cancer and third round of treatment had accepted the fact that it would take her life. It was an emotional moment hearing her story and even more so that she was in good spirits. Mark promised to send her a postcard from the Grand Canyon which she said she had never seen before. I left the hospital with a renewed sense of purpose in what I'm doing this summer. My stomach didn't hurt nearly as bad either. The pastor invited Xiao Yu to stay the night and we were happy to have company. I rather envied the fact he presented, that at Michigan, engineering students don't have to choose a major until sophomore year. We also welcomed back Zach Herrmann who had ridden shotgun our first weekend in May to film his documentary about us. He brought along his girlfriend Alicia who is also his legal-issues advisor, boom mic operator, driver, among other things. The group has become one big, dynamic, constantly-changing family.
Tuesday I woke up to the smell of bacon and sausage links. The pastor had made us pancakes and other delicious breakfast meats for our devourment, it was wonderful and generous and the best hot breakfast I've tasted in what felt like years. We departed into more of the same stretch of familiar plains with decreasing patches of green and more of the sun-burnt yellow that you would associate with western Kansas. At 11 o'clock Central we crossed into 10 o'clock Mountain time at the last county border we would cross in Kansas. I proceeded to do the time zone dance and realize that this system of time is even more arbitrary than state borders which also "just kinda happen." However, we gained back an hour, which shortened our day's trek in a technical sense. So we entered tiny Tribune, in honor of Horace Greeley's eponymous newpaper. Apparently it was Greeley who had coined the phrase "Go West young man! and grow up with the country." This part of Kansas must have loved him for the fact that he lured many into some of the loneliest parts of this country. The first attraction was the town gas station where I met the umpteenth retirement-age cyclist coming from Astoria, and later, two younger folks who biked over Monarch Pass, where we will be heading in days. From there, the county library where I managed to check e-mail, take a nap, and compile grocery numbers for people to call rather than make actual calls due to Nextel having the worst rural coverage out of any cell carriers. And in contrast to their road-level hate of abortion is their love of community swimming pools, a paradise for the sun-drenched cyclist. The showers were freezing but manageable and free. An Australian family was there, Mum and teenaged son on their own bikes and dad and younger son on a tandem. Doing something like this must take a lot of patience, but as they exhibited, it's possible. We ended up in the Presbyterian church in town which despite not having a DVD player, had a ping-pong table on a stage in front of yet another lighted cross, which together made for hours of active enjoyment. I took a walk to the local grocery store with Keith and Drew who were doing research on the cheapest, most nutrtional foods. Since we are on a limited budget, it's up to us to come up with dinner-time meals that are cheap and nutrtional. That or we can feed ourselves or make up for whatever goes over budget. I suggested lentils and rice once and should probably volunteer to cook dinner. As I discoverd, the most cost-effective on-the-bike snack food are store-brand toaster pastries at about 800 calories per dollar, so I bought two boxes and some Gatorade powder which is eminently cheaper than the bottled stuff. I no longer have to starve on the bike or have odd cravings for milk and then suffer the consequences. I figure I can do this every week and stay in budget. Brandt cooked dinner and made brown rice and brocolli soup mush with chicken which was filling, and with a little pepper and salt, surprisingly tasty. Before falling to sleep, I picked up my copy of On The Road for the first time in a while and just read, which was relaxing, equally so as Drew playing a long, forceful piece on the sanctuary piano before playing "Hotel California."
Wednesday we left Kansas, and only a few miles in did the landscape gain that semi-arid look when it changed from wheat and grass to low-lying shrub. Other than that, it still looked like Kansas, but that's the high plains for you. In a town called Sheridan Lake, named for the pond that it sits next to, they finally built a gas station. The gasoline pumps aren't there and the convenience-store goods are in the auto parts store next door, mayonaise and paper towels sitting nicely next to the motor oil, but they finally have a gas station. This is the meaning of desolate. The county it sits in and the county to the west, however, have established the Prairie Horizon Trail corridor along this section of the Trans Am. trail to encourage towns to support passing cyclists, which with the "share the road" signs, I thought was pretty neat. I ended up racing Keith and Drew into Eads and ultimately won. I treated myself to a sensible amount of chocolate milk before heading over to our home for the next two nights, the Kiowa County Fairgrounds building, a bright, sterile warehouse of a building with that smooth beige coating over concrete floor. It had a nice kitchen where we prepared our subsidized peanut butter and jelly. Outside, Zach, Alicia, and Alex were talking to a cyclist others in the group had seen before and we would see again. Rory O'Callahan had to be no more than 35 years old, had come from Ireland, became an Australian citizen, visited 38 countries, biked across the Sahara and some Arctic waste, was a soldier, fought mixed martial arts, had some money saved away for motorsporting, wanted to get into base jumping, got divorced, and was on his way to Oregon, trying to figure out where his new homeland would be within limits of his U.S. visa. And I just sat fascinated at all of his adventures. Yet as much as I want to live a life pursuit, I have to wonder how all of this is financed. In the scheme of things, I probably won't get an adventure until I'm retired. And yet, for folks like this, this is how they make their living. I went to the library knowing I'd have to come back when I could stay for longer than half an hour. Some local churches hosted a potuck dinner at the fairgrounds and we mingled and ate. I spoke to one of the pastors who had survived multiple bypasses as well as a lady who had lived with polio and spoke enthusiastically about all the attractions in town. And then we all stood up and introduced ourselves, team, cameraman, camerman's girlfriend, Rory, and all. The act of sharing a meal and sharing our stories was the least we could do to express our gratitude towards the town. After dinner the older folk went to the pub with Rory, leaving me and others to sort through our things to see what we could leave behind to save our poor van the weight through the mountains. So I don't forget, here's a list of what I left and if I hit myself later, the rationale behind that particular decision:
So I had all my stuff in the world, laid out in a geometric grid, and saw that it wasn't all that much. I sat in a metal chair outside the building watching the lightning in the distance. It didn't come anywhere near us during the night. Except for that one night in Cassoday, the plains had not and would not drop a single drop on our heads.
Thursday was our rest day, and it started with Mark making unlimited chocolate chip pancakes for the price of one dollar which I paid for in leftover change and numerous pennies. I ate more than my share of bacon too, but they made a lot of bacon. Drew, Keith, and I went to the local art gallery across the highway from the fairgrounds and Eads, as it turns out, has a vibrant artists' collective called "the Artists of the Plains." And, as you would imagine, their subject matter revolves around the landscape. One such subject is the Sand Creek Massacre, an event in pioneer history that the U.S. finally lived up to after 143 years. Outside of Eads, the National Park Service erected a monument to the massacre in which a calvary general basically attacked, killed, and mutilated a large number of natives. The general was appropriately disgraced, but the event went unmemorialized until last April, so a lot of the newer works of art depict the Sand Creek and the dedication of the memorial. I had decided it was time to get a hair-cut, so I went at myself with a pair of clippers and cut it down to a 2. I left a stripe of hair down the middle of my head at its original length just to try something different. I was told it looked "nice." It will be very nice to have shorter hair when it gets hotter out. After that debacle I went to the grocery to feed myself and the library to blog. I think I overstayed my visit there, having been told a few times that I would be bumped near the tail end of my three-hour visit despite the fact that no one else besides my teammates were there, also blogging or checking e-mail. It soured my mood, but I was also eating at the computer station, so it wasn't completely unwarranted. So I only got up to halfway through Scott City and had to wait until Pueblo to finish my Thursday blogging and it's Saturday and unlike Eads, these have software time limits. For dinner I ate a lot macaroni and cheese that Alex had made and scoured over the maps and wondered where, and how high I would be going in the next few days. To give you some idea, into the Rockies and up to 11,312 feet. I'll see you there.
Thursday we got out of Girard right quick, and by then my warm-up had consisted of 20 minutes of fast spinning to get my legs going and then keeping on from there. It was easy to hit 20 mph, even on the slight uphills, it wasn't draining to keep up momentum. Some people managed to leave gear back at the church, but the group and the van pressed on. Having learned that, it was a good reminder to get things packed, ready, and accounted for before saddling up. I ended up in front with Dan and Brandt and a route detour dumped us onto a busier highway than expected, so I charged ahead for safety's sake. The inclines got longer, but not much steeper, and it became a draining up-and-down affair had it not been for an intermediate stop in Chanute, KS. I fueled up on sugary drinks expecting to have to go immediately after, but I stuck with the van, and we ended up waiting for Nick and Mike who had left stuff at the church and for a reporter who stepped out of the newspaper bureau we had parked in front of. We had a long, friendly chat and he pictures. He also mentioned having family members affected by cancer and a nationally recognized, oversized, mobile colon meant to raise awareness for colon cancer. I knew immediately I would have to check out the Colossal Colon once I got internet. We high-tailed it out of there and the break I was in ended up doing an echelon, which is a quick double paceline in which riders in a faster line fall off into a slower line as soon as their back wheel is in front of the next, slower person's back wheel. It was a rush, so to speak, and got us to lunch only so much quicker than the following group. I had sliced meat for the first time in a while. Sehee got fascinated by an oil derrick, or whatever you call the things that tilt up and down to get oil out of the ground. I gave some passing cyclists a bike salute by lifting Drew's bike above my head and giving a lot of encouragement. As I could tell, they were carrying a lot of stuff on really nice Bianchi touring rigs. As the smaller group I was in continued on, we ended up lost on some gravel roads which is never a plus and after some instructions from a UPS driver, ended up in the right direction. We went through some of the more "forgotten" parts of Kansas, extremely rural, wooded and overall secluded country lanes. And the landscape had still not flattened out like I expected it would. We ended up passing the cyclists I saw at lunch. From what I gathered, they were heading out to Page, Arizona, so they had a ways to go and many a mountain to climb up. Our destination was a state park outside Toronto, KS, but Dan, Drew, Sehee, Brandt and I went to town to fuel up and see the sights, which consisted of a short, wide stretch of Main Street, a smallish grocery, and a charming little cafe run by a diminutive lady. Brandt and Drew satisfied their tea fixes and seeing Dan's chocolate milkshake get made seduced me into getting one of my own. It was a sight to see, four smelly, tanned cyclists sitting at a lace-covered table sipping out of tea cups. We stayed long enough to avoid having to set up camp. We took our time getting to the campsite, and cresting the hill past the unguarded welcome booth, the park below opened up, woods and reservoir and beaches in all. I set my sights on the water and waded in after a necessary change of clothes. The water was muddy and warm, and I only went knee deep before having a change of heart and a badly needed warm shower. Dinner was cooked over a fire pit. We really were "roughing it" for the first time except for the semi-indoor bathroom facilities. Dinner consisted of the now-usual beans and corn meal mush and a treat of boiled brocolli and melted cheese which I had the pleasure of watching simmer over the fire. In between there, the leaders called a team meeting to more or less discuss protocol and ended up in discussions of meta-democracy and the suggestion that we should vote to see if we should vote on things. At that point, they gently reminded us that they would take suggestions and polls into consideration but the ultimate decision would rest with them. That said, I think the discussion should end there as there is not much to be discussed about how things should be run. Gripes now aside, I sauntered down a bank of fallen tree logs and crushed rock to the shore and watched the sunset. As it dipped below the trees, I felt happy and uncomplicated for a few moments and for the first time in 24 hours. I also began to smell like rotted oak from the driftwood I was sitting on. I tried to skip rocks, but unlike the Lake Erie shore, there are no smoothly polished pebbles from thousands of years of the lake lapping at the foot of the land. In the scheme of things, the Army Corps of Engineers had only dammed this lake yesterday and the crushed brick at the shoreline was still just crushed brick. So, in my final attempt to throw a stone across the water, it made a satisfying "ker-plop" and just sunk straight into the water. I walked away not so disappointed. Rather than packing, I inisted on lifeguarding for Alex, who had designs to swim in the lake after dark. There was enough light from the glimmer of the sunset and the moon above, but it was not enough to justify going in safely. Instead she pointed out all the stars which for reasons for optical correction or perception, I just couldn't see. I came to the conclusion that I have bad eyesight, despite the years of eyeglasses and visits to the optometrist. I then fell asleep on Alex's sleeping bag perched on the edge of the slope going into the lake and too tired to get up and lay on my own sleeping bag, fell asleep. I ended up going to the tent I put my things in after scaring Alex into thinking some stranger had fallen asleep atop her things, but it was only me, too exhausted to get up.
Friday we de-tented and got out with a quick start. I was with the lead group for the first 20 miles before our water stop. I filled up and didn't stop until Rosalia, another 20 away. There was no van, there was nothing in town except a closed convenience store with a pop machine and Dan, Mark, and Brandt waiting in front. I popped in three quarters and tried my darndest to get a can, but my first few choices were sold out, in true sparse, rural fashion. I settled on a Sierra Mist and its paltry 150 calories per can and no caffeine. By this time I had run out of on-the-road snacks and normally wouldn't drink anything carbonated, but during this trip alone I've already drank more soda than I have in the past five or so years. It also looked like rain, but it didn't end up that way thankfully. I left my worries in Rosalia and pressed on. The group I was in decided to take advantage of a great tailwind and all of a sudden cranked up to 25 miles per hour, leaving me behind and trying to catch them at a slightly slower pace. By this time, we were also traversing what is known as the "Flint Hills" region of Kansas, which by the standard with which we compare terrain, Pennsylvania, is still pretty flat. I caught them and we arrived in Cassoday, KS, which to our delight had a lunch buffet, and a good one with that. I loaded up on sauerkraut and breaded pork chops among other delights. After an hour of so of gorging, we settled into the city park we would be staying at and after a long nap on the grass and the myriad of biting insects, I took a longer nap in the park gazeebo. Having been thoroughly napped and lost my hunger satisfaction, I tried sitting on the park swings to alleviate my boredom. We lounged around without a clue in the world where the van was. It turned out that the leaders had decided to stop in the town by the first water stop to get things done at the library, buy things in the shop, maybe have a tan by the swimming pool, leaving us oblivious and unsupported for about five hours. All was well when I was able to get out my sleeping pad and laid myself down on inflated surface. For dinner, Nick broke out the camp stove and yeah, we were really roughing it for the first time, no quotes about it. There were not adequate bathroom facilities but a smelly, fly-infested outhouse. The trees were thick and plentiful instead. We ate pasta and passed around the last bits of the noodles and ate one at a time in a contest to see who would eat the last noodle. Instead of deciding a winner, the ride leaders apologized for not informing the group before departing during yet another team meeting. It was worth the wait. We met some college-aged cyclists who were heading east and warned them about Pennsylvania and the Ozarks. They were travelling relatively light and long - they said they would be in Virginia in 11 days, no small feat given it had taken us 31 at that point to get from NYC. I made the decision to camp out in the park Gazeebo with Andrew, Alex, Keith, and Drew, thinking that I would wake up easier with the sunrise. I left my bags inside a tent for good measure. Feeling safe, I fell asleep in the dark to the chattering of my non-tent mates.
At three in the morning Saturday there was some commotion as my non-tent mates all started packing up. There was a foreboding look in the sky and the wind had picked up. I thusly knew I needed to pack. It was a walk of the waking dead back to the tent I had put my things in, and rather blind except for someone's headlamp. I made it to the tent and threw my sleeping things inside just as the drops began to fall and quickly got in, knowing others would follow behind. We had not set up enough tents for everyone, so in come Sehee and Alex with her soaking wet sleeping bag. The drops increased and I curled up in my bag. I woke up tired. Minutes later I would be tired, wet, and indignant having to weather the outside. It was cool, moist and windy and going along the ever-flattening landscape, the sky had that familiar stretch of grey directly above and far beyond, stretching across my view, and somewhere to the south, the black streaks that only mean rain. We would be dry and ended up going through Newton, KS as the sky broke open to reveal another medium-sized Kansas town complete with it's wide boulevards, churches, car-wash fundraisers, charming retailers and those familiar national brands. I was with Mark, Mike, and Allison and we resisted the urge to stop at T-Bell. We sped along to the lunch-stop town and they went ahead and ate inside a diner, and I had my subsidized lunch of peanut butter and jelly and bananas oustide. I buckled down at the sight of cheap cones of ice cream and had strawberry. I also finished their unwanted leftovers. We left into the hot afternoon and I would soon run out of water having expected running through a town with services, but they weren't close enough along the route to bother visiting. I took a quick nap in the shade before seeing everyone congregated together. So we would then enter town in procession. And so we entered Hutchinson, lured by its attractive salt mine and cosmosphere with Omnimax theatre and strips of retailers that could only mean a large town. Our mission was to stop in at the library where Anish would be advertising for the American Cancer Society and trying to collect stories from those affected by cancer. I was a little skeptical about that last part and trying to approach strangers and stick a camera and a recorder in their face rather than through some congregation like we had been doing. I went into the library and instead used the computers. The wait was long and I was given a pager that vibrated when my time was on, so I left after checking my e-mail. I should have blogged then instead of letting the days accumulate like this, it's just that tedious of a process. In the wait to leave for our destination I read yet another book about Lance Armstrong and his cycling and non-cycling achievements, like beating the cancer that had metastacized to his brain and lungs. The church we stayed at was just down the street, so we settled in quickly before hearing reports of a dinner pizza buffet which most people agreed on as appropriate. Everyone headed out, some via bike, some stuffed into the van, but all enjoyed their pizza buffet. I gorged and had four plates and numerous glasses of sweet tea, knowing full well that I would have a long day ahead, despite having miscalculated the route distance when drawing up the route for the group to copy. Instead of packing I watched the Big Lebowski which Mark had rented for others to appreciate. I promptly fell asleep using the Sprint water bottle a representitive thereof had given to me as a pillow. It was rather uncomfortable as a pillow.
Sunday we headed out of Hutchinson and stopped at an exotic animal farm and bed-and-breakfast along the roads to look, fascinated, at their ostriches, which are rather large and dumb animals that will try to eat the food off of your hand even if you have none. It's definately somewhere to stop by the next time I'm in Hutchinson, along with the salt mine and the Cosmosphere. We stopped next in the middle of nowhere, nothing but wheat, fallow stretches, and tiny bullfrogs jumping across the road. The route would be changed due to a road closure and instead of a long stretch of nothing, we would be on a long stretch of something and thusly have more services availiable to us. We took it upon ourselves to stop in a gas station to fuel up and sit around for about an hour. It took a while to get out, leaving us the last to arrive at our lunch stop in Great Bend. I had a few sandwiches and napped. It was a tiring affair to get up and go the last 32 miles with Brandt and Andrew, but it all flattened out in a familiar Kansan style. Nothing was open at our destination and I had a craving for milk. The town was smaller than expected despite the map's indication of full services. Our arrival increased the population by 10% to say the least. I napped. A lot. I ate the familiar beans and corn meal mush and laid down again. I was undernourished and not doing much about it because there was not much to be done. I still managed to get up and pack and got frustrated at the bugs and the general lack of skin unbitten or clean despite the earlier hose shower.
Monday would be better - or worse. A shorter jaunt into the next town that began with a slow procession that I dropped quickly and sped off to meet the next town. And finally the high plains of Kansas with its long stretches of nothing. To put it in Truman Capote's words, "The land is flat, and the views are awesomely extensive; horses, herds of cattle, a white cluster of grain elevators rising as gracefully as Greek temples are visible long before a traveler reaches them." At the penultimate stop 60 or so miles in, I finally had my milk, a half-gallon of whole, vitamin D, bovine growth-hormone induced milk. I drank it over the span of half an hour or so as the others filtered in to do the same, but with more sensible ingredients. I thought it would be a good idea, but it wasn't. To say the least, I suffered a lot of gastrointestinal distress and had to leave the group to go ahead. There was a lot of farm equipment on the road being that it is harvest time, and wheat trucks carry behind them their oversized green John Deere combine harvesters that either honk at you, go around you, or given no choice, will cause you to temporarily become an off-road cyclist. And worse yet, I was on an empty stomach. I made it into Scott City to our destination church, the Holy Cross Lutheran, to be greeted by pastor Warren, who was good natured and humorous. Like the pastor in Girard, he suggested sleeping on a pew, and in the evening, turned on the lighted cross that stood behind the lectern, giving the sanctuary a glow that would either remind me of vegas or the Arcade Fire's Neon Bible motif, but I'm only familiar with the latter. I ended up sleeping in an extra pew in the basement. I still had stomach distress for the next series of hours, but made it to the pool with Keith and Dan where we played H-O-R-S-E with a local kid and met a cyclist named Ken who was biking the TransAm. trail and had started from Astoria, OR. I was impressed by his rig, which was a nice Surly Long Haul Trucker. I've actually been taking photographs of all the loaded rigs I've seen along the way. This is high season for touring, and the number I've encountered has increased noticably. When we got back the pastor had fired up the grill and I would end up eating numerous cheeseburgers despite my stomach. We also encountered another cyclist who sort of wandered into the church and introduced himself as Xiao Yu (sp?). He was following along the same route as the fellow we met in the pool, had even ridden with him for a stretch and would end up leaving in the morning with him too. He's a sophomore at U. Mich. and was by himself, which I was impressed by, and was carrying a mere 70 pounds versus the 110 that Ken had said he trudged up the mountains. That made my supported efforts feel weak, but it's inspired me to do something similar for sure. After dinner we headed to the county hospital where we met a terminal cancer patient, who after her third bout with intestinal cancer and third round of treatment had accepted the fact that it would take her life. It was an emotional moment hearing her story and even more so that she was in good spirits. Mark promised to send her a postcard from the Grand Canyon which she said she had never seen before. I left the hospital with a renewed sense of purpose in what I'm doing this summer. My stomach didn't hurt nearly as bad either. The pastor invited Xiao Yu to stay the night and we were happy to have company. I rather envied the fact he presented, that at Michigan, engineering students don't have to choose a major until sophomore year. We also welcomed back Zach Herrmann who had ridden shotgun our first weekend in May to film his documentary about us. He brought along his girlfriend Alicia who is also his legal-issues advisor, boom mic operator, driver, among other things. The group has become one big, dynamic, constantly-changing family.
Tuesday I woke up to the smell of bacon and sausage links. The pastor had made us pancakes and other delicious breakfast meats for our devourment, it was wonderful and generous and the best hot breakfast I've tasted in what felt like years. We departed into more of the same stretch of familiar plains with decreasing patches of green and more of the sun-burnt yellow that you would associate with western Kansas. At 11 o'clock Central we crossed into 10 o'clock Mountain time at the last county border we would cross in Kansas. I proceeded to do the time zone dance and realize that this system of time is even more arbitrary than state borders which also "just kinda happen." However, we gained back an hour, which shortened our day's trek in a technical sense. So we entered tiny Tribune, in honor of Horace Greeley's eponymous newpaper. Apparently it was Greeley who had coined the phrase "Go West young man! and grow up with the country." This part of Kansas must have loved him for the fact that he lured many into some of the loneliest parts of this country. The first attraction was the town gas station where I met the umpteenth retirement-age cyclist coming from Astoria, and later, two younger folks who biked over Monarch Pass, where we will be heading in days. From there, the county library where I managed to check e-mail, take a nap, and compile grocery numbers for people to call rather than make actual calls due to Nextel having the worst rural coverage out of any cell carriers. And in contrast to their road-level hate of abortion is their love of community swimming pools, a paradise for the sun-drenched cyclist. The showers were freezing but manageable and free. An Australian family was there, Mum and teenaged son on their own bikes and dad and younger son on a tandem. Doing something like this must take a lot of patience, but as they exhibited, it's possible. We ended up in the Presbyterian church in town which despite not having a DVD player, had a ping-pong table on a stage in front of yet another lighted cross, which together made for hours of active enjoyment. I took a walk to the local grocery store with Keith and Drew who were doing research on the cheapest, most nutrtional foods. Since we are on a limited budget, it's up to us to come up with dinner-time meals that are cheap and nutrtional. That or we can feed ourselves or make up for whatever goes over budget. I suggested lentils and rice once and should probably volunteer to cook dinner. As I discoverd, the most cost-effective on-the-bike snack food are store-brand toaster pastries at about 800 calories per dollar, so I bought two boxes and some Gatorade powder which is eminently cheaper than the bottled stuff. I no longer have to starve on the bike or have odd cravings for milk and then suffer the consequences. I figure I can do this every week and stay in budget. Brandt cooked dinner and made brown rice and brocolli soup mush with chicken which was filling, and with a little pepper and salt, surprisingly tasty. Before falling to sleep, I picked up my copy of On The Road for the first time in a while and just read, which was relaxing, equally so as Drew playing a long, forceful piece on the sanctuary piano before playing "Hotel California."
Wednesday we left Kansas, and only a few miles in did the landscape gain that semi-arid look when it changed from wheat and grass to low-lying shrub. Other than that, it still looked like Kansas, but that's the high plains for you. In a town called Sheridan Lake, named for the pond that it sits next to, they finally built a gas station. The gasoline pumps aren't there and the convenience-store goods are in the auto parts store next door, mayonaise and paper towels sitting nicely next to the motor oil, but they finally have a gas station. This is the meaning of desolate. The county it sits in and the county to the west, however, have established the Prairie Horizon Trail corridor along this section of the Trans Am. trail to encourage towns to support passing cyclists, which with the "share the road" signs, I thought was pretty neat. I ended up racing Keith and Drew into Eads and ultimately won. I treated myself to a sensible amount of chocolate milk before heading over to our home for the next two nights, the Kiowa County Fairgrounds building, a bright, sterile warehouse of a building with that smooth beige coating over concrete floor. It had a nice kitchen where we prepared our subsidized peanut butter and jelly. Outside, Zach, Alicia, and Alex were talking to a cyclist others in the group had seen before and we would see again. Rory O'Callahan had to be no more than 35 years old, had come from Ireland, became an Australian citizen, visited 38 countries, biked across the Sahara and some Arctic waste, was a soldier, fought mixed martial arts, had some money saved away for motorsporting, wanted to get into base jumping, got divorced, and was on his way to Oregon, trying to figure out where his new homeland would be within limits of his U.S. visa. And I just sat fascinated at all of his adventures. Yet as much as I want to live a life pursuit, I have to wonder how all of this is financed. In the scheme of things, I probably won't get an adventure until I'm retired. And yet, for folks like this, this is how they make their living. I went to the library knowing I'd have to come back when I could stay for longer than half an hour. Some local churches hosted a potuck dinner at the fairgrounds and we mingled and ate. I spoke to one of the pastors who had survived multiple bypasses as well as a lady who had lived with polio and spoke enthusiastically about all the attractions in town. And then we all stood up and introduced ourselves, team, cameraman, camerman's girlfriend, Rory, and all. The act of sharing a meal and sharing our stories was the least we could do to express our gratitude towards the town. After dinner the older folk went to the pub with Rory, leaving me and others to sort through our things to see what we could leave behind to save our poor van the weight through the mountains. So I don't forget, here's a list of what I left and if I hit myself later, the rationale behind that particular decision:
- black fleece zip-up jacket. It was bulky and took up space in my second bag, which I shouldn't have anyways. I have a rain jacket to keep me warm or failing that layers or my sleeping bag.
- brown polo shirt. At all these events I've just been wearing the Illini 4000 t-shirt, so there's no need for appearances.
- second saddle. I wasn't using it, and I discovered it's not all that comfortable anyways.
- pair of olive drab pants. Heavy, hard to wash, and as I discovered, I packed a pair that wasn't any of those. I only need one pair of pants
- brown leather belt. It goes with the pants.
- black Malaika run t-shirt. I need only four shirts and the black one goes because, despite its ability to hide stains, is unbearable to wear in the sun.
- long tights. I'm told it's not going to get that cold.
- two pairs of non-bike socks. I only need one pair.
- The copy of Life of Pi Brian lent me. Sorry Brian, but I wasn't finished with On the Road. Plus Jon guilted me out of it, which he's pretty good at.
So I had all my stuff in the world, laid out in a geometric grid, and saw that it wasn't all that much. I sat in a metal chair outside the building watching the lightning in the distance. It didn't come anywhere near us during the night. Except for that one night in Cassoday, the plains had not and would not drop a single drop on our heads.
Thursday was our rest day, and it started with Mark making unlimited chocolate chip pancakes for the price of one dollar which I paid for in leftover change and numerous pennies. I ate more than my share of bacon too, but they made a lot of bacon. Drew, Keith, and I went to the local art gallery across the highway from the fairgrounds and Eads, as it turns out, has a vibrant artists' collective called "the Artists of the Plains." And, as you would imagine, their subject matter revolves around the landscape. One such subject is the Sand Creek Massacre, an event in pioneer history that the U.S. finally lived up to after 143 years. Outside of Eads, the National Park Service erected a monument to the massacre in which a calvary general basically attacked, killed, and mutilated a large number of natives. The general was appropriately disgraced, but the event went unmemorialized until last April, so a lot of the newer works of art depict the Sand Creek and the dedication of the memorial. I had decided it was time to get a hair-cut, so I went at myself with a pair of clippers and cut it down to a 2. I left a stripe of hair down the middle of my head at its original length just to try something different. I was told it looked "nice." It will be very nice to have shorter hair when it gets hotter out. After that debacle I went to the grocery to feed myself and the library to blog. I think I overstayed my visit there, having been told a few times that I would be bumped near the tail end of my three-hour visit despite the fact that no one else besides my teammates were there, also blogging or checking e-mail. It soured my mood, but I was also eating at the computer station, so it wasn't completely unwarranted. So I only got up to halfway through Scott City and had to wait until Pueblo to finish my Thursday blogging and it's Saturday and unlike Eads, these have software time limits. For dinner I ate a lot macaroni and cheese that Alex had made and scoured over the maps and wondered where, and how high I would be going in the next few days. To give you some idea, into the Rockies and up to 11,312 feet. I'll see you there.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
yet another picture post! and rest day number four
I'm still trying to figure out where we're going, or how to rotate photos 90 degrees so blogger will make them actually appear to be rotated 90 degrees
Our campsite on the grounds of SIU-Edwardsville at dusk
This is as close as I got to St. Louis immediately east of it. Also my last view of a major urban area (read: population > 100,000) until Pueblo, CO.
Crossing over the Mississippi outside of Chester, IL
A box turtle that wouldn't come out of its shell, so Andrew and I spirited it safely across the road.
The scenic overlook in the Ozarks and the penultimate climb out of the mountains
Ash Grove, MO: Railroad Town USA
James after his last ride before leaving. Because of his departure, he's disqualified from the beard-off leaving just mike, nick, and me
Time Out Pizza in Ash Grove, MO serves up a mean pineapple and canadian bacon pie. The Ash Grovers were very friendly and hospitable.
SeHee was fascinated by the farm equipment
This cow was the first thing we saw in Kansas, it was very mooooving. And I still can't rotate these photos.
Today I woke up in a pew in the Baptist Church, the pastor himself said it was a good place to sleep and it was, except I didn't have a pillow. I pretty much lounged around all day and finished off Mike's book about the Tour de France, about 160 pages of light reading. Breakfast was french toast and eggs and lunch was donated Subway sandwiches. I'm really loving this library, it's only a block away from the church, this computer has iTunes so I'm listening to NPR and everything that Ira Glass and Garrison Keillor has to say. Later we're going to a park to eat hot dogs courtesy of the Bible church. I guess I'm savoring this rest day above all others, we don't get another one until we reach Colorado a week from now, so in the meantime, flat land and endless fields of wheat. And hot dogs.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
"On the road again, goin' places that I've never been"
Thursday I woke up and proceeded to suit up for the first time since Sunday, having sipped some cough syrup and popped some non-drowsy no-pseudophedrine nasal decongestant. I also wore my new gel-padded shorts and reveled in their comfort. And so it began. Adam left that day to start his job in the city, so we were down to 16, and Keith would not only have to take him to the train station but also stop by a bike shop in Edwardsville to get everyone's stuff, so we would ride the day unsupported. Through whatever process and convoluted detouring and bridge closures, I ended up in front with Dan and neither of us had directions. And we were in East St. Louis; from my experience, the urban areas immediately east of other major urban areas are always lovely in that dilapidated, run-down and seemingly empty sense of the word. To the west I could eke out a view of the city skyline and its familiar Gateway Arch. It all turned into countryside pretty quickly, which was surprising as we were supposed to be winding along some kind of river. It turns out I was going east and about 10 miles out of the way, so we had to rendezvous on course before we could all proceed. I had done, at that point, 40 miles at the 25 mile mark.
That put me back a ways as we headed along the bluffs that line the the floodplain of the Mississippi. This was an extremely rural area, just tall stalks of corn on one side and a wall of rock and trees on the other for 40 miles. I ran out of water, which was not too great for my congestion and overall fatigue from the morning. So collectively we all suffered until we came upon a feed store/weighing station along the way to fill up. And then we suffered some more until reaching Prarie Du Rocher, IL where I basically gorged myself and downed a pitcher of lemonade. And so it went, eventually up into the bluffs and around some rivers until we reached Chester, IL, the home of Popeye, a mental institution and medium-security prison. I had yet to see the Mississippi River. We stayed in the gym of a Lutheran primary school, which meant more contiguous days with hot showers.
By Friday morning we had Alex back with us and cheerful as ever. It would be a good day to return if you like climbing. Coming down bluffs, the river presented itself and crossing the bridge into the hazy Missouri morning meant crossing into the west, going in the direction of those explorers who crossed the mountains and plains and valleys seeking whatever they sought. I don't think I had seen the river before, but having done so, it stands out in my mind as a milestone on this journey. It means that the only direction we traverse until Colorado is west and up. After a stretch of floodplain we climbed up into the Missouri-side bluffs and a world of hurt. It didn't flatten out like you think it would in Illinois, the hills and the inclines didn't stop. Keith remarked that we had entered Pennsouri, but I like to think of it as Missylvania. Either way, the state is more or less a series of hills. Outside of Farmington, MO a lady gave us tickets for free Taco Bell combos and told us they were redeemable everywhere, but I insisted to everyone that we should find the T-Bell now and read the fine print about it only being valid at one specific location. It would turn out that I was right, so if I ever want a free T-bell combo I have to go back to Farmington. Instead for lunch we ate in a state park and everyone threw rocks in my helmet. On the way to our stop, my legs got tired so I sped ahead, which if you think about it, doesn't make much sense. In Ironton, MO I spotted a deliberately vague Civil War mural painted on a building and I couldn't make out who was firing the cannon and who was being bombarded, the Confederate or Union soldiers. This question would plague me throughout my venture through the state, as well as the larger question of whether or not Missouri could be considered part of the South. At first I considered it "southern" in the way you would think southern Illinois is "south," but the Confederate flags, obsession with Civil War history, the evident antebellum leanings, and the delicious sweet tea were a dead giveaway, that yes, this part of southern Missouri could be considered the South, giving our route that much more geographic variety. We stayed at the First Church of the Nazarene in town and we were hosted not only by the pastor but a group of young locals. I started reading "On the Road" for the first time since I lost my original copy and felt good about it again. I also replaced my saddle having realized that it made no sense to use a harder saddle.
Saturday was the worst yet in terms of challenging climbs as we headed into the heart of the Ozarks and its many winding rivers and national scenic riverways, which are just fancy words for tough uphills and roller-coaster downhills. I hit 45 miles per hour one time and the second time I had a rear-tire go flat on me, and had to ride down on it until I could slow down on a flat. Fortunately it was only a pinhole leak and in my rear tire, but it was my eleventh tube-tire emergency by official count and I was stuck in the middle of scenic nowhere without a frame pump. As it would turn out, however, I was ahead of everyone by a long shot so borrowed Mark's awful pump when they passed by. I managed to get into town underinflated, but nothing ruins your momentum like a flat. I longed for a slushie, something cold and sugary. I ended up at some gas station in Eminence, MO and asked for directions for sixth street, but got directions to US 63 instead, so went along into the other part of town that wasn't full of vacationing mountain folk. It would appear that the town is like the Wisconsin Dells of the Ozarks, with tubing and swimming and canoeing and hunting and fishing and basically everything related to the Jacks Fork and Current Rivers but without hordes of midwesterners or an indoor water park. We stayed in the gym of Eminence High School, which was new as of two years ago and downright suburban if not for the fact that it was in its own building and also contained the cafeteria. We shot some hoops, played with the automatic ball return machine, and after attempting to put quarters into the Coke machine to only see them get spit out again, I had a Yoohoo for the first time in multiple years, which was delicious. I remember eating trail mix and not much else, having napped for a lot of my "free" time.
So I woke up hungry Sunday and did what I could with peanut butter and multiple slices of bread. The last of the dreadful climbs came about and it was worth the scenic overlook we stopped at with the hills far and wide below us and the green of the Missouri softwoods behind a veil of morning haze. It flattened out insomuch as the hills had shallower inclines, but were nearly as long, but merely blips on the overall feeling of the day. I picked myself up with a mountain dew slushie and didn't realize that most of it was injected air as I put it in my water bottle to drink along the ride. At 70 miles I had no water left and stopped at a church along the way to fill up. The folks there were nice enough to not only give me ice but an extra bottle of cold, Sam's choice water. I was grateful to them and for once in my life, Sam Walton for making such delicious water. My delusions ended there, but I recall seeing one incline that winded up and to the left and thinking it looked like the Great Wall of China, and climbing up it, Jerry Lee Lewis started singing "goodness gracious Great Wall of China!" before banging on the piano. I made it to Hartville, MO alive. No one could tell me where the Church of God in town was, not the folks at the gas station from where I bought a gallon of sweet tea that I would ingest over the next few hours, nor the girls at the corner Subway from where I bought two footlongs. I was a hungry fella and had to make up for yesterday's lack of alimentary relief. The manager of the Subway told me a team of cyclists had been through a couple of weeks back and had camped out in front of the courthouse across the street. She also let me use the phone to call ahead to the church, which suprisingly was just behind the courthouse. I know we had trailed along the Johns Hopkins ride back in Ohio, but it would appear that their route through MO is north of ours. It's a comforting thought to think that there are other teams doing similar work for different causes. I could imagine the camraderie or madness that would ensue if two such teams crossed paths and inhabited the same town at the same date. It started raining, so I tiptoed as fast as I could in my cycling shoes to the church. There pastor Lowell greeted us and showed us the church. And then a blur of Subway sandwiches, sweet tea, teammates arriving, a glance at the first in the "Left Behind" series, more grilled cheese sandwiches; I fell dead asleep.
Monday it drizzled. Then it poured. I broke out the rain jacket for the first time and felt cozy but sticky inside from a lack ventilation. It was necessary to keep the legs moving for fear of cooling off or just losing that edgewise momentum, but I made the necessary stops for what little water I consumed and my usual rations of granola bars ever 20 or so miles. At a gas station in a town outside my stop, I found out my rear tire had gone flat, making it number 13 and potentially stranding me. Number 12 was Sunday, when it went flat all of a sudden at a gas station and I patched it up and managed to break one of my Park Tool levers. For this I buckled down and decided I should not only get a slew of new tubes but also a new rear tire. Back at the gas station, Anish showed up and saved me from the inevitable doom of having to wait it out at the gas station, but it started to pour like nothing else so I bought Hostess donettes and 80% of my daily values of saturated fat for a 2000 calorie diet, which is clearly below my required amount. We left and once again, I biked into our destination underinflated. Our stop had been moved closer, to a bigger town. We were originally slated to stay at the extensive city park in Ash Grove, MO, but ended up with accomadations at the First Christian Church. So we showered at the park after I tried to finagle people into racing me arond the 350-meter or so concrete oval in the middle of the park, but it was relatively unsafe for high-speed sprints. Also everyone was clearly tired. After getting settled at the church, we walked over to the local pizza place where the owner had dinner and a long table waiting for us, which was extremely generous and delicious, especially their pinapple and canadian bacon. So, if you're ever in Ash Grove, MO go to Time Out Pizza on Main St. James became the second of our ride leaders to leave the ride, but much unlike Brian, he will return with to us in Pheonix to finish off the adventure he helped to start. I mounted my new tire and hope like crazy that Schwalbe won't fail me until California, it can fall apart on the beach for all I care, I just want it to last. It became apparent to me during lunch when I had a Big Bopper (Cheeseburger and fries with a cherry Coke and other people's onion rings) that I am going to run out of money if I keep spending it like I am. Especially if my equipment keeps breaking and I keep eating out instead of drinking gallons of chocolate milk and calling it a day, I figure I'm going to run broke somewhere in Arizona, when I had previously expected to go broke just before San Diego. So I proposed to spend no more than 3 dollars a day or better yet, spend nothing at all to ensure that I won't have to eat my seat cushion on the airplane back to Chicago.
Today I managed to not spend anything yet, but I still think some chocolate milk would be delicious. Missouri never stopped having a lot of rolling hills until 30 miles to Kansas when it was finally generous enough to flatten out. That and Kansas kind of just happened, no signs, no signals that we were in another state other than changing road signs and newer asphalt and road markings, so we took a photo-op moment in front of a big, fiberglass cow outside of a radio station just over the border. We stopped for lunch in Pittsburg, KS and I napped more than I ate. I'm now in Girard, KS and have been blogging for about 2 and a half hours, it's just that long of a process. I'm hungry and there's a public pool somewhere in town that would be nice to shower at. This is also our fourth rest day stop and first one since Champaign last Monday, so I will probably put up photos tommorrow.
That put me back a ways as we headed along the bluffs that line the the floodplain of the Mississippi. This was an extremely rural area, just tall stalks of corn on one side and a wall of rock and trees on the other for 40 miles. I ran out of water, which was not too great for my congestion and overall fatigue from the morning. So collectively we all suffered until we came upon a feed store/weighing station along the way to fill up. And then we suffered some more until reaching Prarie Du Rocher, IL where I basically gorged myself and downed a pitcher of lemonade. And so it went, eventually up into the bluffs and around some rivers until we reached Chester, IL, the home of Popeye, a mental institution and medium-security prison. I had yet to see the Mississippi River. We stayed in the gym of a Lutheran primary school, which meant more contiguous days with hot showers.
By Friday morning we had Alex back with us and cheerful as ever. It would be a good day to return if you like climbing. Coming down bluffs, the river presented itself and crossing the bridge into the hazy Missouri morning meant crossing into the west, going in the direction of those explorers who crossed the mountains and plains and valleys seeking whatever they sought. I don't think I had seen the river before, but having done so, it stands out in my mind as a milestone on this journey. It means that the only direction we traverse until Colorado is west and up. After a stretch of floodplain we climbed up into the Missouri-side bluffs and a world of hurt. It didn't flatten out like you think it would in Illinois, the hills and the inclines didn't stop. Keith remarked that we had entered Pennsouri, but I like to think of it as Missylvania. Either way, the state is more or less a series of hills. Outside of Farmington, MO a lady gave us tickets for free Taco Bell combos and told us they were redeemable everywhere, but I insisted to everyone that we should find the T-Bell now and read the fine print about it only being valid at one specific location. It would turn out that I was right, so if I ever want a free T-bell combo I have to go back to Farmington. Instead for lunch we ate in a state park and everyone threw rocks in my helmet. On the way to our stop, my legs got tired so I sped ahead, which if you think about it, doesn't make much sense. In Ironton, MO I spotted a deliberately vague Civil War mural painted on a building and I couldn't make out who was firing the cannon and who was being bombarded, the Confederate or Union soldiers. This question would plague me throughout my venture through the state, as well as the larger question of whether or not Missouri could be considered part of the South. At first I considered it "southern" in the way you would think southern Illinois is "south," but the Confederate flags, obsession with Civil War history, the evident antebellum leanings, and the delicious sweet tea were a dead giveaway, that yes, this part of southern Missouri could be considered the South, giving our route that much more geographic variety. We stayed at the First Church of the Nazarene in town and we were hosted not only by the pastor but a group of young locals. I started reading "On the Road" for the first time since I lost my original copy and felt good about it again. I also replaced my saddle having realized that it made no sense to use a harder saddle.
Saturday was the worst yet in terms of challenging climbs as we headed into the heart of the Ozarks and its many winding rivers and national scenic riverways, which are just fancy words for tough uphills and roller-coaster downhills. I hit 45 miles per hour one time and the second time I had a rear-tire go flat on me, and had to ride down on it until I could slow down on a flat. Fortunately it was only a pinhole leak and in my rear tire, but it was my eleventh tube-tire emergency by official count and I was stuck in the middle of scenic nowhere without a frame pump. As it would turn out, however, I was ahead of everyone by a long shot so borrowed Mark's awful pump when they passed by. I managed to get into town underinflated, but nothing ruins your momentum like a flat. I longed for a slushie, something cold and sugary. I ended up at some gas station in Eminence, MO and asked for directions for sixth street, but got directions to US 63 instead, so went along into the other part of town that wasn't full of vacationing mountain folk. It would appear that the town is like the Wisconsin Dells of the Ozarks, with tubing and swimming and canoeing and hunting and fishing and basically everything related to the Jacks Fork and Current Rivers but without hordes of midwesterners or an indoor water park. We stayed in the gym of Eminence High School, which was new as of two years ago and downright suburban if not for the fact that it was in its own building and also contained the cafeteria. We shot some hoops, played with the automatic ball return machine, and after attempting to put quarters into the Coke machine to only see them get spit out again, I had a Yoohoo for the first time in multiple years, which was delicious. I remember eating trail mix and not much else, having napped for a lot of my "free" time.
So I woke up hungry Sunday and did what I could with peanut butter and multiple slices of bread. The last of the dreadful climbs came about and it was worth the scenic overlook we stopped at with the hills far and wide below us and the green of the Missouri softwoods behind a veil of morning haze. It flattened out insomuch as the hills had shallower inclines, but were nearly as long, but merely blips on the overall feeling of the day. I picked myself up with a mountain dew slushie and didn't realize that most of it was injected air as I put it in my water bottle to drink along the ride. At 70 miles I had no water left and stopped at a church along the way to fill up. The folks there were nice enough to not only give me ice but an extra bottle of cold, Sam's choice water. I was grateful to them and for once in my life, Sam Walton for making such delicious water. My delusions ended there, but I recall seeing one incline that winded up and to the left and thinking it looked like the Great Wall of China, and climbing up it, Jerry Lee Lewis started singing "goodness gracious Great Wall of China!" before banging on the piano. I made it to Hartville, MO alive. No one could tell me where the Church of God in town was, not the folks at the gas station from where I bought a gallon of sweet tea that I would ingest over the next few hours, nor the girls at the corner Subway from where I bought two footlongs. I was a hungry fella and had to make up for yesterday's lack of alimentary relief. The manager of the Subway told me a team of cyclists had been through a couple of weeks back and had camped out in front of the courthouse across the street. She also let me use the phone to call ahead to the church, which suprisingly was just behind the courthouse. I know we had trailed along the Johns Hopkins ride back in Ohio, but it would appear that their route through MO is north of ours. It's a comforting thought to think that there are other teams doing similar work for different causes. I could imagine the camraderie or madness that would ensue if two such teams crossed paths and inhabited the same town at the same date. It started raining, so I tiptoed as fast as I could in my cycling shoes to the church. There pastor Lowell greeted us and showed us the church. And then a blur of Subway sandwiches, sweet tea, teammates arriving, a glance at the first in the "Left Behind" series, more grilled cheese sandwiches; I fell dead asleep.
Monday it drizzled. Then it poured. I broke out the rain jacket for the first time and felt cozy but sticky inside from a lack ventilation. It was necessary to keep the legs moving for fear of cooling off or just losing that edgewise momentum, but I made the necessary stops for what little water I consumed and my usual rations of granola bars ever 20 or so miles. At a gas station in a town outside my stop, I found out my rear tire had gone flat, making it number 13 and potentially stranding me. Number 12 was Sunday, when it went flat all of a sudden at a gas station and I patched it up and managed to break one of my Park Tool levers. For this I buckled down and decided I should not only get a slew of new tubes but also a new rear tire. Back at the gas station, Anish showed up and saved me from the inevitable doom of having to wait it out at the gas station, but it started to pour like nothing else so I bought Hostess donettes and 80% of my daily values of saturated fat for a 2000 calorie diet, which is clearly below my required amount. We left and once again, I biked into our destination underinflated. Our stop had been moved closer, to a bigger town. We were originally slated to stay at the extensive city park in Ash Grove, MO, but ended up with accomadations at the First Christian Church. So we showered at the park after I tried to finagle people into racing me arond the 350-meter or so concrete oval in the middle of the park, but it was relatively unsafe for high-speed sprints. Also everyone was clearly tired. After getting settled at the church, we walked over to the local pizza place where the owner had dinner and a long table waiting for us, which was extremely generous and delicious, especially their pinapple and canadian bacon. So, if you're ever in Ash Grove, MO go to Time Out Pizza on Main St. James became the second of our ride leaders to leave the ride, but much unlike Brian, he will return with to us in Pheonix to finish off the adventure he helped to start. I mounted my new tire and hope like crazy that Schwalbe won't fail me until California, it can fall apart on the beach for all I care, I just want it to last. It became apparent to me during lunch when I had a Big Bopper (Cheeseburger and fries with a cherry Coke and other people's onion rings) that I am going to run out of money if I keep spending it like I am. Especially if my equipment keeps breaking and I keep eating out instead of drinking gallons of chocolate milk and calling it a day, I figure I'm going to run broke somewhere in Arizona, when I had previously expected to go broke just before San Diego. So I proposed to spend no more than 3 dollars a day or better yet, spend nothing at all to ensure that I won't have to eat my seat cushion on the airplane back to Chicago.
Today I managed to not spend anything yet, but I still think some chocolate milk would be delicious. Missouri never stopped having a lot of rolling hills until 30 miles to Kansas when it was finally generous enough to flatten out. That and Kansas kind of just happened, no signs, no signals that we were in another state other than changing road signs and newer asphalt and road markings, so we took a photo-op moment in front of a big, fiberglass cow outside of a radio station just over the border. We stopped for lunch in Pittsburg, KS and I napped more than I ate. I'm now in Girard, KS and have been blogging for about 2 and a half hours, it's just that long of a process. I'm hungry and there's a public pool somewhere in town that would be nice to shower at. This is also our fourth rest day stop and first one since Champaign last Monday, so I will probably put up photos tommorrow.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Another picture post!
My sister is a really amazing person.
Everyone, especially Nick is sad that Brian is leaving us
Dan caught this freight train, so we rode it into Springfield
Article from the News-Gazette
This is linked from http://news-gazette.com/news/print/2007/06/11/quick_stop_at_home/, but they archive things after a while, so for posterity's sake before the copyright police crack down on me, here's the article for you non-east-central-illinois residents:
UI cyclists stop in Urbana on their way to California
By Anne Cook
Monday June 11, 2007
URBANA – Cyclists who are a fourth of the way through their cross-country ride said Sunday the lengthy trek through Pennsylvania was the first shock of the trip.
"Pennsylvania was a problem – 400 miles of hills," said University of Illinois senior Nick Ludmer, who signed on for the Illini 4,000, a 4,000-mile bicycle ride to raise money for cancer research, with his roommate, Anish Thakkar, a key organizer. He's one of 18 participants, most UI students or alums, making the 65-day trek that will end Aug. 4 in San Diego.
"But we got over them," said Ludmer, who stopped with the group Sunday for a reception at the Campbell Alumni Center. "Now we have the Rockies to look forward to."
Thakkar, who graduated in May, said he and Jonathan Schlesinger, also a UI student, spent more than a year organizing the trip, which started May 25 in New York.
He said his work at UI laboratories sparked his interest in cancer research.
"Most of my work at the UI has been related to early detection," said Thakkar, who earned a degree in electrical engineering. "What I saw is there's not enough funding for research to be done. There are amazing things going on in laboratories, but projects live and die by their ability to secure grants."
He said he and Schlesinger started lining up students for the trip and earlier this year, everyone started working out on stationary bikes at Campus Rec Center East. After spring break, the cyclists moved outdoors to train for the trip.
"We encouraged everyone to bike 200 miles a week," Thakkar said. "This project requires a big time commitment."
Riders signed up sponsors, and they've been collecting money along the way. So far, they've collected about $40,000, and Thakkar expects the pot to grow. Some money will help the UI start its first Camp Kesem this summer, for children whose families are affected by cancer, and the rest will go to the American Cancer Society earmarked for research, he said.
"I'm amazed to see how we made an idea grow and how doing something like this can affect people in a positive way," Thakkar said.
He said riders are also interviewing people in the towns where they stop along the way who have been affected by cancer and taking their pictures for a display they will make and post at Provena Covenant Medical Center, a major trip sponsor. Other major sponsors include Champaign's That's Rentertainment and Hendrick House.
Allison Heim is recording the ups and downs, literally, on her blog, which focuses on food and hospitality, at www.allisonacrossamerica.blogspot.com.
She said one highlight was the end of a 160-mile day in the rain when she discovered cocoa was waiting for the riders. A day she'd rather forget was a 90-mile ride through the hills of Pennsylvania.
"I was crying," said Heim, who will next attend the University of Arizona to pursue a doctorate in marketing.
"I put emphasis on accomplishing goals," she said. "I care about making a difference."
Ludmer and Thakkar said the group carries camping gear but has only had to use it twice because churches and other organizations invite them to stay over, treat them to meals and donate to their cause. On rest days, leaders try to locate places in advance.
Ludmer said when the group ended up stranded one day in Hawley, Pa., a woman named Florence Brown invited everyone to stay at her brother's home, and Brown cooked pasta.
"The first day, we had a blowout on the support vehicle," he said. "The minister of a church knew a tire guy. The tire guy replaced it free and donated $400 to us. Total strangers have been incredibly generous. "
Junior Sean Laude said he's had nine flat tires on a bike he bought on eBay. He christened the bike in Lake Michigan and will do it again in San Diego.
"I'm looking forward to dipping my front wheel in Mission Bay," Laude said.
Ludmer also plans to end his journey with a splash.
"There's been a running gag that I'm crossing America on a Big Wheel," he said. "So at the end, I'm going to wear a cape, a leather pilot's hat and goggles and ride a Big Wheel off a pier in San Diego into the ocean. I have to live up to the gag."
UI cyclists stop in Urbana on their way to California
By Anne Cook
Monday June 11, 2007
URBANA – Cyclists who are a fourth of the way through their cross-country ride said Sunday the lengthy trek through Pennsylvania was the first shock of the trip.
"Pennsylvania was a problem – 400 miles of hills," said University of Illinois senior Nick Ludmer, who signed on for the Illini 4,000, a 4,000-mile bicycle ride to raise money for cancer research, with his roommate, Anish Thakkar, a key organizer. He's one of 18 participants, most UI students or alums, making the 65-day trek that will end Aug. 4 in San Diego.
"But we got over them," said Ludmer, who stopped with the group Sunday for a reception at the Campbell Alumni Center. "Now we have the Rockies to look forward to."
Thakkar, who graduated in May, said he and Jonathan Schlesinger, also a UI student, spent more than a year organizing the trip, which started May 25 in New York.
He said his work at UI laboratories sparked his interest in cancer research.
"Most of my work at the UI has been related to early detection," said Thakkar, who earned a degree in electrical engineering. "What I saw is there's not enough funding for research to be done. There are amazing things going on in laboratories, but projects live and die by their ability to secure grants."
He said he and Schlesinger started lining up students for the trip and earlier this year, everyone started working out on stationary bikes at Campus Rec Center East. After spring break, the cyclists moved outdoors to train for the trip.
"We encouraged everyone to bike 200 miles a week," Thakkar said. "This project requires a big time commitment."
Riders signed up sponsors, and they've been collecting money along the way. So far, they've collected about $40,000, and Thakkar expects the pot to grow. Some money will help the UI start its first Camp Kesem this summer, for children whose families are affected by cancer, and the rest will go to the American Cancer Society earmarked for research, he said.
"I'm amazed to see how we made an idea grow and how doing something like this can affect people in a positive way," Thakkar said.
He said riders are also interviewing people in the towns where they stop along the way who have been affected by cancer and taking their pictures for a display they will make and post at Provena Covenant Medical Center, a major trip sponsor. Other major sponsors include Champaign's That's Rentertainment and Hendrick House.
Allison Heim is recording the ups and downs, literally, on her blog, which focuses on food and hospitality, at www.allisonacrossamerica.blogspot.com.
She said one highlight was the end of a 160-mile day in the rain when she discovered cocoa was waiting for the riders. A day she'd rather forget was a 90-mile ride through the hills of Pennsylvania.
"I was crying," said Heim, who will next attend the University of Arizona to pursue a doctorate in marketing.
"I put emphasis on accomplishing goals," she said. "I care about making a difference."
Ludmer and Thakkar said the group carries camping gear but has only had to use it twice because churches and other organizations invite them to stay over, treat them to meals and donate to their cause. On rest days, leaders try to locate places in advance.
Ludmer said when the group ended up stranded one day in Hawley, Pa., a woman named Florence Brown invited everyone to stay at her brother's home, and Brown cooked pasta.
"The first day, we had a blowout on the support vehicle," he said. "The minister of a church knew a tire guy. The tire guy replaced it free and donated $400 to us. Total strangers have been incredibly generous. "
Junior Sean Laude said he's had nine flat tires on a bike he bought on eBay. He christened the bike in Lake Michigan and will do it again in San Diego.
"I'm looking forward to dipping my front wheel in Mission Bay," Laude said.
Ludmer also plans to end his journey with a splash.
"There's been a running gag that I'm crossing America on a Big Wheel," he said. "So at the end, I'm going to wear a cape, a leather pilot's hat and goggles and ride a Big Wheel off a pier in San Diego into the ocean. I have to live up to the gag."
An end to off days already? Only time will tell.
So I spent three hours in the undergrad. THREE. It was a long time writing, that is for sure. I putzed around campus and ran into Dan Walsh again and we had a discussion about whether or not the traffic rules apply to bicyclists, and in taking opposing sides, I agree with the sentiment that bikes are vehicles and have to abide by the rules of the road, especially stop signs. I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty reckless on my fixed gear, but when it comes to octagonal red things and 4-way intersections, it's a wise idea to at least slow down. We parted ways at Green Street and I stopped at the one and original Basil Thai for some piping hot peppery Lad Nar with beef, my comfort food in times of sickness. I realized I started a trend when a lot of my teammates stopped in to eat. I ended up sitting with Geoff, Mike, and Allison and ate what they didn't. It was satisfying. I putzed further and made a pilgrimage to Allen Hall where I got nostalgic and left for Anish's before it got messy. I then half-slept and half-helped Praveen, one of the Spanish House residents, finish up his fixed gear construction. I miss my fixed gear and its grand total of one speed and no freewheel. I said time and time again that I would ride it across the country, but it would be more than awful for climbing. I'll save that for another cross-country journey.
At this point in the narrative, I was extremely fatigued and feverish, and finally having realized it, took off a few layers of clothing and took some ibuprofen. Then somewhere in there I managed to eat, sit in a meeting asking everyone to speak up, being called "grandpa" because I asked people to speak up and was speaking loudly myself due to my congested head, and watching the Eddy Merckx story.
I woke up Tuesday feeling the same, sore throat, lightheaded, and with a hint of eagerness to move on that day and sadness that I would not depart from home again on two wheels. This would be the first leg of the journey, in my mind, that takes us West, and not just in the cardinal direction. We took the same route out that we trained on endless times, and it would have been great to take it the endless-and-first time but with the intent of ending up someplace else, far away. Instead, I drove it and chalked it out for the riders behind, sometimes only seconds behind. The chalking didn't go unappreciated and I was praised for my efforts. I also got my iPod working and thus the soundtrack of my day could commence.
Brian Albrecht left us at the first 15-mile stop, so it was a tender moment for all of us. He wrote me a nice note and I'm very grateful for his words. Wherever you are Brian, I hope you're doing well. And if you're reading these very words, then hello from Lovejoy Library at SIU-Edwardsville.
A cyclist hit me, that is to say, I was driving on the left side of the road to pass my teammates after leaving the sag stop when I registered that a cyclist was coming towards me, and slowing down as much as I could, I avoided swerving to the right and hitting a teammate, and the lady managed to get by, but I heard a metallic scrape and a thud against the car. I immediately stopped, got out, and saw that thankfully she was okay. She said she had tried to unclip from her pedals, but unsuccessful, fell onto the van. It managed to bend her left aerobar, and due to the poor ductility of aluminum, I managed to break it in an attempt to bend it back. It was sheepish moment to add to the situation, but she said not to worry. I offered her water and use of our tool kit and gave her some bandages. In the end, her and I were able to part ways with our lives and vehicles in working order, but it was still a frightening experiencing. I should have offered her my aerobars, but it only slipped my mind afterwards that I do, in fact, have aerobars. I should have also yelled at my teammates for not moving over and not making it apparent that there was a cyclist up. What bothers me is that these county lanes are less than the width of my driveway, and yes, you are legally entitled to ride two abreast, but as a courtesy to me, the support vehicle driver, and other potentially clueless drivers, ride in single file on narrow or busy roads!
45 miles out Dan joined me in the car due to his aching back. He had hoisted Sehee on his shoulders taking one of the many photo-ops in front of our sponsors' locations and torqued it somehow. Needless to say, that's a good way to end a day of hunched-over riding. So I had a co-pilot. And managed to get lost, and have to backtrack to help folks. The route was lost in translation or better yet, in the cornfields, but I went on chalking and figuring out the way. We stopped for lunch in Niantic, IL and I downed a liter and a half of Lipton Green tea and attempted to relieve my throat somehow. I also recieved my dearest sister Amy who drove down for the day. She not only visited me, but brought a pair of bike shorts, a copy of On The Road and new cycling gloves. It was really the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, so thank you Amy!
The route out of town followed along train tracks, so Dan and I chased down a freight train and nearly caught up to engine. The cool part about it was the 12-minute track in the middle of the newest Of Montreal album that made awesome pursuit music. It was a moment to remember and photograph, not to mention a few words online. We managed to traverse the busy roads of Springfield after a few choice wrong turns and end up at U of I Springfield to unload the van. Mark was there waiting, having not only gotten lost, but gotten there two or so hours ahead of time. I jumped back in the van to find the riders, give them relief, and chalk the route. I ended up not doing the first two very well, but I did the last one pretty darn well. So everyone got home and whaddya know, their stuff was waiting for them there.
We stayed at the Lincoln dorm at UIS, and their rooms are remarkably better than what I'm used to at UIUC. It has to be the furniture or the carpeting, or the spacious floor lounges, or the 2-room shared bathrooms, or the newness/sterility of the place that impressed me. I would live there if UIS weren't in the middle of nowhere. Needless to say, we had mattresses to sleep on. Jon Schlesinger was my roommate for the night, but we avoided butting heads or hating each other in the end. For dinner I ate a lot. Let's just say I had a hamburger that had fries and cheese piled on top of it. I still didn't feel to great and was reduced to hand gestures and grunts, it hurt that much to talk.
Wednesday I woke up feeling more or less the same. I woke up with my sleeping bag drenched in sweat, so I still may or may not have a fever. I got in the car for the second day in a row, and for the third day without having biked. I wished for it to end, but I was still violently forcing phlegm out of my throat and painfully gulping down copious amounts of water. During our stops, I napped and Dan, who co-piloted again in the morning, drove in the afternoon. In a big confused mess and after touring the beautiful industrial parts of Monroe county, we all got to Southern Illinois University-Edwardsville successfully. The campus is a lot like UIS, with shiny, new buildings surrounded by rings of roads and parking lots, but is a lot bigger, more bucolic, and has stuff on campus that would otherwise make you want to stay on campus, like a Sonic Burger. We're camped out on a hill next to a lake which is next to a swimming pool, so everyone took a dip before sunning off and biking out to eat somewhere. I ended up turning around because not only could I not yell at the folks to slow down, but I was in sandals, which don't do much in the way for forward motion on SPDs. I biked back to camp and broke out the mess kit for the first time, a plastic tupperware container that once contained cookies my sister donated, and my hobo tool, complete with detachable fork/corkscrew and spoon/knife/other-sharp-thing-that-can-be-used-to-gouge-things. For once, I was "roughing it," eating leftovers from a cooler sitting next to the van while listening to my iPod. I would say I could hear crickets, but I'm still rather congested in the ear/head region.
Tentatively I plan on biking tommorrow. Tentatively. If you're reading, wish me luck!
At this point in the narrative, I was extremely fatigued and feverish, and finally having realized it, took off a few layers of clothing and took some ibuprofen. Then somewhere in there I managed to eat, sit in a meeting asking everyone to speak up, being called "grandpa" because I asked people to speak up and was speaking loudly myself due to my congested head, and watching the Eddy Merckx story.
I woke up Tuesday feeling the same, sore throat, lightheaded, and with a hint of eagerness to move on that day and sadness that I would not depart from home again on two wheels. This would be the first leg of the journey, in my mind, that takes us West, and not just in the cardinal direction. We took the same route out that we trained on endless times, and it would have been great to take it the endless-and-first time but with the intent of ending up someplace else, far away. Instead, I drove it and chalked it out for the riders behind, sometimes only seconds behind. The chalking didn't go unappreciated and I was praised for my efforts. I also got my iPod working and thus the soundtrack of my day could commence.
Brian Albrecht left us at the first 15-mile stop, so it was a tender moment for all of us. He wrote me a nice note and I'm very grateful for his words. Wherever you are Brian, I hope you're doing well. And if you're reading these very words, then hello from Lovejoy Library at SIU-Edwardsville.
A cyclist hit me, that is to say, I was driving on the left side of the road to pass my teammates after leaving the sag stop when I registered that a cyclist was coming towards me, and slowing down as much as I could, I avoided swerving to the right and hitting a teammate, and the lady managed to get by, but I heard a metallic scrape and a thud against the car. I immediately stopped, got out, and saw that thankfully she was okay. She said she had tried to unclip from her pedals, but unsuccessful, fell onto the van. It managed to bend her left aerobar, and due to the poor ductility of aluminum, I managed to break it in an attempt to bend it back. It was sheepish moment to add to the situation, but she said not to worry. I offered her water and use of our tool kit and gave her some bandages. In the end, her and I were able to part ways with our lives and vehicles in working order, but it was still a frightening experiencing. I should have offered her my aerobars, but it only slipped my mind afterwards that I do, in fact, have aerobars. I should have also yelled at my teammates for not moving over and not making it apparent that there was a cyclist up. What bothers me is that these county lanes are less than the width of my driveway, and yes, you are legally entitled to ride two abreast, but as a courtesy to me, the support vehicle driver, and other potentially clueless drivers, ride in single file on narrow or busy roads!
45 miles out Dan joined me in the car due to his aching back. He had hoisted Sehee on his shoulders taking one of the many photo-ops in front of our sponsors' locations and torqued it somehow. Needless to say, that's a good way to end a day of hunched-over riding. So I had a co-pilot. And managed to get lost, and have to backtrack to help folks. The route was lost in translation or better yet, in the cornfields, but I went on chalking and figuring out the way. We stopped for lunch in Niantic, IL and I downed a liter and a half of Lipton Green tea and attempted to relieve my throat somehow. I also recieved my dearest sister Amy who drove down for the day. She not only visited me, but brought a pair of bike shorts, a copy of On The Road and new cycling gloves. It was really the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, so thank you Amy!
The route out of town followed along train tracks, so Dan and I chased down a freight train and nearly caught up to engine. The cool part about it was the 12-minute track in the middle of the newest Of Montreal album that made awesome pursuit music. It was a moment to remember and photograph, not to mention a few words online. We managed to traverse the busy roads of Springfield after a few choice wrong turns and end up at U of I Springfield to unload the van. Mark was there waiting, having not only gotten lost, but gotten there two or so hours ahead of time. I jumped back in the van to find the riders, give them relief, and chalk the route. I ended up not doing the first two very well, but I did the last one pretty darn well. So everyone got home and whaddya know, their stuff was waiting for them there.
We stayed at the Lincoln dorm at UIS, and their rooms are remarkably better than what I'm used to at UIUC. It has to be the furniture or the carpeting, or the spacious floor lounges, or the 2-room shared bathrooms, or the newness/sterility of the place that impressed me. I would live there if UIS weren't in the middle of nowhere. Needless to say, we had mattresses to sleep on. Jon Schlesinger was my roommate for the night, but we avoided butting heads or hating each other in the end. For dinner I ate a lot. Let's just say I had a hamburger that had fries and cheese piled on top of it. I still didn't feel to great and was reduced to hand gestures and grunts, it hurt that much to talk.
Wednesday I woke up feeling more or less the same. I woke up with my sleeping bag drenched in sweat, so I still may or may not have a fever. I got in the car for the second day in a row, and for the third day without having biked. I wished for it to end, but I was still violently forcing phlegm out of my throat and painfully gulping down copious amounts of water. During our stops, I napped and Dan, who co-piloted again in the morning, drove in the afternoon. In a big confused mess and after touring the beautiful industrial parts of Monroe county, we all got to Southern Illinois University-Edwardsville successfully. The campus is a lot like UIS, with shiny, new buildings surrounded by rings of roads and parking lots, but is a lot bigger, more bucolic, and has stuff on campus that would otherwise make you want to stay on campus, like a Sonic Burger. We're camped out on a hill next to a lake which is next to a swimming pool, so everyone took a dip before sunning off and biking out to eat somewhere. I ended up turning around because not only could I not yell at the folks to slow down, but I was in sandals, which don't do much in the way for forward motion on SPDs. I biked back to camp and broke out the mess kit for the first time, a plastic tupperware container that once contained cookies my sister donated, and my hobo tool, complete with detachable fork/corkscrew and spoon/knife/other-sharp-thing-that-can-be-used-to-gouge-things. For once, I was "roughing it," eating leftovers from a cooler sitting next to the van while listening to my iPod. I would say I could hear crickets, but I'm still rather congested in the ear/head region.
Tentatively I plan on biking tommorrow. Tentatively. If you're reading, wish me luck!
Monday, June 11, 2007
A long-awaited picture entry!
Huzzah, huzzah, here's some photos to enjoy from the past few days:
This was taken on 57th Street beach in Chicago. I'm dipping my back wheel into Lake Michigan, with the intent that I dip my front wheel into the Pacific in San Diego. Yes, this journey actually started in New York, but there was no convenient entry point to either the Atlantic, or the Hudson, or even the East River on Manhattan. Since I come from Chicagoland, I figure it's appropriate that I "christen" my journey here.
The lakefront path along the Shedd Aquarium
The bean and my adopted Millenium-Park family of Chris Juby and Rachel Levine, former Allen RAs.
The very amazing Schlesinger family and their welcome in Chebanse, IL
The welcome at the Alumni Center. This was an incredible moment and even more so for Jon and Anish who had dreamt of this moment over a year and a half ago.
The Laude Family paving stone outside of the Alumni center. If you're reading this, hi Family!
This was taken on 57th Street beach in Chicago. I'm dipping my back wheel into Lake Michigan, with the intent that I dip my front wheel into the Pacific in San Diego. Yes, this journey actually started in New York, but there was no convenient entry point to either the Atlantic, or the Hudson, or even the East River on Manhattan. Since I come from Chicagoland, I figure it's appropriate that I "christen" my journey here.
The lakefront path along the Shedd Aquarium
The bean and my adopted Millenium-Park family of Chris Juby and Rachel Levine, former Allen RAs.
The very amazing Schlesinger family and their welcome in Chebanse, IL
The welcome at the Alumni Center. This was an incredible moment and even more so for Jon and Anish who had dreamt of this moment over a year and a half ago.
The Laude Family paving stone outside of the Alumni center. If you're reading this, hi Family!
Come on feel the Illinoise! and other Sufjan Stevens-related audiology
Thursday night I managed to lose my digital camera and jogging through my memory, had thought I left it at the Y in the afternoon. After much effort and scrambling, it was in my sleeping bag. Some other belongings were a different case. Packing up Friday morning, I discovered I lost both a pair of bike shorts that I had supposedly left out to dry on a stack of folding chairs and my copy of On The Road. The inconvenience in losing the shorts is now having only two pairs, which gets a little tedious having to constantly wash them, or a little smelly from reuse. The book, however, is a bigger loss to me because of its sentimental value. In a gesture of good faith, Brian lent me his copy of Life of Pi for me to read instead given his early departure. So I grumbled for the first few miles of the ride and otherwise feared for my safety given the busy, pock-marked roads we biked along. At first it was scenic with the wooded lake shore and otherwise rural charm, but quickly transformed into oil refineries, steel mills, gaming casinos, and Gary. Through the latter part of things, the definition of "rust belt" became apparent, with crumbling urban streets, boarded up storefronts, and not a single person awake or on the sidewalk. Indianapolis Blvd. through Hammond became a long tunnel with a light at the end, the Illinois state line and an instantly inviting environment, with paved bike lanes and tree-lined residential streets through some otherwise quiet south Chicago neighborhoods. It all ended up on the lakefront path and led to Jackson Park and 57th street beach where we spent some time hanging out and waiting out the time before our arrival in Millenium Park. The view was fantastic, and unseen in my eyes. I usually only see the skyline from the west or north, but from the so it all seems to open up and stretch out before you, touching upon the lake. It was really wonderful to be back in town.
We ended up biking up Michigan Avenue at a familiar, crawling pace. Apparently it was Blues Fest that kept traffic more horrendous than usual. And this is why the bike is superior on the urban streetscape. Past the fountains with the enormous faces we were greeted by the applause of friends, family, and other Illini 4000 supporters, which was wonderful. In procession we climbed up the steps to the gigantic metal bean and had hours of photo-ops and snacks provided by the Schlesinger family. Then the convoluted part of getting our bikes to Homewood ensued. After miles of confused wandering, we discovered that the van was indeed underneath Millenium Park and not in the Grant Park garage further away. So, after a badly needed shower in the bike station and a lot of hustle and bustle, the van and the Ludmer-mobile spirited away our velocipides and we were given all of an hour to hang out before riding the train back to Homewood. Brian, his girlfriend Mackenzie, Brandt and I stuck together and got confused by the Metra Electric Line and its many branches, having ended up on the wrong train which fortunately was only 30 seconds ahead of the correct one. We walked around town and spotted the hordes of cicadas which otherwise taken over the trees and the park fountain. And the buzzing, the buzzing was ethereal and non-stop. I savored the experience given the last time this happened I was 3 and the next time I'll be 37, just to put things in perspective. We ended up being the first to arrive at St. Paul's and had firstsies on the tons of food that had been donated to us by local eateries and the Albrecht family. My mom, dad, and sister came to visit me, which was nice. They are my biggest sponsors and equipment providers and I am ever grateful for their generosity in helping make my participation on this adventure possible. I would post the picture of the four of us, but my boxers were clearly showing, so I'll have to postpone it or photoshop it so it looks like a nice family portrait. My day ended when I decided to lay down, spelling death to my productivity.
Saturday I woke up at 6 in the morning, despite an irregular 8:30 wakeup. I changed out saddles, thinking a harder one without the gel cut-out would be slightly less uncomfortable. We got a late start due to the ride-along. That day we would have three extra riders who would be joining us from the train station. And so we began the trip to Champaign, which normally would take me 2 and a half hours, but would take so much longer but be so much more worthwhile and fulfill a desire to get back to school on two wheels. We stopped in or went through all the little towns that the I-57 exit signs list that you would otherwise forget about or just use as markers towards a bigger destination. I joined the head paceline for a good, fast ride through that familiarly flat Illinois corn- and soy-scape. I flatted out almost imperceptibly despite the apparent lack of road hazards, which was strange. In Chebanse, IL we were greeted again by Jon Schlesinger's family at the Zion Lutheran Church. They had arranged a dinner to end all dinners by firing up the grill and satisfying our taste for Italian sausage or soy burgers. I made the mistake of lying down afterwards, which ended my night quickly.
Sunday we snaked along the I-57 overpasses and through more small towns, which would turn out to be death for our schedule. Geoff, one of our sponsors and biggest supporters joined us on his titanium Merckx and made good company. Again, it was strange to stop at all the gas stations and see all the exit ramps from the Frontage roads that you would stop at or just drive by. My delight in the landscape ended when I went into neuromuscular fatigue and we had to get into Rantoul by a certain time that would necessitate a fast pace. Someone remarked that my saddle was too high, which it was, but hadn't bothered me since. It was also then that I realized my new saddle was just as uncomfortable as my old one, so there is little use in keeping both. In Rantoul, we were greeted by the Alumni association with Gatorade and by the Dustheimers with snacks, which were sweet relief for my sore legs. We would also be escorted into town by the Prairie Cycling Club and other supporters. It was great to see some familiar roads again, the same ones we had taken months before on long training rides, except now we would be much more fit and hardened by consecutive days of cycling. Riding down Lincoln Avenue reminded me of the many Critical Masses I had ridden with and I knew I was home again in that place where I spend a significant portion of my year, even for just a small part of my life thus far.
At the Alumni Center, we had a warm welcome from supporters, alumni, and the press, and I instantly commenced with the eating and the photo-ops. I spoke to a reporter from the News-Gazette and related to her my take on the Illini 4000 and the stories of the day, like when Nick Ludmer passed over 1000 miles on his odometer, he threw out M&Ms from his bike to the adoring masses, or the rest of the group as we stopped for a rest somewhere along the way. I passed over 1000 miles the same afternoon but to little notice and celebration as we were rushing to meet a time schedule. I asked the WPGU folks to play a Sufjan Stevens song in honor of one of my teammates, Alex, who couldn't make it out to Champaign with us due to her grandfather's passing. It was "Decatur, or Round of Applause for Your Stepmother!" which I had been singing since Ohio for some reason, and won't stop until we pass through Decatur itself. My friend Kim visited me and I road her full suspension mountain bike, which was fun. Then my other cyclist friend Henry showed up looking for Keith who had gone back to the Illini 4000 Orbital HQ, where I ended up in need of a shower and change of clothes. I ended up going to Dorca's, the other Korean restaurant in town I hadn't been to, with Drew, Keith, and Adam and managed to use the little Korean phrases that Sehee had taught me. At this point, my throat began to hurt and I was phlegmatic, if that's the right word for being phlegmy. On the walk back, I ran into four of my friends in the short stretch between Starbucks and Cold Stone and remarked how despite the surreal emptiness of town, I had managed to run into a lot of people I knew. Back at HQ, I felt progressively
worse until I fell asleep.
Today I woke up at 9 with a worse sore throat and took the only thing I had in my possession that would help me, Cepacol throat lozenges. It seemed to do about 50% of the trick as I still feel awful. I went into campus to pay off my student bill and now find myself in the Undergrad. Library where there is, again, this surreal emptiness. It's otherwise bright and the trees are fully green, something I wouldn't appreciate by not being here in the summertime. It's taken me a couple of hours to do this and keep updated among other things, so I best end now. Thank you for reading up to this point.
We ended up biking up Michigan Avenue at a familiar, crawling pace. Apparently it was Blues Fest that kept traffic more horrendous than usual. And this is why the bike is superior on the urban streetscape. Past the fountains with the enormous faces we were greeted by the applause of friends, family, and other Illini 4000 supporters, which was wonderful. In procession we climbed up the steps to the gigantic metal bean and had hours of photo-ops and snacks provided by the Schlesinger family. Then the convoluted part of getting our bikes to Homewood ensued. After miles of confused wandering, we discovered that the van was indeed underneath Millenium Park and not in the Grant Park garage further away. So, after a badly needed shower in the bike station and a lot of hustle and bustle, the van and the Ludmer-mobile spirited away our velocipides and we were given all of an hour to hang out before riding the train back to Homewood. Brian, his girlfriend Mackenzie, Brandt and I stuck together and got confused by the Metra Electric Line and its many branches, having ended up on the wrong train which fortunately was only 30 seconds ahead of the correct one. We walked around town and spotted the hordes of cicadas which otherwise taken over the trees and the park fountain. And the buzzing, the buzzing was ethereal and non-stop. I savored the experience given the last time this happened I was 3 and the next time I'll be 37, just to put things in perspective. We ended up being the first to arrive at St. Paul's and had firstsies on the tons of food that had been donated to us by local eateries and the Albrecht family. My mom, dad, and sister came to visit me, which was nice. They are my biggest sponsors and equipment providers and I am ever grateful for their generosity in helping make my participation on this adventure possible. I would post the picture of the four of us, but my boxers were clearly showing, so I'll have to postpone it or photoshop it so it looks like a nice family portrait. My day ended when I decided to lay down, spelling death to my productivity.
Saturday I woke up at 6 in the morning, despite an irregular 8:30 wakeup. I changed out saddles, thinking a harder one without the gel cut-out would be slightly less uncomfortable. We got a late start due to the ride-along. That day we would have three extra riders who would be joining us from the train station. And so we began the trip to Champaign, which normally would take me 2 and a half hours, but would take so much longer but be so much more worthwhile and fulfill a desire to get back to school on two wheels. We stopped in or went through all the little towns that the I-57 exit signs list that you would otherwise forget about or just use as markers towards a bigger destination. I joined the head paceline for a good, fast ride through that familiarly flat Illinois corn- and soy-scape. I flatted out almost imperceptibly despite the apparent lack of road hazards, which was strange. In Chebanse, IL we were greeted again by Jon Schlesinger's family at the Zion Lutheran Church. They had arranged a dinner to end all dinners by firing up the grill and satisfying our taste for Italian sausage or soy burgers. I made the mistake of lying down afterwards, which ended my night quickly.
Sunday we snaked along the I-57 overpasses and through more small towns, which would turn out to be death for our schedule. Geoff, one of our sponsors and biggest supporters joined us on his titanium Merckx and made good company. Again, it was strange to stop at all the gas stations and see all the exit ramps from the Frontage roads that you would stop at or just drive by. My delight in the landscape ended when I went into neuromuscular fatigue and we had to get into Rantoul by a certain time that would necessitate a fast pace. Someone remarked that my saddle was too high, which it was, but hadn't bothered me since. It was also then that I realized my new saddle was just as uncomfortable as my old one, so there is little use in keeping both. In Rantoul, we were greeted by the Alumni association with Gatorade and by the Dustheimers with snacks, which were sweet relief for my sore legs. We would also be escorted into town by the Prairie Cycling Club and other supporters. It was great to see some familiar roads again, the same ones we had taken months before on long training rides, except now we would be much more fit and hardened by consecutive days of cycling. Riding down Lincoln Avenue reminded me of the many Critical Masses I had ridden with and I knew I was home again in that place where I spend a significant portion of my year, even for just a small part of my life thus far.
At the Alumni Center, we had a warm welcome from supporters, alumni, and the press, and I instantly commenced with the eating and the photo-ops. I spoke to a reporter from the News-Gazette and related to her my take on the Illini 4000 and the stories of the day, like when Nick Ludmer passed over 1000 miles on his odometer, he threw out M&Ms from his bike to the adoring masses, or the rest of the group as we stopped for a rest somewhere along the way. I passed over 1000 miles the same afternoon but to little notice and celebration as we were rushing to meet a time schedule. I asked the WPGU folks to play a Sufjan Stevens song in honor of one of my teammates, Alex, who couldn't make it out to Champaign with us due to her grandfather's passing. It was "Decatur, or Round of Applause for Your Stepmother!" which I had been singing since Ohio for some reason, and won't stop until we pass through Decatur itself. My friend Kim visited me and I road her full suspension mountain bike, which was fun. Then my other cyclist friend Henry showed up looking for Keith who had gone back to the Illini 4000 Orbital HQ, where I ended up in need of a shower and change of clothes. I ended up going to Dorca's, the other Korean restaurant in town I hadn't been to, with Drew, Keith, and Adam and managed to use the little Korean phrases that Sehee had taught me. At this point, my throat began to hurt and I was phlegmatic, if that's the right word for being phlegmy. On the walk back, I ran into four of my friends in the short stretch between Starbucks and Cold Stone and remarked how despite the surreal emptiness of town, I had managed to run into a lot of people I knew. Back at HQ, I felt progressively
worse until I fell asleep.
Today I woke up at 9 with a worse sore throat and took the only thing I had in my possession that would help me, Cepacol throat lozenges. It seemed to do about 50% of the trick as I still feel awful. I went into campus to pay off my student bill and now find myself in the Undergrad. Library where there is, again, this surreal emptiness. It's otherwise bright and the trees are fully green, something I wouldn't appreciate by not being here in the summertime. It's taken me a couple of hours to do this and keep updated among other things, so I best end now. Thank you for reading up to this point.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
There's more than corn in Indiana...
There's soybeans too!
We woke up to a Winamac sunrise, inside our tents and content that the next step would be easy, a 60-miler up into Chesterton, IN. Jon had spread the news that we would have a tailwind and the weather.com reports of 30 to 40 mph winds from the south with gusts up to 50 confirmed that. It would be a great day for heading north. Not so for heading west, however, with near unmanageable crosswinds. It seems that trucks, semi-trailers especially push a lot of air, and depending on their direction of travel relative to your travel, will either blow you off the road or suck you towards the vacuum they drag behind them. So needless to say, it was hard to stay balanced on a two-lane state road with little margin that just happened to be designated a bike route for some reason. Luckily the corn stopped and the little bit of longitudinal travel ended quickly.
We got into Valparaiso around 11:25 our time, literally we could see the ominous tower of some building at the University there rise up into our horizon, and we figured that our route shouldn't be on US 30, a six-lane busy highway. So we stopped at a gas station on the corner and realized that somewhere in our travel, we had gained an hour having passed the invisible line that divides rural Indiana from civilized, Chicago-ized Indiana. We were hungry, so Dan, Andrew, Drew, Keith, Brian, and I waited outside of Wendy's until 10:30 when it it finally opened and feasted to our newly gained span of time. It being 11:25 again, we headed into Valparaiso proper and did not stop for long, figuring we would make it to our destination right quick, and we were right, speeding as fast as our legs and the wind would push us in the general direction of Lake Michigan. The six of us were the first to arrive at the New Life Wesleyan Church in Chesterton. Upon the arrival of the rest of our team, one of the pastors gave us the choice of piling into the church's 15-person van to take us to the Indiana dunes, which the lot of us accepted with great enthusiasm.
The water was cold, the sand was coarse, hot, and abrasive when it blew, but the beach in general was excellent. Jon chased me up a sand dune and running up that pile of sand made me more tired than I had been in a while, so in other words, it felt great. Later I took a nap in a hole someone had dug and first was covered in sand by the wind and then my teammates, who revelled in taking a picture with my disembodied head in the sand. So I was covered in sand and probably had swallowed a bit, not to mention it being in my eyes and ears and nose and over the bike shorts I hadn't changed out of. The pastor then took us to the local Y so we could shower and otherwise not be covered in sand.
I'm very excited for tommorrow, we're actually biking into Chicago, ending up at Millenium Park, but first have to go through some of the lovelier parts of Northwest Indiana along its lakeshore to get there. And there's a constant headwind. And our preparation for tommorrow and getting our bikes and belongings ready is fairly convoluted but simple enough if you sit down and think about it, which no one has time for. So, for all these reasons, I'm excited.
We woke up to a Winamac sunrise, inside our tents and content that the next step would be easy, a 60-miler up into Chesterton, IN. Jon had spread the news that we would have a tailwind and the weather.com reports of 30 to 40 mph winds from the south with gusts up to 50 confirmed that. It would be a great day for heading north. Not so for heading west, however, with near unmanageable crosswinds. It seems that trucks, semi-trailers especially push a lot of air, and depending on their direction of travel relative to your travel, will either blow you off the road or suck you towards the vacuum they drag behind them. So needless to say, it was hard to stay balanced on a two-lane state road with little margin that just happened to be designated a bike route for some reason. Luckily the corn stopped and the little bit of longitudinal travel ended quickly.
We got into Valparaiso around 11:25 our time, literally we could see the ominous tower of some building at the University there rise up into our horizon, and we figured that our route shouldn't be on US 30, a six-lane busy highway. So we stopped at a gas station on the corner and realized that somewhere in our travel, we had gained an hour having passed the invisible line that divides rural Indiana from civilized, Chicago-ized Indiana. We were hungry, so Dan, Andrew, Drew, Keith, Brian, and I waited outside of Wendy's until 10:30 when it it finally opened and feasted to our newly gained span of time. It being 11:25 again, we headed into Valparaiso proper and did not stop for long, figuring we would make it to our destination right quick, and we were right, speeding as fast as our legs and the wind would push us in the general direction of Lake Michigan. The six of us were the first to arrive at the New Life Wesleyan Church in Chesterton. Upon the arrival of the rest of our team, one of the pastors gave us the choice of piling into the church's 15-person van to take us to the Indiana dunes, which the lot of us accepted with great enthusiasm.
The water was cold, the sand was coarse, hot, and abrasive when it blew, but the beach in general was excellent. Jon chased me up a sand dune and running up that pile of sand made me more tired than I had been in a while, so in other words, it felt great. Later I took a nap in a hole someone had dug and first was covered in sand by the wind and then my teammates, who revelled in taking a picture with my disembodied head in the sand. So I was covered in sand and probably had swallowed a bit, not to mention it being in my eyes and ears and nose and over the bike shorts I hadn't changed out of. The pastor then took us to the local Y so we could shower and otherwise not be covered in sand.
I'm very excited for tommorrow, we're actually biking into Chicago, ending up at Millenium Park, but first have to go through some of the lovelier parts of Northwest Indiana along its lakeshore to get there. And there's a constant headwind. And our preparation for tommorrow and getting our bikes and belongings ready is fairly convoluted but simple enough if you sit down and think about it, which no one has time for. So, for all these reasons, I'm excited.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Rainy Day Cyclin' Part 2 + What I make of Indiana.
We left Grand Rapids, OH Monday morning with a large order on our plate - 115 or so miles into our next town. Oh, we thought we'd be ready with the flat terrain and beautiful, clear weather, but that seemed to change for the worse as things went on. At our lunch stop in Paulding, OH we ate at a small pizza chain store that was serving up a buffet for 2.99. It was too good to pass up and I nearly passed out from the sheer volume of "Chicago-style" slices I managed to stuff down. On the way out, it started raining, and stopped again, but without getting rid of that foreboding look in the Ohio skyscape. James got a flat, the route took a detour and Indiana didn't give us a welcome sign of any kind except for changing road signs and gravel roads. A postman driving in the passenger seat of his station wagon gave us candy and directions, and we got into our rest stop later in the afternoon than we had planned on. From what I hear, our team got a lot of strange offers for accomodations in that town, so we high-tailed it west into the darken horizion in front of us. At 80 miles and about 6 o'clock in the evening, it began to rain. It began to pour. I have a rather rudimentary rain jacket but it offers little in the way breathability, so the sweat stuck my skin to the inside of the jacket and offered little in the way of insulation to the cold. We ran a double paceline at about 15 mph and I had to pull into the wind for a couple of miles. That having put me in debt, I got tired quick and still had a ways to go. I hit 100 miles a little after the 7 hour mark, but at that point, I would be pushing my boundaries until we stopped. I started losing it, slurring my speech, and wouldn't be surprised if my core body temperature had dropped a tiny bit. Fortunately I made it up the hill to our town wet, cold, miserable, and satisfied and peeled off a lot of wet clothing and bundled up in some warm ones. According to wikipedia I didn't get hypothermia but I guess I could have, so it's something to consider when biking in the cold. The United Methodist Church in Huntington, IN had dinner ready when we got in, so that was good for recovering from the day's work. I set up shop underneath the dinner table and fell asleep reading Kerouac.
Tuesday was a well-needed rest day. My natural clock woke me at 5:55 in the morning, and naturally I got up and bumped my head on the table above. Cursing myself, I fell asleep until breakfast and a team meeting where we went over a few key issues surrounding our mornings and general team conduct. The day before I had started eating before I was supposed to, but hadn't heard we would now be eating together, at the same time, instead of at everyone's irregular rhythms of waking up and getting packed. I was afraid I had set off one of our teammates in particular, but was told not to worry or feel bad about it by our team leaders. It was all said and done and I left it at that. I've been pretty much living up to the idea that my needs and everyone else's individual needs are subordinate to the team's in order for things to operate smoothy and in a timely fashion, especially where it's key that we start out early and avoid the hot of the day or other conditions that may make cycling a pain or difficult. That's just how we need to roll.
I went to the local Y where I took a much needed hot shower and played bumper pool for the first time ever with Dan. I beat him after nearly being defeated. That may or may not be the last time I play bumper pool on this trip. I then bought a bottle cage to replace my broken one and my favorite kind of patch kit. In the afternoon I took care of laundry with Brian and Andrew and visited the local Walgreens for more sunscreen. I realize I should have took a picture to send to the folks back in Hinsdale, but there are something like 5400 stores nationwide and in Puerto Rico. Later I watched the Fountain with the folks who had rented it and I have to say it is one of the better movies I've seen recently and something I can appreciate post-film class for all of its structural and argumentative devices. For more on that, see previous posts. Like the ones that are not about bikes. I managed to screw up my rear deraileur after removing and cleaning out my cassette. It began hitting the spokes in the inner-most position, but after messing with the tension and high/low stops I got it working properly again. As a note to myself, I should probably stop messing with things that don't need fixing in particular. I should also mention that this has worked well for my tires, which haven't given me a problem after a long period of blowouts and pinch-flats. I nearly missed dinner and fell dead asleep watching Casino Royale.
Today we got a start into the chilly morning with me wishing for a long-sleeved something to go over my thin cycling jersey. The sun was out and the terrain was cornfield, so warming up wasn't a problem. We rode quick and non-stop for four intense hours before getting into town. Despite my best efforts, the riding became increasingly tiring and after a while, it became a pain to keep spinning at high cadence, but you could say I've seen the light and the benefits of staying in the small ring rather than powering through the strokes and hoping for the best if you need to accelerate. In town we talked with the locals outside our lunch stop. One of them had driven into town to do bike work at the hardware store, but none of us needed anything done. He still gave us free tire levers which was a nice gesture. If I'm ever in Peru, IN I'll stop by Breakaway Bike Shop.
We set up camp outside the Fellowship Baptist Church in Winamac, IN. I promptly fell asleep for a few hours inside one of our tents. Waking up, I was recruited to cook dinner and did the best job I could cutting green peppers. They had two side-by-side kitchens so cooking dinner was done with machine-like efficiency. I realize I don't have a meal kit and hope that whichever sibling of mine had one didn't give it away.
I'm now blogging on the computer inside the youth room of the church. Everyone is lounging around and I suppose I'll be joining them when I finish blogging now.
Tuesday was a well-needed rest day. My natural clock woke me at 5:55 in the morning, and naturally I got up and bumped my head on the table above. Cursing myself, I fell asleep until breakfast and a team meeting where we went over a few key issues surrounding our mornings and general team conduct. The day before I had started eating before I was supposed to, but hadn't heard we would now be eating together, at the same time, instead of at everyone's irregular rhythms of waking up and getting packed. I was afraid I had set off one of our teammates in particular, but was told not to worry or feel bad about it by our team leaders. It was all said and done and I left it at that. I've been pretty much living up to the idea that my needs and everyone else's individual needs are subordinate to the team's in order for things to operate smoothy and in a timely fashion, especially where it's key that we start out early and avoid the hot of the day or other conditions that may make cycling a pain or difficult. That's just how we need to roll.
I went to the local Y where I took a much needed hot shower and played bumper pool for the first time ever with Dan. I beat him after nearly being defeated. That may or may not be the last time I play bumper pool on this trip. I then bought a bottle cage to replace my broken one and my favorite kind of patch kit. In the afternoon I took care of laundry with Brian and Andrew and visited the local Walgreens for more sunscreen. I realize I should have took a picture to send to the folks back in Hinsdale, but there are something like 5400 stores nationwide and in Puerto Rico. Later I watched the Fountain with the folks who had rented it and I have to say it is one of the better movies I've seen recently and something I can appreciate post-film class for all of its structural and argumentative devices. For more on that, see previous posts. Like the ones that are not about bikes. I managed to screw up my rear deraileur after removing and cleaning out my cassette. It began hitting the spokes in the inner-most position, but after messing with the tension and high/low stops I got it working properly again. As a note to myself, I should probably stop messing with things that don't need fixing in particular. I should also mention that this has worked well for my tires, which haven't given me a problem after a long period of blowouts and pinch-flats. I nearly missed dinner and fell dead asleep watching Casino Royale.
Today we got a start into the chilly morning with me wishing for a long-sleeved something to go over my thin cycling jersey. The sun was out and the terrain was cornfield, so warming up wasn't a problem. We rode quick and non-stop for four intense hours before getting into town. Despite my best efforts, the riding became increasingly tiring and after a while, it became a pain to keep spinning at high cadence, but you could say I've seen the light and the benefits of staying in the small ring rather than powering through the strokes and hoping for the best if you need to accelerate. In town we talked with the locals outside our lunch stop. One of them had driven into town to do bike work at the hardware store, but none of us needed anything done. He still gave us free tire levers which was a nice gesture. If I'm ever in Peru, IN I'll stop by Breakaway Bike Shop.
We set up camp outside the Fellowship Baptist Church in Winamac, IN. I promptly fell asleep for a few hours inside one of our tents. Waking up, I was recruited to cook dinner and did the best job I could cutting green peppers. They had two side-by-side kitchens so cooking dinner was done with machine-like efficiency. I realize I don't have a meal kit and hope that whichever sibling of mine had one didn't give it away.
I'm now blogging on the computer inside the youth room of the church. Everyone is lounging around and I suppose I'll be joining them when I finish blogging now.
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