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.
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