I left Lake Charles following the route that were given me by Laura at the Cameron MDS site. As I pedaled south, I questioned my decision to go down to the Gulf Coast before turning east. The wind was blowing hard out of the west, hardest I had dealt with since Wyoming, I would say. A few miles south of Lake Charles I crossed Friesen Road, which made me chuckle a little. I took a picture and wondered what the relationship was between this road and my surname. Continuing south I rode through the Cameron Prairie National Wildlife Refuge. Along this road I saw several small, flattened alligators on the road before seeing one larger, more obviously three-dimensional alligator scurry across the road ahead of me. The creature was too quick and I was unable to get my camera out in time to get a picture. It was a short day on the bike and I got to the MDS site fairly early, but the day was not without its challenges. The stiff wind was more irritating that anything for most of the day, but it became a little more dangerous as I rode across the bridge spanning the Intracoastal Waterway. As I climbed (still locked into my large front chainring), the wind got stronger and tried to push me into traffic. I stopped to take a few pictures at the top, and it felt like I was going to get blown over the edge. Much of the ride this day had no shoulder to speak of, and off both sides of the road was stagnant, swampy water. The final 9 miles of the day were the most difficult. When I got to Creole, I turned west towards Cameron and straight into the wind. Without the ability to change my front gears, I was stuck cranking pretty hard on my pedals.
When I got to the MDS site, I stashed my belongings in the bunk trailer, had a bite to eat, then biked over to the work site another two miles down the road where I joined a group of men from the Goshen, Indiana, area that were building columns for two different houses. The houses were going to be about 8 feet off the ground. There were a few questions for me as I pulled up, but everyone seemed pretty focused on their tasks, so I just jumped in and tried to find a way to help. The next day when we showed up to work, a journalist arrived at the work site to interview me. As we worked throughout the day, one of the future home owners named Jeb did whatever he could to help us out. He had a tractor with forks on the front, so he moved pallets of brick and cement around. He also provided the entertainment during our breaks. He had some great stories about alligator hunting. Over lunch we went out to see a shrimping boat that a friend of his owned. The boat was docked because the engine was blown and needed to get fixed. It was pretty fascinating to learn about how that business works. We ended up getting all of the columns finished and ready to be filled with cement the following day. This trip to Cameron was not on my original itinerary, but I'm glad it worked out for me to stop there for a day. After cycling all over the country, repeating daily why I am doing this bike trip and telling people what MDS is, it was great to be able to be on a work site, see the people that are doing the work and the people that are benefiting from it, and to do something for MDS other than talk. During the day we were focused on building a house, so my trip was not the center of attention. I wasn't wearing tights and a helmet, so I didn't stick out in a crowd. And best of all, nobody knew it was my birthday, so I didn't get any special treatment on that front either. I don't think I could have had a better day.
The next morning I got up with everyone else, had breakfast, and hit the road about the same time they were all headed to the work site. I headed through the swamp toward Abbeville where I would meet my parents and maternal grandmother. On the way, I saw many more two- and three-dimensional alligators along the roadway. I stopped in Pecan Island to eat my packed lunch from the MDS site, and ended up talking to a couple of people about my trip. It was weird to tell the one man that I had been on the road for more than 5-1/2 months and that I'd be finishing the trip tomorrow. I was fully aware of how close I was to the finish, but it felt very different to say it out loud. The man was rather fascinated and seemed as though he needed to tell someone about this guy he had just met. He shouted over to his traveling companion in the truck that I was biking all over the country, but the other man didn't seem to care so much. From there I pedaled the rest of the way to Abbeville and checked into a hotel to wait for my family to arrive. When my parents have visited me during this trip, I tend to stay in nicer places and eat better food, so I didn't bother finding anything to eat before they arrived.
The next day I knew it was going to be a short day, so we didn't hurry to get out of the hotel. I needed to time my arrival at the New Iberia MDS site for about noon so I could be received appropriately. I think I would have arrived within about two minutes of noon, one way or the other, but road conditions forced me to take another route that extended my travel time by about 15 minutes. At the finish line, they actually had a finish line set up. My uncle Kim had joined my parents and his mother at the finish, and had even contacted a local news station. The news people were late, but they still came and interviewed me when they got there. The MDS volunteers prepared a fantastic lunch for the group of us, so we dined and celebrated over the lunch hour. Eventually I took a shower, packed up the bike, and we hit the road towards Henderson.
In the wake of this journey of a lifetime, I am now set with the task of figuring out how everything--everything I have seen, everyone I've met, everything I've felt--how it all fits together in the bigger picture. I've been living for 27 years. How does this 6 month trip fit with the 26 years and 6 months that preceded? What does this mean for the years to come? Obviously this has been on my mind as I have been biking, but being back into a stable environment after becoming accustom to instability and uncertainty, I am now confronted daily with questions I can't answer about what this trip has meant to me. Give me some time and I may come up with something a little more concrete to say in retrospect.
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Readers: I'm not a blogger. This blog is about the bike trip called CycleMDS. I will not continue to blog about my personal life outside of this trip. I may post once more if I come up with some sort of coherent reflection that makes more sense than that last paragraph. In the one week off the bike thus far, that hasn't come. Thank you all for reading, and I apologize for the rather anticlimactic final blog post.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
48 States: Check.
I left the RV park near Mena, Arkansas, in search of breakfast. The first little town I pulled up to was Hatfield, and lucky for me they have a small diner. Most mornings I've been trying to find a diner of some sort rather than cook on my camp stove. The first few miles of a day are really tough without coffee; once I get into a rhythm it doesn't matter.
My next stop for the day was in De Queen, Arkansas, where I pulled over for lunch. Pizza Hut had a buffet. As I was getting up to pay, some men sitting near me asked about my trip. I told them about it and gave them my card and moved to the register to pay. As I was digging through my bag for appropriate change, another group of men came in the door. One of them pointed at me and said, "That's that guy!" The others didn't seem to know what he was talking about. "That's that guy we were talking about, hey, are you riding your bike all over the country or something?" he went on. Apparently I had been featured on the website of their local radio station or something. This is the first time someone has recognized me because of the trip. I didn't expect that to happen.
From there I rolled on down to the Texas line, where I entered state number 48 on my way to New Boston, Texas, for the night. I decided to check into the Tex Inn, partly because I was wanting to celebrate my final state with a night inside, and partly because I thought the clever name should be rewarded.
The following morning I went to the Wal-Mart across the road before leaving town. I needed batteries for my GPS. After purchasing the batteries, I was outside standing next to my bike when I heard a sound like something had just hit my bike, like a small rock or something. After further inspection, I discovered that a small piece of very necessary plastic had broken off of my front derailleur, rendering the spring useless. This means that when I release tension from the cable attached to the derailleur, it does not shift itself into a smaller chain ring. This means that I'm riding the rest of the trip in my largest chain ring on the front, unless I can find a bike shop to fix it.
Surly's newest injury did not hinder my travels that day and I made it to Marshall, Texas in good time. From there I looked up bicycle repair shops in Shreveport, Louisiana, to see if anyone could help me out. I was hoping that such a small problem could be fixed without completely replacing the derailleur. As it turns out, the derailleur should be replaced, but I decided to keep on trucking as is. There are no more hills along my travels, so I should be alright. I'll fix it when I get a job.
The next morning I got up and headed for Shreveport, Louisiana. Entering Louisiana was my 48th state sign picture. When I got to Shreveport, I found a book store to hang out in for a while. I was running quite ahead of schedule and I needed something new to read anyway. From there I headed south to the small town of Stonewall, where I stayed with Steve and LaBetha. It's always nice to have a home to stay in. I ended up spending a second night at their place. During my day off I helped Steve move a few things around. He was grateful for the help, and I appreciated the opportunity to feel like I wasn't a total freeloader. It was certainly disappointing to find out how weak my arms have become. They don't do anything all day, so when I was helping Steve, I felt like a wimp. That evening (of my day off) I got to attend a production at the Back Ally Community Theater in Grand Cane, Louisiana. Grand Cane is a tiny spot on the map, but they have managed to support a community theater for 10 years now. The musical I saw is called "Smoke on the Mountain". Well done, Grand Cane.
The following morning I took off about the same time as my hosts. I had ambitions of covering more than 95 miles on a bike with 1/3 of the gear ratios it is meant to have, so I hit the ground running (pedaling?) and didn't stop much. My goal was Leesville. When I arrived in Leesville, it was just after 3:00pm, so I made pretty good time. I continued through town and down the highway to the Sandman Motel. Why did I get a motel room again? It was supposed to rain that night and the following day. I'm just about done with my trip. I've spent less money than I thought I would. I'm getting lazy about camping. Take your pick.
This morning when I roused from the Sandman, it was indeed raining. Nothing to do but throw on the rain gear and pedal. It drizzled for a good part of the morning, but eventually let up just before lunch. I arrived in Lake Charles at about 1:30pm and got another cheap motel room. If not for the Cowgirl sheets I encountered in Florida, this may have taken the cake for crappiest motel room all trip. Sketchy would be an understatement. The man that runs the place seemed like a very nice person and he personally came with me to the room to make sure everything was in order and to ensure that I was getting a wireless internet signal. For the price I paid, not a bad deal.
Tomorrow I will ride down towards the Gulf coast and the Cameron MDS site. It will be a very short day to get there, so I don't think I'll set an alarm for the morning. In Cameron, I plan to take a day off the bike to work with one of the crews before riding the final two days from there to the New Iberia MDS site. The end is near. Within a week I will be in my parents' basement. We'll see how my integration back into a community goes.
My next stop for the day was in De Queen, Arkansas, where I pulled over for lunch. Pizza Hut had a buffet. As I was getting up to pay, some men sitting near me asked about my trip. I told them about it and gave them my card and moved to the register to pay. As I was digging through my bag for appropriate change, another group of men came in the door. One of them pointed at me and said, "That's that guy!" The others didn't seem to know what he was talking about. "That's that guy we were talking about, hey, are you riding your bike all over the country or something?" he went on. Apparently I had been featured on the website of their local radio station or something. This is the first time someone has recognized me because of the trip. I didn't expect that to happen.
From there I rolled on down to the Texas line, where I entered state number 48 on my way to New Boston, Texas, for the night. I decided to check into the Tex Inn, partly because I was wanting to celebrate my final state with a night inside, and partly because I thought the clever name should be rewarded.
The following morning I went to the Wal-Mart across the road before leaving town. I needed batteries for my GPS. After purchasing the batteries, I was outside standing next to my bike when I heard a sound like something had just hit my bike, like a small rock or something. After further inspection, I discovered that a small piece of very necessary plastic had broken off of my front derailleur, rendering the spring useless. This means that when I release tension from the cable attached to the derailleur, it does not shift itself into a smaller chain ring. This means that I'm riding the rest of the trip in my largest chain ring on the front, unless I can find a bike shop to fix it.
Surly's newest injury did not hinder my travels that day and I made it to Marshall, Texas in good time. From there I looked up bicycle repair shops in Shreveport, Louisiana, to see if anyone could help me out. I was hoping that such a small problem could be fixed without completely replacing the derailleur. As it turns out, the derailleur should be replaced, but I decided to keep on trucking as is. There are no more hills along my travels, so I should be alright. I'll fix it when I get a job.
The next morning I got up and headed for Shreveport, Louisiana. Entering Louisiana was my 48th state sign picture. When I got to Shreveport, I found a book store to hang out in for a while. I was running quite ahead of schedule and I needed something new to read anyway. From there I headed south to the small town of Stonewall, where I stayed with Steve and LaBetha. It's always nice to have a home to stay in. I ended up spending a second night at their place. During my day off I helped Steve move a few things around. He was grateful for the help, and I appreciated the opportunity to feel like I wasn't a total freeloader. It was certainly disappointing to find out how weak my arms have become. They don't do anything all day, so when I was helping Steve, I felt like a wimp. That evening (of my day off) I got to attend a production at the Back Ally Community Theater in Grand Cane, Louisiana. Grand Cane is a tiny spot on the map, but they have managed to support a community theater for 10 years now. The musical I saw is called "Smoke on the Mountain". Well done, Grand Cane.
The following morning I took off about the same time as my hosts. I had ambitions of covering more than 95 miles on a bike with 1/3 of the gear ratios it is meant to have, so I hit the ground running (pedaling?) and didn't stop much. My goal was Leesville. When I arrived in Leesville, it was just after 3:00pm, so I made pretty good time. I continued through town and down the highway to the Sandman Motel. Why did I get a motel room again? It was supposed to rain that night and the following day. I'm just about done with my trip. I've spent less money than I thought I would. I'm getting lazy about camping. Take your pick.
This morning when I roused from the Sandman, it was indeed raining. Nothing to do but throw on the rain gear and pedal. It drizzled for a good part of the morning, but eventually let up just before lunch. I arrived in Lake Charles at about 1:30pm and got another cheap motel room. If not for the Cowgirl sheets I encountered in Florida, this may have taken the cake for crappiest motel room all trip. Sketchy would be an understatement. The man that runs the place seemed like a very nice person and he personally came with me to the room to make sure everything was in order and to ensure that I was getting a wireless internet signal. For the price I paid, not a bad deal.
Tomorrow I will ride down towards the Gulf coast and the Cameron MDS site. It will be a very short day to get there, so I don't think I'll set an alarm for the morning. In Cameron, I plan to take a day off the bike to work with one of the crews before riding the final two days from there to the New Iberia MDS site. The end is near. Within a week I will be in my parents' basement. We'll see how my integration back into a community goes.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Surly got hurt...
As I departed from the Yoder farm, Martha and I agreed that highway 71 was the best way to get south in a hurry. Now, during my approach to the Yoder farm, I spent a few more miles on some rough gravel roads than I would have liked, but I figured it was ok. Now, as I headed south on 71, my bike was making occasional funny noises when I would hit bumps. I looked at the back of my bike, checked to see if my bags were attached properly, picked up the back end and spun the wheel to see if I could find any explanation to the peculiar noise that came when I would hit a bump or have to cross the rumble strips. As I continued down 71, I came into a construction zone where they were repaving the road (not so much the shoulder). Things got a little rougher through this stretch. For a while, I rode on the new pavement in the lane that was coned off, but when that ended, I needed to return to the awful conditions of the shoulder. As I transitioned from the new pavement to the old, I had an awful case of deja vu as my heart sank into my gut. Back when I was in Delaware, I had a moment when, with little warning, my bicycle gave out a brief cry of pain, followed by a very sudden loss of momentum. Another awful sound came from the rear end of my bike, and I was quickly drug to a halt. In Delaware I had shelled out the bearings in my rear wheel. This time, the eyelets on the fork of my bike that the rear rack attach to had sheered off and the rack and fender were resting on top of the tire under the weight of my baggage. The sound I had been hearing prior was probably made because one side was broken and clanging every time I hit a bump, but the other side held the rack in place enough that I couldn't find the problem.
Well, technically speaking the bike was still functional, but I couldn't carry most of my gear without that rack. What do I do next? Stick out the thumb. As I waited for a kind passerby, I called my parents to see if there was any way for them to get my trailer out to southern Missouri. (There are two primary methods of carrying your gear when bicycle touring. One is racks and panniers like I have been traveling with, the other is a bicycle trailer. I own a single wheeled trailer called BOB.) As I was running through options with my parents, a pickup pulled over, so I hung up the phone. Frank came to my rescue. Frank drove me the last few miles of my day to get to Lamar, Missouri, and even helped me find a machine shop. My bicycle is made of steel, so it can be welded. Frank and I eventually found an old man with a shop, and he tacked things back together for me. It doesn't look pretty, but it's held up thus far. This whole ordeal took us a little while, which delayed Frank's commute home. I gave him my card with instructions to have his wife call and chew me out for his tardiness instead of him.
From the machine shop I headed back towards the highway to find food. As I was on my way out the door with my sandwich in hand, a small child walked up to me and handed me a bicycle inner tube. At first, I was very confused as to what was going on, but his father, Mark, was there and explained that they see a lot of cyclists in the area, and he always kept a few inner tubes in his truck to give to them. We chatted for a while and he gave me directions to the city park where I could camp. When we parted, I made my way in that direction, but wasn't really feeling like a night in the park. I was still pretty bummed about the mechanical failure and the scars that Surly now has from the old man in the machine shop. I made my way back to the highway and checked into the cheaper of the two options of hotels there. I made a few phone calls to explain the mechanical difficulties in more detail to the few people I had texted during the whole ordeal, but spent most of the evening looking at google maps and enjoying silence.
The following day I continued south, avoiding highway 71 where possible. It was a fairly uneventful and relatively short day, ending in Anderson, Missouri, at a small campground by Indian Creek. I spent the remaining daylight hours at a truck stop at the top of the hill, making a few phone calls and attempting to use the wireless internet that never actually connected. The creek was running at just the right volume to provide very relaxing white noise to block out the sounds of the old highway, which was not heavily trafficked after the bypass was built.
In the morning I got packed up and on the road in decent time, but I was in no rush. If I cover too many miles too quickly, I'll beat my parents to the finish line. I had been across the Arkansas border for several miles when lunch time came around. I pulled off in a McDonald's to use the internet for a bit. I also ate a Big Mac for the first time in a very long time. I think I'm ok with waiting a very long time to have another, though it wasn't an altogether unpleasant experience. Either I was very hungry or their food doesn't suck as bad as I remember. From the McDonald's I continued my trek against the wind to the south. When I got to Fayettville, AR, I was reminded that it is the home of the University of Arkansas Razorbacks. I had the misfortune of stumbling across their campus. I say it that way not because there is anything wrong with the University of Arkansas or their campus, but the street that Martha put me on was ridiculous. Somehow I ended up in this residential part of town, and when I made the turn that Martha wanted me to, it appeared as though the other end of the tunnel created by the bows of the trees was a concrete wall with two vertical yellow lines painted on it. Apparently in Fayettville they call walls like this streets and expect you to drive and bicycle up and down them. I have biked all over this country, and the only thing that I have seen that could compare to the grade of this street is the hill I came down from after Bob's birthday celebration at Sea View in California. This wall that they call a street went for only about a quarter mile I would say, but for that entire quarter mile I was in my lowest gear, standing on my pedals to make my heavy touring bike move. With every shift of my weight from one pedal to the other, my bike lurched forward about 2/5ths of one tire revolution. The split second between shifts of my weight from pedal to pedal, I was not moving. I had to shift my weight quickly so I wouldn't fall over or move backwards. I kind of wanted to stop and rest part way up, but I wasn't going to give the state of Arkansas that kind of satisfaction. Resting during a climb is something I reserve for mountains, not hills in Arkansas.
From Fayettville I pressed on a little further to an RV park that was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, south of another place that may not exist, West Fork, Arkansas. I don't know how anyone else found this RV park, but there were other people there. I had to knock on a few doors of campers to find change to pay my fee. The few people I talked to were very friendly, but I never asked how they ended up at this particular RV park that seemed so lonely. I spent much of the evening in the laundry room reading. It had lights, so I didn't need to use the batteries on my headlamp.
The following morning I meandered around on the old highway through some towns that probably wish the new highway hadn't been built to bypass them. I appreciated the lightened traffic, but pittied the drivers that took the new highway. Most of the time I was a few hundred feet above them, looking out over the rolling hills, blanketed in fall colors. The trees looked like they were rusting.
When I got near an active major highway again, I found another McDonald's to use the internet to decide where I should end up that day. It seemed like a good day to see a new state, so I angled towards Oklahoma. I rolled into Poteau, Oklahoma, with sunlight to spare and checked into a cheap motel to get a shower and wash my laundry.
The laundromat was just under a mile from my hotel, so I decided to walk it. It's good for my body to do something other than turn the pedals all day, right? As I walked along the highway with a trash bag full of clothes slung over my shoulder, it made me think about how I was perceived by those passing by. Most people probably didn't give me a second thought, but if asked what they imagined was my story, an unshaven man in grungy clothes carrying a trash bag full of really grungy clothes, what would they have said? What would I have said? I probably looked homeless. I mean, I am, sort of, but not in the usual sense.
Anyway, this morning I tried to get on the road early, but after I was already dressed and headed out the door, I noticed that my rear tire was low and I needed to change it. Luckily I'm pretty dang quick at changing tires by now, but it was still irritating to start a day out that way. From there things went pretty smoothly. There wasn't much temptation to stop, because there was really nowhere to stop. I did pull over to take another picture by the welcome to Oklahoma sign. On the way into the state I had a weird angle at the sign because I was on an access road next to the interstate. That sign wasn't trying to welcome me anyway, it was meant for the interstate travelers.
After a bite to eat in Mena, Arkansas, I continued a few more miles down the road to a nicely kept RV park on a hill. The woman charged me less than I paid for the one in the middle of nowhere and the facilities here are infinitely better. Tomorrow I intend to cross into Texas, which will be the 48th state my bicycle has ridden in since May 31st. Once I get there, all that's left is closing the loop and ending in New Iberia. I do have to make sure I put on enough miles to get to that 10,000 mark, so I am not necessarily taking the shortest route to New Iberia from here. I intend to stop at the Cameron, Louisiana, MDS site as well. I'm still on pace to finish on the 19th. 10 days to go!
Well, technically speaking the bike was still functional, but I couldn't carry most of my gear without that rack. What do I do next? Stick out the thumb. As I waited for a kind passerby, I called my parents to see if there was any way for them to get my trailer out to southern Missouri. (There are two primary methods of carrying your gear when bicycle touring. One is racks and panniers like I have been traveling with, the other is a bicycle trailer. I own a single wheeled trailer called BOB.) As I was running through options with my parents, a pickup pulled over, so I hung up the phone. Frank came to my rescue. Frank drove me the last few miles of my day to get to Lamar, Missouri, and even helped me find a machine shop. My bicycle is made of steel, so it can be welded. Frank and I eventually found an old man with a shop, and he tacked things back together for me. It doesn't look pretty, but it's held up thus far. This whole ordeal took us a little while, which delayed Frank's commute home. I gave him my card with instructions to have his wife call and chew me out for his tardiness instead of him.
From the machine shop I headed back towards the highway to find food. As I was on my way out the door with my sandwich in hand, a small child walked up to me and handed me a bicycle inner tube. At first, I was very confused as to what was going on, but his father, Mark, was there and explained that they see a lot of cyclists in the area, and he always kept a few inner tubes in his truck to give to them. We chatted for a while and he gave me directions to the city park where I could camp. When we parted, I made my way in that direction, but wasn't really feeling like a night in the park. I was still pretty bummed about the mechanical failure and the scars that Surly now has from the old man in the machine shop. I made my way back to the highway and checked into the cheaper of the two options of hotels there. I made a few phone calls to explain the mechanical difficulties in more detail to the few people I had texted during the whole ordeal, but spent most of the evening looking at google maps and enjoying silence.
The following day I continued south, avoiding highway 71 where possible. It was a fairly uneventful and relatively short day, ending in Anderson, Missouri, at a small campground by Indian Creek. I spent the remaining daylight hours at a truck stop at the top of the hill, making a few phone calls and attempting to use the wireless internet that never actually connected. The creek was running at just the right volume to provide very relaxing white noise to block out the sounds of the old highway, which was not heavily trafficked after the bypass was built.
In the morning I got packed up and on the road in decent time, but I was in no rush. If I cover too many miles too quickly, I'll beat my parents to the finish line. I had been across the Arkansas border for several miles when lunch time came around. I pulled off in a McDonald's to use the internet for a bit. I also ate a Big Mac for the first time in a very long time. I think I'm ok with waiting a very long time to have another, though it wasn't an altogether unpleasant experience. Either I was very hungry or their food doesn't suck as bad as I remember. From the McDonald's I continued my trek against the wind to the south. When I got to Fayettville, AR, I was reminded that it is the home of the University of Arkansas Razorbacks. I had the misfortune of stumbling across their campus. I say it that way not because there is anything wrong with the University of Arkansas or their campus, but the street that Martha put me on was ridiculous. Somehow I ended up in this residential part of town, and when I made the turn that Martha wanted me to, it appeared as though the other end of the tunnel created by the bows of the trees was a concrete wall with two vertical yellow lines painted on it. Apparently in Fayettville they call walls like this streets and expect you to drive and bicycle up and down them. I have biked all over this country, and the only thing that I have seen that could compare to the grade of this street is the hill I came down from after Bob's birthday celebration at Sea View in California. This wall that they call a street went for only about a quarter mile I would say, but for that entire quarter mile I was in my lowest gear, standing on my pedals to make my heavy touring bike move. With every shift of my weight from one pedal to the other, my bike lurched forward about 2/5ths of one tire revolution. The split second between shifts of my weight from pedal to pedal, I was not moving. I had to shift my weight quickly so I wouldn't fall over or move backwards. I kind of wanted to stop and rest part way up, but I wasn't going to give the state of Arkansas that kind of satisfaction. Resting during a climb is something I reserve for mountains, not hills in Arkansas.
From Fayettville I pressed on a little further to an RV park that was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, south of another place that may not exist, West Fork, Arkansas. I don't know how anyone else found this RV park, but there were other people there. I had to knock on a few doors of campers to find change to pay my fee. The few people I talked to were very friendly, but I never asked how they ended up at this particular RV park that seemed so lonely. I spent much of the evening in the laundry room reading. It had lights, so I didn't need to use the batteries on my headlamp.
The following morning I meandered around on the old highway through some towns that probably wish the new highway hadn't been built to bypass them. I appreciated the lightened traffic, but pittied the drivers that took the new highway. Most of the time I was a few hundred feet above them, looking out over the rolling hills, blanketed in fall colors. The trees looked like they were rusting.
When I got near an active major highway again, I found another McDonald's to use the internet to decide where I should end up that day. It seemed like a good day to see a new state, so I angled towards Oklahoma. I rolled into Poteau, Oklahoma, with sunlight to spare and checked into a cheap motel to get a shower and wash my laundry.
The laundromat was just under a mile from my hotel, so I decided to walk it. It's good for my body to do something other than turn the pedals all day, right? As I walked along the highway with a trash bag full of clothes slung over my shoulder, it made me think about how I was perceived by those passing by. Most people probably didn't give me a second thought, but if asked what they imagined was my story, an unshaven man in grungy clothes carrying a trash bag full of really grungy clothes, what would they have said? What would I have said? I probably looked homeless. I mean, I am, sort of, but not in the usual sense.
Anyway, this morning I tried to get on the road early, but after I was already dressed and headed out the door, I noticed that my rear tire was low and I needed to change it. Luckily I'm pretty dang quick at changing tires by now, but it was still irritating to start a day out that way. From there things went pretty smoothly. There wasn't much temptation to stop, because there was really nowhere to stop. I did pull over to take another picture by the welcome to Oklahoma sign. On the way into the state I had a weird angle at the sign because I was on an access road next to the interstate. That sign wasn't trying to welcome me anyway, it was meant for the interstate travelers.
After a bite to eat in Mena, Arkansas, I continued a few more miles down the road to a nicely kept RV park on a hill. The woman charged me less than I paid for the one in the middle of nowhere and the facilities here are infinitely better. Tomorrow I intend to cross into Texas, which will be the 48th state my bicycle has ridden in since May 31st. Once I get there, all that's left is closing the loop and ending in New Iberia. I do have to make sure I put on enough miles to get to that 10,000 mark, so I am not necessarily taking the shortest route to New Iberia from here. I intend to stop at the Cameron, Louisiana, MDS site as well. I'm still on pace to finish on the 19th. 10 days to go!
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Bittersweet Arrival in Hesston
I hit the road from Walsenburg, Colorado, and continued down a familiar highway 10 that I had just traveled in a car a few days before. From Walsenburg to the La Junta area is a very desolate stretch of road for about 70 miles. I hit the ground running, not sure where I would end up for the night. I knew I wanted to try for a longer day, so I only dismounted the bike once during the morning to water some of the local vegetation. As I neared La Junta, I noticed a rhythmic sound coming from the rear of my bicycle, so I pulled over to investigate. I found that the sidewall of my rear tire had started to give way and the tube was about to push through and rupture. I knew it needed to be dealt with quickly, but I was so close to town that I was hoping it would hold until I got there. Rather, it gave way less than a mile from where I discovered the problem. I had been making such good time that I was a little irritated by the sudden snag, but I've gotten so quick at changing tires that it didn't really impact my day too negatively. The tire and tube were both shot at this point. I got my spare out of my bag and threw it on the bike, then bungied the failed tire and tube on the back with my tent.
After a bite to eat in a diner in La Junta, I hit the road hard again, seeing how far I could get before sunset. I thought about stopping at John Martin Reservoir State Park, but things were going too well to stop. I kept on cranking the pedals to Lamar Sportsman's Campground, just outside of Lamar, Colorado. Nobody was there to check in with, so I did the self register thing. Nobody was there when I got up, either, so I probably could have gotten away with squatting for the night. There was even a small heated cabin next to the tent sights that was unlocked that I could have definitely hidden in for the evening. It certainly would have been warmer than the tent. Rather, I paid for and used only a tent sight.
In the morning I got up early, packed, and found a diner for breakfast. The diner was connected to a large truck plaza and had a pretty well stocked breakfast buffet. That was perfect. I hadn't eaten too much the night before, opting for tortillas with peanut butter instead of cooking beans and rice in the dark. As I left the diner, I heard the song "Friends in Low Places" blaring from a semi parked at one of the pumps. That song has some significance with me and my former Hesston College coworkers, so I quickly texted the group of them, letting them know I was thinking of them.
Just before reaching the Kansas border I passed through the town of Holly, Colorado. Nothing about this town really stood out to me as I rode into town. Then, I slammed on my breaks. I wasn't quite sure why I hit my breaks or what I had just seen on the side of the road, but I needed to stop and look back. It was so out in the open and so still that I glazed over it on my way by. I had ridden my bicycle within about 6 feet of an elk. It was standing in the front yard of a house in the middle of town, right on the sidewalk. There shouldn't even be elk in that part of the state, much less standing in the front yard of a house in the middle of a small town. I got off my bike, walked around it (at a distance) and took a couple of pictures. It just stood there looking at me, turning occasionally to keep an eye on me. It was so calm that I almost wanted to try to pet the thing, but I imagined what an elk hoof would feel like hitting me in the face and decided against it. I saddled back up and took off for the border.
The next town I rolled through was Syracuse, Kansas. The only reason I mention this town is because this was the first time I had seen a semi hauling a wind turbine blade through a town. Not only was it passing through town, but it was making a left turn in the middle of town. The "wide load" car that drove ahead made the corner first, then stopped with it's hazards on. The driver got out with a hand held stop sign, and kept traffic from approaching the intersection, preventing the semi from dragging it's rear tires across the hood of some poor Civic or something. It was quite the sight.
Speaking of wind turbines, there are few places that I've seen with the sheer quantity of wind turbines than along highway 50. There were huge fields of them stretching into the distance, and evidence of more to come. I got to a bend in the road where there were neatly organized parts to wind turbines laid out, covering about 20 acres. Not much else to do out there, may as well use the wind.
The day seemed to drag on, but I was pretty motivated to cover more miles. I knew that Hesston, Kansas, my former home, was waiting for me. I pushed on into the evening, covering the last four or five miles in the dark to get to Cimarron, Kansas. I don't recommend cycling at night in general, and what is worse I was on highway 50. I had one eye glued to my rear view mirror at all times, just in case.
In Cimarron, I found a small diner where I could grab a bite to eat. While I was there they were preparing a very large burger for someone who called in the order. It's some kind of eating challenge. The burger itself is something like 5 lbs of beef and what appeared to be about a full block of cheese sliced up and put on the patty. The burger was enormous. They said they had to bake the patty because it wouldn't cook all the way through on the griddle. It looked like a round meatloaf between the halves of a round loaf of bread. I was not interested. I was hungry, but that looked gross.
Eventually people started asking me what the heck I was doing, so I explained. As I was about to head to the city park to set up the tent, Paula and Steve, a couple that hadn't said much yet, stopped me. They told me that they didn't live in town, but Paula's parents did, and they were out of town. They offered to let me have the house for the evening. I couldn't turn that down. It was dark and getting chilly already. They drove ahead and I met Paula at the house. She let me in, showed me to a bedroom and told me to make myself at home. It's amazing to find such trusting people. They knew nothing about me but what I had claimed about my trip, and Paula felt comfortable enough to leave me alone in her parents' house.
The following morning I had breakfast at another local establishment and was entertained by how familiar the morning coffee crowd felt. After Breakfast, I don't really have a whole lot to say about the day on the bike. I didn't really spend much time off the bike, and I don't remember seeing anything really worth noting. This was my longest day on the bike to date, covering about 141 miles to get to Yoder, Kansas, where I stayed with my friends Kendra and Mark who run a bed and breakfast in town. It was a good place to be when I received a phone call from my friend Alyssa (who I stayed with in Americus, GA, a few months ago).
Alyssa called and told me that our friend Chole Weaver had been riding her bicycle that morning and was struck from behind by a car. She died shortly thereafter. I hadn't paid attention to where so many of the students had gone to after leaving Hesston. Chloe had been living in La Jara, Colorado, and was in Alamosa, Colorado when the accident happened. I had ridden my bicycle through Alamsoa three days earlier.
The next day I got up early and rode to Hesston from Yoder, arriving just in time for chapel at the college. I had spoken with the campus pastor, Todd, about possibly making the announcements at the beginning of chapel if I arrived in time. When I walked out from in back, the sophomores were all pretty shocked and cheered a little, but the freshmen were all very confused (or so said the sophomores). I just read the announcements and left the stage with no explanation. I spent the next several days looking up as many of my friends in the area as I could, spreading my time relatively thin. I did my best to single people out so I wouldn't be caught in huge groups.
Then on Thursday I got in a car with Emily and Katie, two of my former coworkers, and we drove to Colorado for Chloe's funeral. It was really good to see that group of friends again, but it was not easy. The funeral was Friday, after which Emily, Katie, and I drove back to Hesston.
I stayed in Kansas through the weekend so I could go to New Creation Fellowship Church, where I had been attending for the three years, and to see a few more people I hadn't been able to meet up with yet. My friend Adam drove down from Henderson, Nebraska, for the weekend, and we made Indian food one night. By "we" I mean he cooked and I enjoyed the product. I should really pay attention one of these times and take notes.
I didn't go to bed very early Sunday night, so I slept in Monday and had lunch on campus before hitting the road. I expected to cover a shorter day due to the late start, but it was one of those days where I sort of found a zone and just stayed there. I ended up knocking out 76 miles that afternoon. The down side to getting into a zone like that is that I don't really appreciate what's around me, I just bike. It's ok though, I was in Kansas.
I found a cheap hotel room on the edge of Emporia, Kansas, and took care of some overdue business I had neglected while I was in Hesston. When I woke, my quads were quite unhappy with me. I spent a full week off the bike in Hesston, then pushed out 76 miles against the wind in one afternoon. I think they wanted a warm up day, or at least a warning of what was to come. I moved a little slower and took a few more breaks that day. It was still pretty uneventful on the grand scheme of things. It's hard for me to really appreciate the view. I do think that Kansas is a beautiful state, but I have lived 6 out of the last 8 years of my life before this trip in the state of Kansas. It's hard to see it with fresh eyes, especially when I get in my zone. I spent the night at Hillsdale State Park, where the camp host gave me some firewood at no charge. It was pretty cold, and I was the only one in the park without the rigid walls of a camper.
In the morning I woke with Garden City, Missouri, in my sights. Emily, one of the former coworkers that I went to the funeral with, lives near Garden City. It turned out to be less than 50 miles to get to her place, but my travels were delayed a bit because Martha (GPS) doesn't know which roads are paved and which ones are not. I took her directions anyway, but we got into a little snag when we came upon some railroad crossing maintenance. Eventually I was allowed to walk my bike through the work area, but I had to sit for about 20 minutes first.
Emily's sister, Megan, is married to my former college roommate, Brandon, so we had supper at Megan and Brandon's house last night. I really appreciated the opportunity to catch up with Brandon again. He's all grown up and working full time and then some. I, however, am delaying the conventional lifestyle of employment as long as my bank account can support it.
Today I am sitting in a coffee shop, trying to plot out the remainder of my trip. I intend to arrive in New Iberia, Louisiana on November 19th. I still need to pass through parts of Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas, and take a picture of myself entering Louisiana. I also need to make sure my route covers at least 900 miles so that I get my total mileage over 10,000 miles. I'm pretty comfortable with that. The idea of biking 900 miles sounds like a lot to many people, but at this point in my trip I feel like I'm almost tripping over the finish line. I had better live it up out here on the road while I still can.
After a bite to eat in a diner in La Junta, I hit the road hard again, seeing how far I could get before sunset. I thought about stopping at John Martin Reservoir State Park, but things were going too well to stop. I kept on cranking the pedals to Lamar Sportsman's Campground, just outside of Lamar, Colorado. Nobody was there to check in with, so I did the self register thing. Nobody was there when I got up, either, so I probably could have gotten away with squatting for the night. There was even a small heated cabin next to the tent sights that was unlocked that I could have definitely hidden in for the evening. It certainly would have been warmer than the tent. Rather, I paid for and used only a tent sight.
In the morning I got up early, packed, and found a diner for breakfast. The diner was connected to a large truck plaza and had a pretty well stocked breakfast buffet. That was perfect. I hadn't eaten too much the night before, opting for tortillas with peanut butter instead of cooking beans and rice in the dark. As I left the diner, I heard the song "Friends in Low Places" blaring from a semi parked at one of the pumps. That song has some significance with me and my former Hesston College coworkers, so I quickly texted the group of them, letting them know I was thinking of them.
Just before reaching the Kansas border I passed through the town of Holly, Colorado. Nothing about this town really stood out to me as I rode into town. Then, I slammed on my breaks. I wasn't quite sure why I hit my breaks or what I had just seen on the side of the road, but I needed to stop and look back. It was so out in the open and so still that I glazed over it on my way by. I had ridden my bicycle within about 6 feet of an elk. It was standing in the front yard of a house in the middle of town, right on the sidewalk. There shouldn't even be elk in that part of the state, much less standing in the front yard of a house in the middle of a small town. I got off my bike, walked around it (at a distance) and took a couple of pictures. It just stood there looking at me, turning occasionally to keep an eye on me. It was so calm that I almost wanted to try to pet the thing, but I imagined what an elk hoof would feel like hitting me in the face and decided against it. I saddled back up and took off for the border.
The next town I rolled through was Syracuse, Kansas. The only reason I mention this town is because this was the first time I had seen a semi hauling a wind turbine blade through a town. Not only was it passing through town, but it was making a left turn in the middle of town. The "wide load" car that drove ahead made the corner first, then stopped with it's hazards on. The driver got out with a hand held stop sign, and kept traffic from approaching the intersection, preventing the semi from dragging it's rear tires across the hood of some poor Civic or something. It was quite the sight.
Speaking of wind turbines, there are few places that I've seen with the sheer quantity of wind turbines than along highway 50. There were huge fields of them stretching into the distance, and evidence of more to come. I got to a bend in the road where there were neatly organized parts to wind turbines laid out, covering about 20 acres. Not much else to do out there, may as well use the wind.
The day seemed to drag on, but I was pretty motivated to cover more miles. I knew that Hesston, Kansas, my former home, was waiting for me. I pushed on into the evening, covering the last four or five miles in the dark to get to Cimarron, Kansas. I don't recommend cycling at night in general, and what is worse I was on highway 50. I had one eye glued to my rear view mirror at all times, just in case.
In Cimarron, I found a small diner where I could grab a bite to eat. While I was there they were preparing a very large burger for someone who called in the order. It's some kind of eating challenge. The burger itself is something like 5 lbs of beef and what appeared to be about a full block of cheese sliced up and put on the patty. The burger was enormous. They said they had to bake the patty because it wouldn't cook all the way through on the griddle. It looked like a round meatloaf between the halves of a round loaf of bread. I was not interested. I was hungry, but that looked gross.
Eventually people started asking me what the heck I was doing, so I explained. As I was about to head to the city park to set up the tent, Paula and Steve, a couple that hadn't said much yet, stopped me. They told me that they didn't live in town, but Paula's parents did, and they were out of town. They offered to let me have the house for the evening. I couldn't turn that down. It was dark and getting chilly already. They drove ahead and I met Paula at the house. She let me in, showed me to a bedroom and told me to make myself at home. It's amazing to find such trusting people. They knew nothing about me but what I had claimed about my trip, and Paula felt comfortable enough to leave me alone in her parents' house.
The following morning I had breakfast at another local establishment and was entertained by how familiar the morning coffee crowd felt. After Breakfast, I don't really have a whole lot to say about the day on the bike. I didn't really spend much time off the bike, and I don't remember seeing anything really worth noting. This was my longest day on the bike to date, covering about 141 miles to get to Yoder, Kansas, where I stayed with my friends Kendra and Mark who run a bed and breakfast in town. It was a good place to be when I received a phone call from my friend Alyssa (who I stayed with in Americus, GA, a few months ago).
Alyssa called and told me that our friend Chole Weaver had been riding her bicycle that morning and was struck from behind by a car. She died shortly thereafter. I hadn't paid attention to where so many of the students had gone to after leaving Hesston. Chloe had been living in La Jara, Colorado, and was in Alamosa, Colorado when the accident happened. I had ridden my bicycle through Alamsoa three days earlier.
The next day I got up early and rode to Hesston from Yoder, arriving just in time for chapel at the college. I had spoken with the campus pastor, Todd, about possibly making the announcements at the beginning of chapel if I arrived in time. When I walked out from in back, the sophomores were all pretty shocked and cheered a little, but the freshmen were all very confused (or so said the sophomores). I just read the announcements and left the stage with no explanation. I spent the next several days looking up as many of my friends in the area as I could, spreading my time relatively thin. I did my best to single people out so I wouldn't be caught in huge groups.
Then on Thursday I got in a car with Emily and Katie, two of my former coworkers, and we drove to Colorado for Chloe's funeral. It was really good to see that group of friends again, but it was not easy. The funeral was Friday, after which Emily, Katie, and I drove back to Hesston.
I stayed in Kansas through the weekend so I could go to New Creation Fellowship Church, where I had been attending for the three years, and to see a few more people I hadn't been able to meet up with yet. My friend Adam drove down from Henderson, Nebraska, for the weekend, and we made Indian food one night. By "we" I mean he cooked and I enjoyed the product. I should really pay attention one of these times and take notes.
I didn't go to bed very early Sunday night, so I slept in Monday and had lunch on campus before hitting the road. I expected to cover a shorter day due to the late start, but it was one of those days where I sort of found a zone and just stayed there. I ended up knocking out 76 miles that afternoon. The down side to getting into a zone like that is that I don't really appreciate what's around me, I just bike. It's ok though, I was in Kansas.
I found a cheap hotel room on the edge of Emporia, Kansas, and took care of some overdue business I had neglected while I was in Hesston. When I woke, my quads were quite unhappy with me. I spent a full week off the bike in Hesston, then pushed out 76 miles against the wind in one afternoon. I think they wanted a warm up day, or at least a warning of what was to come. I moved a little slower and took a few more breaks that day. It was still pretty uneventful on the grand scheme of things. It's hard for me to really appreciate the view. I do think that Kansas is a beautiful state, but I have lived 6 out of the last 8 years of my life before this trip in the state of Kansas. It's hard to see it with fresh eyes, especially when I get in my zone. I spent the night at Hillsdale State Park, where the camp host gave me some firewood at no charge. It was pretty cold, and I was the only one in the park without the rigid walls of a camper.
In the morning I woke with Garden City, Missouri, in my sights. Emily, one of the former coworkers that I went to the funeral with, lives near Garden City. It turned out to be less than 50 miles to get to her place, but my travels were delayed a bit because Martha (GPS) doesn't know which roads are paved and which ones are not. I took her directions anyway, but we got into a little snag when we came upon some railroad crossing maintenance. Eventually I was allowed to walk my bike through the work area, but I had to sit for about 20 minutes first.
Emily's sister, Megan, is married to my former college roommate, Brandon, so we had supper at Megan and Brandon's house last night. I really appreciated the opportunity to catch up with Brandon again. He's all grown up and working full time and then some. I, however, am delaying the conventional lifestyle of employment as long as my bank account can support it.
Today I am sitting in a coffee shop, trying to plot out the remainder of my trip. I intend to arrive in New Iberia, Louisiana on November 19th. I still need to pass through parts of Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas, and take a picture of myself entering Louisiana. I also need to make sure my route covers at least 900 miles so that I get my total mileage over 10,000 miles. I'm pretty comfortable with that. The idea of biking 900 miles sounds like a lot to many people, but at this point in my trip I feel like I'm almost tripping over the finish line. I had better live it up out here on the road while I still can.
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