Day One: October 6, 2009

I didn't leave until after one, much later than I'd hoped. I'd wasted my morning rushing around with my sister gathering last minute supplies and packing the panniers, tasks I should have accomplished in the days before I planned to depart. I cursed myself for my endless procrastination as I pushed through my first pedal-strokes down the drive-way and up the hill leading from my parent's house. The air was cool, mid-sixties, but the warmth of direct sun-light fought against the chill.

I rode without the headphones I'd packed, wanting to get through the busy suburbs with my ears fully alert. Also, to listen with paranoia for some early mechanical failure. The un-tested weight of the fully loaded bike caused considerable concern before I realized it was my weakness and not the bike's that made it so unsteady. The ungainly nature of the beast would fade from notice as my body tweaked it's muscle memory to compensate for the extra weight.

I left the Kansas City area through the southern suburbs of Johnson County Kansas. Heading south on the far reaches of Metcalf Avenue before making my first westward connection at 199th street. Metcalf was familiar to me, having used it in my training routes many times. The 199th street turn was the border into the unknown and it met me with a stiff-head wind, boldly foreshadowing the trials to come. I lowered my head and pedaled on, cynically subtracting miles from my days-end goal with each eastward gust.

I wasn't eight miles down 199th before I stopped for my first and unexpected map check. I thought I was going 20 miles straight down the road and was surprised when the road ended at T intersection just north of Spring Hill, Kansas. I stopped to check my map and had my first struggle to keep my hefty bike upright against a too-thin sign pole.

The weight of the front panniers would cause the fork to twist and turn dramatically without notice, often clamoring the bike to the ground. I found that the normal habit of balancing the bike while straddled over the top bar would often lead to a painful crash of bike and man. Eventually, I'd learn to carefully balance the right rear pannier against a post while holding fast to the bar-stem to keep it steady.

The map check proved un-helpful. My maps were broken into 20 mile increments, which made it difficult to see the nuances of the rural roads I travelled. I would always, eventually, be able to decipher the maps when I cross-referenced them with physical land marks that I encountered. Often saying to myself: "You haven't missed that turn because you haven't crossed that stream/passed that lake/ heard the traffic of that busy road". If there were no such landmarks I could gauge the general direction of the road against the sun and take the turn in the direction I should most likely be headed.

Getting back on the bike I soon crossed Hwy 169 and I-35 in turn, still dealing with the head-wind. Somewhere south of Gardner, around four in the afternoon, I made my first rest-stop. I pulled the bike up along a fence and sat on a round concrete well cover at the gate of a tree farm while I ate a snack. As I ate, a parade of cars pulled out the gates and onto 199th carrying the mostly Mexican laborers home for the evening. I was given a few friendly waves which improved my gloomy mood, still discouraged by my late and hectic start.

After eating and taking some water I rode on. I chased the sun westward feeling, for the first time, the worry of not knowing where I'd be sleeping. Shortly after passing through Edgerton, Kansas I turned south on Hwy 33. As I rode I became more and more anxious as the sun approached the horizon. You don't really appreciate electric lights until you realize how dark it actually is at five in the afternoon without them. I'd checked the sunset-times before I left and knew I had about two hours of light left as I rolled through the northern outskirts of Wellsville, four miles after turning on 33.

I started searching every group of trees with eagle eyes. Looking for a suitable place to camp for the evening. I stopped briefly at two locations before determining they were unacceptable. I didn't think it would be so difficult to find a place that a) was concealed enough from the road and b) had two suitable trees for my hammock. My nerves were nearly shot as I approached the intersection of Hwy's 33 and 68.

The sun glowed golden orange, thirty minutes above the horizon when I noticed a three acre parcel of unfenced land bordered by 33 on the east and 68 on the south. A dense-enough grove of trees sat fifty yards from the road with nothing in between but a muddy plot of ground without the high grass that made so many other spots unapproachable. I pulled off the road and looked about for a moment to let a few cars pass and scan for a "no trespassing" sign. None was found so I darted (or sludged) through the muddy plot to the cover of the trees.

I finished putting up my hammock just as the last glow of the sun sank to the west. I ate a bagel with peanut-butter by the light of my flash-light and grew very lonely without the light and warmth of the sun. I hadn't thought of how, without light or the company of someone else, there is really nothing to do at eight o' clock. I didn't bother to try and amuse myself. I called my mother to let her know where I was and assure her that I was ok and went to bed.