My exhausted, soaking body pulled the heavy bicycle away from it's leaning state against the stone wall outside the Parsons, Kansas chamber of commerce. I threw my leg over the cross bar and felt a day's worth of water slosh between my toes when my foot landed on the other side. I looked down at my shoe and wiggled my foot inside it's soggy sarcophagus, water bubbled out from the seems and ankle. Cold water dripped off my soaking hair and ran down my back. My fingers looked bloodless and pruned. I rolled slowly to the curb and out into the street.
The hotel was a mile away, a short distance back to the north and on the eastern edge of the town. I used the powers of my imagination to turn the still pouring rain into the hot shower I desperately needed. Thinking warm thoughts of beds, pillows and fluffy white hotel towels, I pedaled through the dark early evening.
I passed strip malls, fast food joints, gas stations and cars all filled with dry, warm people. I passed a large high school football stadium whose parking lot was nearly submerged. I passed gawkers, at red lights on cross-streets, who stared mouths agape through wind-shield wipers at the hapless, soaking, pedaling personage that was myself. I passed more distance than I thought necessary and wondered if I was on the right street.
Eventually, and with relief, I saw the towering, glowing beacons of the hotels, grouped together for traveler's convenience at the edge of town. I recognized the name of a recommended economy establishment and pulled my bike up just outside the front door. I made a futile effort to shake some of the excess water out of my dripping clothes, gathered my wallet and entered the lobby.
A small Indian woman greeted me without a smile and asked, in heavily accented english, if I was looking for a room. I smiled as pleasantly as I could and said I was and asked the rates. She quoted a price in the mid-fifties and I accepted, handing her my debit card. She pointed the direction of the room and programmed a key as the credit card machine ran my information. The receipt printed and she looked at it with a frown.
"Declined" she said.
"I'm sorry, what?" thinking I'd misheard her through the accent.
"The card was declined" she said again with unwavering sternness.
My heart skipped a beat and I struggled to catch my breath. I mumbled a few brief words about making a phone call, excused myself and walked outside in mortified, head-spinning confusion. I knew I had money in my account. I wasn't a fool and had double and triple checked it before I'd left home. My hands were shaking as I groped through my handle-bar bag for my cell-phone. I found it, in it's zip-lock sack, which sparkled in an un-nerving way with condensation. My breath was rapid as I dialed in the 800 number on the back of my card, hoping the problem would be easily resolved. I punched the Send button and waited. Nothing. I glanced quickly at he display, listened again and waited. Nothing. I re-dialed, waited. Nothing. I stared, horrified at the phone in my hand and ad-libbed a profane mantra, leaving no curse unturned in my useless, repetitive search for mental comfort.
I pulled up the number for my parent's house back in Leawood, dialed and waited. It rang! Twice. Three times and then I heard my sister's voice.
"Hello?"
"KATIE! It's Tom! I'm really screwed ri...."
"Hello?"
"Katie! Katie, can you hea..."
"Tooom are you there"
"Oh shit"
"Tom? Hello?"
"Oh shit, shit, SHIT!"
I punched End and felt like crying. I dialed again, it rang once.
"Hello? Tom?"
"Katie! Can you hear me, Ka..."
"I think something's wrong. I can't hear you"
"SHIT!"
I hit End and stared hopelessly at the broken betrayer. I was shaking all over. I was breathing rapidly and couldn't organize my thoughts. Why wasn't my phone working? Why didn't my card work? Where the hell could I sleep with no money in a thunder storm? A melodramatic vision of dying alone and wet on a park bench in a small foreign town played out in my head. I realized I was still standing embarrassingly in front of the hotel. I decided to preserve some semblance of dignity and not suffer a break-down on the door step.
I climbed back on my bike and headed nowhere, in the direction that I'd come from. I had trouble balancing and couldn't keep a steady pedal-stroke. My throat was tight with anxious sobs, waiting for release and I couldn't stop shaking. I had no plan. I had no significant funds. I had no way to call for help. I was terrified.
I pulled up to a gas station and went inside. I fiddled pointlessly with my phone for a few minutes while a puddle gathered at my feet and I tried to calm down. I glanced around, pointlessly hoping for a deus ex machina to lift me out of this hell. I thought of asking to use the phone. Not here though, another gas station I didn't want to embarrass myself further, having already stood there awkwardly for too long.
I went back outside and rode a little further down the street to another gas station. There was an older woman working behind the counter. I asked her if I could use her phone to call an 800 number. She kindly pointed out a pay phone, not three feet to my left. I shook my head at my lack of awareness and thanked her. I called the number on the back of the debit card and waited uncomfortably on hold for a few minutes. Finally someone answered. I explained my situation and gave her the necessary identification to pull up my file. She told me that a hold had been placed on my account.
"What, why?" I asked
"Apparently, your bank statement was returned to the bank unopened by your postal carrier and thinking there may be something wrong, the bank ordered a hold on the account" she explained helpfully.
I verified the address on file was correct and we agreed that my postal carrier was an idiot. I felt better and asked if she could remove the hold so that I could use my card again.
"Of course" she said "I'll send a request to lift the hold immediately"
"Great, thank you!" I said feeling relieved "When can I use my card again?"
"Oh, it should only take two or three business days once they receive the request." she replied cheerfully
My knees buckled and I caught myself against the wall.
"No, no, no that won't do" I said and then explained my exact predicament.
She was very kind and understanding in her response but explained that she was merely a call-center representative and had no actual control over the account. I thanked her and remained friendly despite my immense disappointment and anger.
After hanging up the clerk addressed me and asked if I needed any help. I told her about the debit card, the phone and my miserable day. She told me that there was a church in town that would put up traveling strangers for the night but couldn't recall which church it was. She asked a customer who'd just come up to the counter if he knew the church she was thinking of. He didn't. I thanked her and said I was going to use the phone again to call my family. I followed the instructions for making a collect call and waited for the phone to ring. While on the phone the clerk continued to ask everyone who came in if they knew of any service that could help me out.
Finally, my sister answered. I quickly explained my desperate situation and felt much better commiserating with someone I knew. She asked what she could do to help and I explained the plan that I'd come up with.
First, I asked if she had a sum of money in the bank that she didn't immedietly require. She said she did and I asked if she would be willing to wire me a loan via Western Union. She said that she would and asked what she needed to do. I had her go to a computer and look up Western Union locations in Parsons. Then I asked her to relay the address to me, which I found easily on the map I'd acquired at the chamber of commerce. I told her she would need to find a Western Union location in Leawood, go there and have them send the money to the location she'd found for me. She agreed. I thanked her profusely and told her I would call if and when I got into a hotel.
I hung up the phone with a sigh of relief. I was still uneasy because I'd never sent or received money via wire transfer and hoped it would work as smoothly as I needed it to. The clerk, who had been questioning all here customers about possible aide, was glad to hear that I had my situation nearly resolved. I thanked her warmly for all her help and said that I should be all right now.
An hour and a half had passed since I left the hotel in dire straits and it was now very dark. The rain was still falling as I rolled up to the grocery store that housed the Western Union office on the other side of town. Inside, I found the yellow and black signs designating my goal and waited for an attendant. She arrived shortly and I told her I was expecting a money order and asked what I needed to do to receive it. She explained that it usually takes a half-hour after a money order is sent before it can be excepted. I went back outside to wait with my bike.
I sat on a bench outside of the grocery store and ruefully contemplated the events of my miserable day. I wondered if my phone would start working again and whether or not the money being sent would be enough. I watched happy, dry people enter and leave the grocery store. Pangs of hunger helped to diminish my already bruised mood and I snacked on trail mix. I was still worried that something would go wrong with the wire transfer and I cursed myself for undertaking the stupid trip in the first place.
After a painfully depressing half-hour, I went back into the store and up to the counter. The clerk looked up my information and told me the money order had arrived. I calmed down as I filled out paperwork and happily excepted the cash she handed me. Feeling, again, the comfort of money I left the store and steered my bike back across-town. This time I didn't indulge in hot shower fantasies or thoughts of a warm bed. My mind was still reeling from the panic of the evening.
I was still feeling the embarrassment of the declined card and decided to go to another hotel across the street from the first. I left my bike outside and rang the service bell on the counter. A young woman appeared out of a doorway behind the counter and looked startled at my appearance. I smiled sheepishly and asked her the rates. They were higher than the previous hotel but I stopped myself from even thinking of shopping around. The clerk was full of sympathy and listened with compassion to the story of my night. I paid for the room and asked if I could bring my bike in with me. She said that that would be fine and even came around the counter and held the door as I rolled my bike inside.
Once in my room, I stripped away my soggy layers of attire and proceeded to unpack my bags. I wanted to lay out all my wet gear before anything else so that it would have as much time as possible to dry. Luckily most of the things in my bags were still dry. I placed my shoes and socks over the air vents and draped my hammock and wet clothes throughout the room.
I remember looking into the mirror, seeing mud splattered on my face, legs and fore-arms, rubbing both my hands over my wet scalp and allowing myself to finally relax. I considered calling my family but decided I could no longer post-pone the long over-due shower.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Day Three: October 8, 2009 - Day of Deluge
I awoke to the sound of rain drops heavily plunking upon on my canopy. I spent a few minutes awkwardly rolling about in my hammock as I gathered together the water sensitive items that I'd brought in for the night. I slipped into my shoes and climbed out of the hammock. The disappointment of a rainy morning intruded on my ability to make cohesive decisions and I wasted lots of time opening, closing and re-opening my different bags as I tried to pack up my soggy camp. I still wasn't familiar enough with my packing arrangement to find an item without much fruitless searching. Much of my gear got needlessly wet in the confusion.
It was around nine when I finally got under way. I headed out to the highway and headed north to a greasy spoon restaurant I'd seen on the edge of town the night before. The rain fell in scattered, heavy drops as I pulled up to Chancy's Diner. There was a crowd of ten men seated in a loose group at various tables at the far end of the diner. They all seemed to be older semi-retired men of farmer stock. Many of them were wearing overalls and trucker hats but without the usual irony and they casually sipped coffee with easy conversation. I must have been quite a site, soaking wet in a rain jacket and pants with my bike helmet in hand.
The waitress was friendly and didn't seem to mind my disheveled appearance. I ordered a large breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash browns, wheat toast and biscuits with gravy. As I waited for my food I absorbed my surroundings and checked my maps for the day's route. Through the windows I saw that the rain had stopped and traces of sunlight were breaking through the clouds. I was relaxed by the time my food arrived and I looked forward to a nice day as the sun made more headway against the earlier gloom.
After the filling breakfast I went outside and took off my rain gear as it was now quite sunny. I got on the bike at ten o'clock and mentally said goodbye to Moran thinking happily that I'd waited out the rain. About a mile outside of town an on-coming minivan pulled into the southbound lane and slowed to a stop. At the wheel was, Lloyd, my host from the night before. He quickly asked how my night passed and I assured him all was well despite the storm. He smiled, gave me his business card and wished me well, driving off behind me towards his town.
It wasn't long after that, three miles perhaps, that the rain started again. It wasn't heavy so I didn't bother with my rain gear, hoping it would pass quickly. It didn't. So within five miles I was stopping again and struggling into my rain gear on the side of the road. The clouds excepted my challenge and released a steady pelting with unending clouds in all directions. My feet were shortly saturated, my "water-proof" shoe coverings falling far short of their stated purpose. The rest of my rain gear worked very well and my legs and torso stayed reasonably dry for most of the day. The bright-yellow rain covers on my bags also worked remarkably well. Everything that hadn't gotten wet while I was packing in the morning stayed perfectly dry.
The farmland around took on a new, soggy appearance as the day and rain progressed. Low lying areas in fields had already filled with water and some fields had small streams flowing through the crops. The most dramatic effect of the rain was on the streams that passed under the highway. Normally calm brooks had swollen well over their banks and the water rushed quickly under the bridges. I felt compelled to stop over each one to observe the natural power of a simple creek. Some seemed determined to wash away the surrounding land and I searched my mind for survival strategies should I chance to fall in. Then I'd step cautiously away from the bridge railing and ride away. The rain continued.
The storm's severity progressed with the passing mid-day hours. By one thirty I was soaked through and making terrible time in the a drenching down-pour. Passing tractor-trailers would send six foot waves of grimy road water to drown my already beaten mood. I pedaled on in alternating moods of extreme despair and self-mocking hilarity.
The rain was reaching new heights when I saw some gazebos just off the road at the intersection of U.S.-59 and Kansas-146. I struggled up a muddy hill to take some brief shelter. Oddly, the gazebos were on the edge of a well maintained golf course, located conspicuously amongst the farm fields. I was getting anxious with the seemingly un-ending storm. I hadn't seen a weather report in days and had no idea how long or hard it would rain. This lack of information gnawed at my outlook and I reached new lows when I checked my map and saw how few miles I'd covered. I ate a brief snack and watched the rain fall over the vast fields, feeling very small and alone.
I set a small goal of finding a library in Erie, Kansas, four miles farther on and headed back into the deluge. It wasn't long before I reached the edge of the town. I stopped by a gas station to ask directions to the library. An attendant with a mop was losing a futile battle with the dirty water tracked in by travelers. I asked for and received my needed information and turned to leave, feeling guilty when I noticed the large puddle that I left for the man with the mop.
I made the short ride to the library. Throughout the trip it was nice to know that I could count on most communities to have a public library with internet access. Libraries are also easy to find in small towns, usually being located on a main road with signs pointing the way. I spoke briefly with the librarian at the front counter, explaining my situation and needs. She told me to help myself to a computer and said I could stay out of the rain as long as I liked. I searched for a weather report and found that the rain would likely continue through-out my path until the middle of the following day. I decided that the continuing rain would make it impossible to camp for the evening and began searching coming towns for hotels. The next town with reasonable hotel options was Parsons, Kansas, fifteen miles down the road. I thanked the librarian and left.
The rain had let up slightly but not enough to lift my spirits. I rode back to the highway and steeled myself for the day's last effort. In good weather I can cover fifteen miles in about an hour. The conditions as they were and the loaded bike slowed that pace to a crawl. For two hours I pushed on, promising myself another minute in a hot shower for every big-rig wake I crossed.
I finally reached the outskirts of Parsons around four-thirty. I followed the highway into the center of town, keeping an eye out for hotel signs. Parsons had a well-maintained historic downtown with a wide main street flanked by old buildings with large glass store fronts. A few blocks farther on I saw a sign for the chamber of commerce and decided to see if they could offer advice on hotels. The two ladies inside were very helpful. They gave me a map of the town, a booklet with all the hotels listed and even offered their own opinions of the value of the various establishments. Their warm welcome and the thoughts of the shower to come made it easier to head back into the rain for what I thought would be a brief trip to the hotel. I had no idea that the next three hours would bring me to a state of near panic and desperate hopelessness.
It was around nine when I finally got under way. I headed out to the highway and headed north to a greasy spoon restaurant I'd seen on the edge of town the night before. The rain fell in scattered, heavy drops as I pulled up to Chancy's Diner. There was a crowd of ten men seated in a loose group at various tables at the far end of the diner. They all seemed to be older semi-retired men of farmer stock. Many of them were wearing overalls and trucker hats but without the usual irony and they casually sipped coffee with easy conversation. I must have been quite a site, soaking wet in a rain jacket and pants with my bike helmet in hand.
The waitress was friendly and didn't seem to mind my disheveled appearance. I ordered a large breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash browns, wheat toast and biscuits with gravy. As I waited for my food I absorbed my surroundings and checked my maps for the day's route. Through the windows I saw that the rain had stopped and traces of sunlight were breaking through the clouds. I was relaxed by the time my food arrived and I looked forward to a nice day as the sun made more headway against the earlier gloom.
After the filling breakfast I went outside and took off my rain gear as it was now quite sunny. I got on the bike at ten o'clock and mentally said goodbye to Moran thinking happily that I'd waited out the rain. About a mile outside of town an on-coming minivan pulled into the southbound lane and slowed to a stop. At the wheel was, Lloyd, my host from the night before. He quickly asked how my night passed and I assured him all was well despite the storm. He smiled, gave me his business card and wished me well, driving off behind me towards his town.
It wasn't long after that, three miles perhaps, that the rain started again. It wasn't heavy so I didn't bother with my rain gear, hoping it would pass quickly. It didn't. So within five miles I was stopping again and struggling into my rain gear on the side of the road. The clouds excepted my challenge and released a steady pelting with unending clouds in all directions. My feet were shortly saturated, my "water-proof" shoe coverings falling far short of their stated purpose. The rest of my rain gear worked very well and my legs and torso stayed reasonably dry for most of the day. The bright-yellow rain covers on my bags also worked remarkably well. Everything that hadn't gotten wet while I was packing in the morning stayed perfectly dry.
The farmland around took on a new, soggy appearance as the day and rain progressed. Low lying areas in fields had already filled with water and some fields had small streams flowing through the crops. The most dramatic effect of the rain was on the streams that passed under the highway. Normally calm brooks had swollen well over their banks and the water rushed quickly under the bridges. I felt compelled to stop over each one to observe the natural power of a simple creek. Some seemed determined to wash away the surrounding land and I searched my mind for survival strategies should I chance to fall in. Then I'd step cautiously away from the bridge railing and ride away. The rain continued.
The storm's severity progressed with the passing mid-day hours. By one thirty I was soaked through and making terrible time in the a drenching down-pour. Passing tractor-trailers would send six foot waves of grimy road water to drown my already beaten mood. I pedaled on in alternating moods of extreme despair and self-mocking hilarity.
The rain was reaching new heights when I saw some gazebos just off the road at the intersection of U.S.-59 and Kansas-146. I struggled up a muddy hill to take some brief shelter. Oddly, the gazebos were on the edge of a well maintained golf course, located conspicuously amongst the farm fields. I was getting anxious with the seemingly un-ending storm. I hadn't seen a weather report in days and had no idea how long or hard it would rain. This lack of information gnawed at my outlook and I reached new lows when I checked my map and saw how few miles I'd covered. I ate a brief snack and watched the rain fall over the vast fields, feeling very small and alone.
I set a small goal of finding a library in Erie, Kansas, four miles farther on and headed back into the deluge. It wasn't long before I reached the edge of the town. I stopped by a gas station to ask directions to the library. An attendant with a mop was losing a futile battle with the dirty water tracked in by travelers. I asked for and received my needed information and turned to leave, feeling guilty when I noticed the large puddle that I left for the man with the mop.
I made the short ride to the library. Throughout the trip it was nice to know that I could count on most communities to have a public library with internet access. Libraries are also easy to find in small towns, usually being located on a main road with signs pointing the way. I spoke briefly with the librarian at the front counter, explaining my situation and needs. She told me to help myself to a computer and said I could stay out of the rain as long as I liked. I searched for a weather report and found that the rain would likely continue through-out my path until the middle of the following day. I decided that the continuing rain would make it impossible to camp for the evening and began searching coming towns for hotels. The next town with reasonable hotel options was Parsons, Kansas, fifteen miles down the road. I thanked the librarian and left.
The rain had let up slightly but not enough to lift my spirits. I rode back to the highway and steeled myself for the day's last effort. In good weather I can cover fifteen miles in about an hour. The conditions as they were and the loaded bike slowed that pace to a crawl. For two hours I pushed on, promising myself another minute in a hot shower for every big-rig wake I crossed.
I finally reached the outskirts of Parsons around four-thirty. I followed the highway into the center of town, keeping an eye out for hotel signs. Parsons had a well-maintained historic downtown with a wide main street flanked by old buildings with large glass store fronts. A few blocks farther on I saw a sign for the chamber of commerce and decided to see if they could offer advice on hotels. The two ladies inside were very helpful. They gave me a map of the town, a booklet with all the hotels listed and even offered their own opinions of the value of the various establishments. Their warm welcome and the thoughts of the shower to come made it easier to head back into the rain for what I thought would be a brief trip to the hotel. I had no idea that the next three hours would bring me to a state of near panic and desperate hopelessness.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Day Two: October 7, 2009 - Part 2
The afternoon was pedaled through in pleasant contemplation. The new road was plentifully wide with sparse traffic and I enjoyed the warm sun and long vistas of rolling farm land. A curious thing I began noticing was small signs advertising various seed strains being used in the fields. Each sign would carry the crop(i.e. soybeans, corn etc.) and it’s ID number. It took me awhile to figure out the purpose of these signs. Having always lived in an urban area I’d never considered how farmers acquire the seeds for their crops.
Around four in the afternoon I rolled past the outskirts of Mildred, Kansas. I stopped at a general store just off the highway for a pick-me-up before the last hour's effort. The woman inside was very nice. She was impressed with my endeavor and also showed a good deal of concern for my safety. Apparently I wasn't the first bicycle tourist to come through her small town. She related a story of another young man who camped in the lot next to the store a year or so before. I purchased an apple, candy bar and Gatorade and enjoyed them on the curb in front of the store. As I ate I noticed clouds rolling in from the south west. I remember feeling a bit uneasy at this first sign of trouble to come. I climbed back on the saddle and rode on after a restful twenty-minutes.
The clouds gathered quickly over the next ten miles and the resulting darkness betrayed the relatively early evening. Upon reaching the next city, Moran, I decided to find a suitable place to camp in town, rather than risk making an extra ten miles in the worsening weather. I pedaled slowly down the main street keeping my eyes open for a park or friendly looking stranger. I found the library and chamber of commerce but they were both closed as it was already five-thirty.
As I was pondering my next move a man in a pick-up truck smiled broadly and waved as he passed. Something in his passing countenance struck me in a positive manner and I pulled up behind him and quickly flagged him down. He pulled over and even got out of his truck to chat, warmly shaking my hand in greeting as I explained my situation. I asked if he knew somewhere in town where I might camp for the evening. He thought for a moment, mentioned a few parks off-hand and then offered his own backyard. I politely asked if he was sure that that would be alright and he insisted on the idea. He got back in his truck and I followed him briefly around a few corners to his property.
His home was a small ranch style house on a half-acre lot backing up to a tall field of corn. I made sure to introduce myself when he began showing me around the backyard. He shook my hand and introduced himself as Lloyd. I immediately saw two suitable trees for my hammock near the corn field and he agreeably assented to my choice. He even offered to warm up some left-over stew he and his wife had in the fridge. I was determined not to put them out in anyway and kindly declined. I got busy setting up the hammock and he left me to my work.
I was securing a tarp over my bike against the coming rain when Lloyd returned. He told me that he'd informed his neighbors and the local lawman about my presence so that no one would be unduly alarmed. He showed repeated concern for my safety and comfort and I countered with ceaseless gratitude and assurances of my well being. He insisted that I shouldn't hesitate to ring the bell and take shelter in his home if the rain was too bad.
It was nearly eight o'clock by this time and with nothing better to do I decided to turn-in for the night. Lloyd said he'd be out to work early in the morning so we said our good-byes and I offered up more thanks. I climbed into the hammock and slipped my shoes into a plastic bag on the ground below me to keep them dry and near at hand.
The first rain drops fell moments after I laid back into my pillow. The splatter of the rain pattered rhythmically on the rain-fly above and the trees rustled with the cold wind. The new hat and gloves kept me plentifully warm against the elements
It was still early and I grew lonely being so far from home. I sent a text to my sister to let my family know where I'd stopped and that I was alright. The glowing screens of my i-pod and phone provided an odd sense of comfort, a calmly incandescent reminder of home. The hammock rocked softly in the wind as I lay listening to a Radiohead album and I drifted into sleep.
Around four in the afternoon I rolled past the outskirts of Mildred, Kansas. I stopped at a general store just off the highway for a pick-me-up before the last hour's effort. The woman inside was very nice. She was impressed with my endeavor and also showed a good deal of concern for my safety. Apparently I wasn't the first bicycle tourist to come through her small town. She related a story of another young man who camped in the lot next to the store a year or so before. I purchased an apple, candy bar and Gatorade and enjoyed them on the curb in front of the store. As I ate I noticed clouds rolling in from the south west. I remember feeling a bit uneasy at this first sign of trouble to come. I climbed back on the saddle and rode on after a restful twenty-minutes.
The clouds gathered quickly over the next ten miles and the resulting darkness betrayed the relatively early evening. Upon reaching the next city, Moran, I decided to find a suitable place to camp in town, rather than risk making an extra ten miles in the worsening weather. I pedaled slowly down the main street keeping my eyes open for a park or friendly looking stranger. I found the library and chamber of commerce but they were both closed as it was already five-thirty.
As I was pondering my next move a man in a pick-up truck smiled broadly and waved as he passed. Something in his passing countenance struck me in a positive manner and I pulled up behind him and quickly flagged him down. He pulled over and even got out of his truck to chat, warmly shaking my hand in greeting as I explained my situation. I asked if he knew somewhere in town where I might camp for the evening. He thought for a moment, mentioned a few parks off-hand and then offered his own backyard. I politely asked if he was sure that that would be alright and he insisted on the idea. He got back in his truck and I followed him briefly around a few corners to his property.
His home was a small ranch style house on a half-acre lot backing up to a tall field of corn. I made sure to introduce myself when he began showing me around the backyard. He shook my hand and introduced himself as Lloyd. I immediately saw two suitable trees for my hammock near the corn field and he agreeably assented to my choice. He even offered to warm up some left-over stew he and his wife had in the fridge. I was determined not to put them out in anyway and kindly declined. I got busy setting up the hammock and he left me to my work.
I was securing a tarp over my bike against the coming rain when Lloyd returned. He told me that he'd informed his neighbors and the local lawman about my presence so that no one would be unduly alarmed. He showed repeated concern for my safety and comfort and I countered with ceaseless gratitude and assurances of my well being. He insisted that I shouldn't hesitate to ring the bell and take shelter in his home if the rain was too bad.
It was nearly eight o'clock by this time and with nothing better to do I decided to turn-in for the night. Lloyd said he'd be out to work early in the morning so we said our good-byes and I offered up more thanks. I climbed into the hammock and slipped my shoes into a plastic bag on the ground below me to keep them dry and near at hand.
The first rain drops fell moments after I laid back into my pillow. The splatter of the rain pattered rhythmically on the rain-fly above and the trees rustled with the cold wind. The new hat and gloves kept me plentifully warm against the elements
It was still early and I grew lonely being so far from home. I sent a text to my sister to let my family know where I'd stopped and that I was alright. The glowing screens of my i-pod and phone provided an odd sense of comfort, a calmly incandescent reminder of home. The hammock rocked softly in the wind as I lay listening to a Radiohead album and I drifted into sleep.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Day Two: October 7, 2009 - Part 1
I woke up at 6am after a lousy night's sleep. I was comfortable enough but the temperature dropped into the mid-thirties and made it difficult to sleep. One of the down-sides to my hammock-tent is the cooling effect of air blowing beneath you all night. I'd also, stupidly, neglected to pack a stocking-cap and knit gloves. I roused myself and dressed quickly in the cool morning air. The sun was just coming up and it's rays sparkled for miles in the morning dew. I was able to pack up and head out within twenty minutes, forgoing breakfast until I'd gotten a few more miles down the road.
The legs warmed quickly as I pedaled through the crisp morning air. Birds called and answered across farms and I breathed deep the earthy aroma of the fields. The warmth of the sun allowed me to stop briefly and strip away an under-layer of insulation, traveling on comfortably in my shorts and wind-breaker.
I pulled into the small town of Rantoul, Kansas just as it's citizens began their morning activity. I stopped along their main street, across from the post office and city hall. The civic buildings of the community were nothing more than pre-fabricated metal buildings at the main street's intersection with the highway. I settled in on the sidewalk with my small camp stove and went to work preparing an instant oatmeal breakfast in my mess-kit. A pair of shepherd dogs barked at me from across the street. A few of the towns-people went walked to the post office to retrieve their mail as I waited for my water to boil. A woman with a large walking stick hailed an older gentlemen as they approached their mutual destination. I overheard her telling him how the stick was for defense against an overly-aggressive canine of the town. On her way out of the post office the same woman asked if I was all right. I smiled and explained that I was fine and only stopping for a bit of breakfast. She inquired about my bike and I gave a brief explanation of my trip. She was very friendly and even invited me to her home to eat my breakfast. I thanked her but declined as I had already begun eating. She wished me luck and went on her way. I ate quickly, cleaned up, brushed my teeth, re-mounted my bike and left Rantoul behind me.
The next ten miles of road were some of the nicest of the trip. I donned my headphones and chose a lecture series on James Joyce's Ulysses for my entertainment. Rolling Kansas hills of wheat, corn and cattle reached out for miles from the smooth pavement of the highway. Easy climbs and smooth descents came and went under the steady spinning of my pedal-strokes and the recorded professor spoke excitedly about the classic book in my ears. I remember one descent in particular, a long, lazy curve to the south. Dropping into a low gear and following the center line I leaned into it's sloping banks and rolled effortlessly for two miles. I picked up speed as the road descended past the fields and into thick trees, signaling the creek I would soon cross. After crossing the low creek the road rose again out of the trees and back into the direct warmth of the sun. I was happy and calm.
I reached my next turn at ten-thirty that morning. The road I'd been on ended at it's intersection with US-169. Turning west I headed towards Garnett, Kansas. I pedaled the road away through the refreshing, late morning air.
I neared the outskirts of Garnett around noon with two goals, get a good lunch and aquire a stocking cap and gloves to avoid another shivering night. A nice thing of traveling on the back highways is that they almost all become the main civic streets of the small towns that they pass through. So that, when entering a city you don’t have to go out of your way to find food or information. Traveling on a such a rode into a Garnett I passed a large grain elevator followed by the small, old homes you often see associated with small town America. Tall old trees lined the streets and provided extra shade over the large front porches on early 20th century houses. I reached the town square and easily found a greasy spoon restaurant offering a fried chicken lunch buffet. The food was great; fried chicken, real mashed potatoes, gravy, cornbread and more. I ate two or three large platefuls while observing the goings-on in the square through a large picture window.
The large county courthouse filled the center of the square, surrounded by green grass and sidewalks. The streets squaring off the city center were lined with two story brick buildings, built with shared walls. All of the businesses appeared to be locally owned and very few of the store fronts appeared empty. Most of the other patrons in the restaurant seemed familiar, if not altogether friendly, with each other. I ate slowly and absorbed the scene.
I left the café feeling a little guilty for spending more time than necessary on my lunch. I decided to quickly find the warm gear I needed and make some good time over the afternoon. I promptly wasted an hour riding aimlessly around town. It’s unusually hard to find some things in a town without a wal-mart. I tried a grocery, a hardware store, pharmacy and two gas stations before I finally inquired with a local about my needs. She directed me to a store called Alco, a sort of small-town discount retailer that I’d passed three or four times in my wanderings. Once I knew where to go I easily found my stocking cap and warm knit gloves, kicking myself for not asking someone sooner.
Fortunately, the Alco was on the street I needed to take out of town. I followed it south where it merged highways 169 from the east and 59 from the north. The next four miles were the most harrowing of the entire trip. The combined traffic of the two highways and lack of a reasonable shoulder proved to be incredibly taxing on my nerves. Large tractor-trailers flew by at sixty miles-per-hour and heavy opposite direction traffic left them with little room for a safe passing distance. I kept my music off and one eye over my shoulder, frequently pulling over to allow groups of traffic to pass. I finally reached my next turn, following 59 highway to the east and thankfully left the nightmare road.
The legs warmed quickly as I pedaled through the crisp morning air. Birds called and answered across farms and I breathed deep the earthy aroma of the fields. The warmth of the sun allowed me to stop briefly and strip away an under-layer of insulation, traveling on comfortably in my shorts and wind-breaker.
I pulled into the small town of Rantoul, Kansas just as it's citizens began their morning activity. I stopped along their main street, across from the post office and city hall. The civic buildings of the community were nothing more than pre-fabricated metal buildings at the main street's intersection with the highway. I settled in on the sidewalk with my small camp stove and went to work preparing an instant oatmeal breakfast in my mess-kit. A pair of shepherd dogs barked at me from across the street. A few of the towns-people went walked to the post office to retrieve their mail as I waited for my water to boil. A woman with a large walking stick hailed an older gentlemen as they approached their mutual destination. I overheard her telling him how the stick was for defense against an overly-aggressive canine of the town. On her way out of the post office the same woman asked if I was all right. I smiled and explained that I was fine and only stopping for a bit of breakfast. She inquired about my bike and I gave a brief explanation of my trip. She was very friendly and even invited me to her home to eat my breakfast. I thanked her but declined as I had already begun eating. She wished me luck and went on her way. I ate quickly, cleaned up, brushed my teeth, re-mounted my bike and left Rantoul behind me.
The next ten miles of road were some of the nicest of the trip. I donned my headphones and chose a lecture series on James Joyce's Ulysses for my entertainment. Rolling Kansas hills of wheat, corn and cattle reached out for miles from the smooth pavement of the highway. Easy climbs and smooth descents came and went under the steady spinning of my pedal-strokes and the recorded professor spoke excitedly about the classic book in my ears. I remember one descent in particular, a long, lazy curve to the south. Dropping into a low gear and following the center line I leaned into it's sloping banks and rolled effortlessly for two miles. I picked up speed as the road descended past the fields and into thick trees, signaling the creek I would soon cross. After crossing the low creek the road rose again out of the trees and back into the direct warmth of the sun. I was happy and calm.
I reached my next turn at ten-thirty that morning. The road I'd been on ended at it's intersection with US-169. Turning west I headed towards Garnett, Kansas. I pedaled the road away through the refreshing, late morning air.
I neared the outskirts of Garnett around noon with two goals, get a good lunch and aquire a stocking cap and gloves to avoid another shivering night. A nice thing of traveling on the back highways is that they almost all become the main civic streets of the small towns that they pass through. So that, when entering a city you don’t have to go out of your way to find food or information. Traveling on a such a rode into a Garnett I passed a large grain elevator followed by the small, old homes you often see associated with small town America. Tall old trees lined the streets and provided extra shade over the large front porches on early 20th century houses. I reached the town square and easily found a greasy spoon restaurant offering a fried chicken lunch buffet. The food was great; fried chicken, real mashed potatoes, gravy, cornbread and more. I ate two or three large platefuls while observing the goings-on in the square through a large picture window.
The large county courthouse filled the center of the square, surrounded by green grass and sidewalks. The streets squaring off the city center were lined with two story brick buildings, built with shared walls. All of the businesses appeared to be locally owned and very few of the store fronts appeared empty. Most of the other patrons in the restaurant seemed familiar, if not altogether friendly, with each other. I ate slowly and absorbed the scene.
I left the café feeling a little guilty for spending more time than necessary on my lunch. I decided to quickly find the warm gear I needed and make some good time over the afternoon. I promptly wasted an hour riding aimlessly around town. It’s unusually hard to find some things in a town without a wal-mart. I tried a grocery, a hardware store, pharmacy and two gas stations before I finally inquired with a local about my needs. She directed me to a store called Alco, a sort of small-town discount retailer that I’d passed three or four times in my wanderings. Once I knew where to go I easily found my stocking cap and warm knit gloves, kicking myself for not asking someone sooner.
Fortunately, the Alco was on the street I needed to take out of town. I followed it south where it merged highways 169 from the east and 59 from the north. The next four miles were the most harrowing of the entire trip. The combined traffic of the two highways and lack of a reasonable shoulder proved to be incredibly taxing on my nerves. Large tractor-trailers flew by at sixty miles-per-hour and heavy opposite direction traffic left them with little room for a safe passing distance. I kept my music off and one eye over my shoulder, frequently pulling over to allow groups of traffic to pass. I finally reached my next turn, following 59 highway to the east and thankfully left the nightmare road.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
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.
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.
In Review....
Ok, So I failed to update this as much as I would have liked to before I left. I also did not have the time to update it to my satisfaction while I was on the road. So now, after being back for three weeks I've decided to write out a detailed day by day review of the trip. I'll post the first day today and the rest as I write them. They'll be long because it doesn't seem to make sense to break them down more than one entry for one day. I hope people'll still read them despite the length. Enjoy ... or not.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Three weeks...
I've gotten two extra days off for the beginning of my trip so I'll now be leaving on October 6th. Time is running short and I'm working overtime with the rest of my planning and material gathering. This afternoon I ordered a rack and another set of panniers for the front of my bike. Once they arrive I'll be able to finalize my gear list based on available space. I'll make sure and post some pictures of my gear layout and packing strategy.
I suffered a bit of setback in an injury-wreck I suffered on the way home from work this week. I tapped the curb with my front wheel at 30mph, lost control and went into a slide. My legs and arm got eaten up by the concrete and I walked away with some bad spots of road rash. It's painful as all heck but I suffered no internal damage. My bike bike was thankfully saved from the carnage. I'm hobbling a little and missed out on a couple days of training but should be back in full gear by the end of the week.
More to come as it develops.
Here's a couple of photos of the damage to my leg.
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