Retrospect: Leg 3 from Pueblo, CO to Saint Joseph, MO

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688 Miles, 10215 feet of climb , Days 21-29, CO, KS, and MO

Riding Across the Great Pains  
(Pueblo, CO to Saint Joseph, MO)

West Kansas School House (Built by 3 little pigs because
of the big bad storms that blow houses down)

I had heard from several sources that the endless plains of eastern Colorado and Kansas were the graveyard of dreams for cross-country riders. The promise of a strong tailwind belongs only to those flying above 30,000 feet, not those pedaling through the prairie. Once we hit the 100 mile mark on our first day out from Pueblo there was something on the northern horizon that I recognized from Alabama. It was a super-cell thunderstorm with a strong inflow in front of it, downdrafts in the west end of it, a hail core, and a sickening gray-green gust front that was making the prairie dust hover above its approach. It was still many miles away, growing stronger and possibly soon tornadic. Nothing but sagebrush, greasewood, and occasional yuccas were available to protect the three of us last riders on US 50 between where we were at and our hotel in Lamar. I knew it was going to be bad because the wind was rushing towards the storm, and that translated as a 20 mph headwind to us. I had an advantage. I had been caught in such a storm once and was highly motivated not to ever do that again. Nor was I willing to suffer a personal mortification of having to take a ride to the hotel in SAG van – if I was going to ride across this land, I intended to do all of it. The race was on, and I arrived in Lamar just as the gust front did. As I entered the business district the wind radically changed and now was pushing me at speeds down US 50 faster than I could pedal to keep up with. I made it to the hotel before the dust fogged over my glasses and the full fury of the storm could blow me off the road, but the damage had been done. I had reinjured my left knee with all the mashing of the pedals over the last 20 miles. It hurt beyond belief, but I pretended it would be okay in the morning. I was safe inside as the streets were being pounded mercilessly by horizontal rain outside.

See a tree, you find a cemetery. It's just that simple.

My moods are often connected to my immediate physical conditions, and the following morning I woke very pessimistic; I seriously thought (and was scared) that I was fast approaching the point I could ride no farther. I denied my plight and kept my most negative comments to myself. I was fooling nobody but me. Case in point, over the last month Al routinely enjoyed Claire’s company at meals, and because I was with Al, I also enjoyed meals with Claire. The exception was when Claire arrived late, and in that case Al dropped me like a hot potato and went to sit where ever Claire was sitting. (I really can’t blame him). Over time Claire and I talked more (when Al was getting seconds on oatmeal) and soon discovered she was very sharp at discerning people’s minds and moods. That morning she offered me some of her pain relievers (Aleve) but I was still in macho-denial. This day, day 23, covered a mostly flat 100 miles and the weather front had already gone through leaving deep blue skies. Babying my injury I rode much of the day limp-legged having my left leg un-clipped. Facts are facts, and one hundred miles was still one hundred miles. Upon arrival in Garden City there was not a jot of denial left in me. During dinner, Claire offered me the Aleve again, and this time I said I would. Please note I detest taking pills. I would rather have a shot in the backside than submit to a regimen of pills, but my whining was no match for a very determined lady. She didn’t share just a couple pills; Claire gave me her whole supply and superintended my initial dose.

Waiting out the storm; new route due to bridge wash out

The following day was a short day, just 51 miles. I woke early not feeling much pain in the morning, thanks to a lot of applied ice around the knee. I thought that if I took most of the daily allowed amount of medicine before the ride I could tough out the remainder of the day in a hot tub.  I don’t know who told Frans that I was hurting bad, or if he noticed on his own, but he took the time to talk to me in Dodge City about how to deal with my injury. The following day I took his advice and was absolutely amazed by his prescriptive riding technique to get me rolling. I was filled with pain killers and optimism, but that lasted only a day - a great day. Day 26 was the opposite, and was ridden under a cold miserable storm that wouldn’t quit. Despite my best efforts the head wind did not allow me much ‘spinning’. I caught a cold, and easily this half-way day would also be my worst. I was hurt. I felt all alone in my misery. I cared very little about others, and my attitude was one that refused to see there were people all around me that cared about me. Like I said, my physical condition blinded me to my encouragers.
 

Al, the Marshal, and my thumb

The 65 mile ride to Abilene on Day 27 was a turning point for me. My encouragers won, and today Jed was my hero. I was still one-legged, but it didn’t matter to him. He sometimes rode ahead, but when there was a turn to be made, or gravel or other danger in the road, he was there waiting for me. I really enjoyed his perspective on life and how his career was such a success story. He loved his kids with his biggest regret being that they were growing up and soon leaving the nest. That evening Al met me as I arrived at the hotel, and as Al does, treated several of us to a Dairy Queen treat across the lawn from the hotel. (We still got soaked by rain walking over there. Claire came along too, even though she doesn’t eat ice cream.)

Day 28 was a day of magnificence. It was my slowest day of the trip, over 100 miles that included the worst roads of the trip. None of that mattered; the Flint Hills were green beyond words. Frans’ strategy was working, and so what if it took me an hour longer to get to the hotel? There was ample opportunity for thinking today about what had happened to me over the last week. I became aware of my own self-centeredness and decided to root out my dour mood by focusing on the goodness granted to me by my riding partners. I was ashamed of myself for my self-pity. Did I ever consider once that others might be hurting too? I really needed to adjust my attitude and start noticing things more – and not just all the turtles and scenery along the road, but the unwarranted kindness that others afforded to me. I am amazed how pain both blinds and sharpens insight; and the difference between seeing and not seeing is often the mood we are in. I no longer was in denial of my pain, but I had no cause to be a whiner and boo-hooer over it. I changed my number one goal for this cross country challenge: I was not going to disappoint all those that had faith in me.
 

Resolve is fickle. The next morning we woke up to a crisis – “The river is flooding! The river is

Jed successfully got me across Kansas

flooding! We were to race as fast as we could! They will close the bridge at noon!” Translation: “Dave, you already have enough pictures of Kansas, stow the camera!” I believed the hype and pedaled like the wind from Topeka to Atkinson arriving at the Missouri River bridge at 11am, even catching up with the Dutch. I had been a fool given my situation. For two years during college I had lived on the banks of Missouri River and knew this area. As I stopped on the bridge (I didn’t care about cars or trucks) I looked at the river dividing Kansas and Missouri and concluded that the bridge was in no more danger of closing today than Florida being flooded by global warming by sunset. I was tired; I was spent; I was hurting bad, and I felt deceived. I will give the benefit of the doubt to our AbB staff; maybe there was a possibility; but I certainly did not see any cause for urgency. I soon realized the real agenda. The route planners, instead of taking the easy and safer US 59 northeast along the flat river plains adjacent to the rails into St. Joseph, they decided to put us on a longer route on the narrow and worn back roads of rural Missouri. It was certainly a change from Kansas and definitely picturesque, but not a welcome one detour. They wanted us east of the Missouri River by noon because the rest of the day would be on killer rollers. Killer? Yes; twice I was almost run over on shoulder-less roads by folks topping blind hills assuming nothing (like me) would be on the back side. I refused to let my prior moods capture my thoughts again. This is when the goodness of my fellow riders kicked in. I was not going to disappoint them. I resolved to be pleasant, but I also resolved something else. I called this my "Chariots of Fire” moment. I was no longer going to sprint

Another fine place to stop and meet Americans

anywhere for the glory of the 3,872 sticker to put on my car. The decal, the number of miles ridden signifying my finish the challenge, would be but another trophy T-shirt to be stuck in the drawer. What was needed was the journey. I was going to ride my ride at my pace and no longer be one wit concerned about inconveniencing the AbB staff with my dawdling. If I wanted to be fast I could be, but that was never part of my original purpose of riding across America. My speed was now going to be either ‘fast enough not miss dinner’ and ‘stop’. I invested in this summer to see the goodness of America, and that could only be done by noticing more things and getting off my bike more often. Dave, yes, and that would be me, was already inducted into the Final Four Fraternity, and was also going to be identified as the ride’s a full-time tourist. Maybe the injury to my knee was more divine providence than the random adrenaline rush caused by racing a super-cell into Lamar. Yes, well maybe; but there could be no question about friends that came along beside me over the last week; Angels, every one of them.

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Second Thoughts


Amber waves of grain, and beware of the trucks hauling it

I was about four miles from the Saint Joseph hotel and had just emerged from one of the prettiest parkways we have ridden on since California. As I came over the hill I noticed an ambulance leaving the area, but the two police cars still had their blue lights on. It was a residential street, and there was a high school kid and his mother standing by their pickup truck, and to my surprise, one of my fellow riders sitting on the curb by his bike. I stopped and asked Bob if everything was okay, and he gave me a strange answer that really didn’t answer my question. I deduced there had been a collision of some type. Bob reassured me that AbB staff was on their way and that although bruised and a bit dizzy he was going to make it. I discerned that everything we said to each other was being overheard by those standing by the pickup truck, and quickly chose not to ask any more questions. Bob said he would tell us all about what happened at the hotel, and I took the hint to keep moving on. This was such a shock to me. The nature of cycling includes risks and we must be on guard that we are never but a moment away from injury. Newsflash: we are fragile. What a reinforcement of the inner call to be like my peers and show concern for each other. Goodness should not be a one way street.

The state of Kansas was now behind me in both body and spirit.