Retrospect: Leg 4 from Saint Joseph, MO to Indianapolis, IN

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613 Miles, 14940 feet of climb , Days 30-37, MO, IL, and IN

Have Fun or Die Trying!  
(Saint Joseph, MO to Indianapolis, IN)

 

I was determined to start this leg with a good attitude. Things were looking up. I was more than

St. Jo ChooChoo

caught up with my tele-work contract with my employer, was enjoying the best lodging of the ride, communed with some quality artwork in town, my knee had spent a day on ice, and I received a surprise gift from another rider. It was no secret that I took a picture of every train I saw, and the souvenir picked out for me small but meaningful brass locomotive pencil sharpener! Small is good; we carry everything we have! The one guy who purchased 15 pounds of jelly belly jelly beans in California started to eat them instead of saving them for his grandkids. And no, I’m not confessing to anything.

My bike was all cleaned up, laundry done, and the forecast was for perfect riding weather. Our Day One out of St. Jo was as perfect as a day gets. That day I took my favorite photo of the entire challenge (Sarge rolling past a Missouri farm, I called 'Farm Rise'). I also met some of the most interesting people; missionaries, school teachers, farmers, Amish kids, truck drivers, a man who spent time in prison, and a retired guy on a John Deere. The rollers were tame allowing me to slowly ‘spin’ my way across Missouri. I was going to enjoy this day or die trying.

The next day was the evil twin of the day before. The rollers were more severe, the fickle wind had

What 12% looks like both up and down

turned against our forward motion, and the road could have been indicted for first degree butt torture. I had to mash more, even in granny-gear, and that brought back the knee pain. Granny-gear is the combination of largest cog ring on the back hub and the low ring on the pedals. That combination enables the rider to go over steep hills with high cadence and the least pedal pressure, except this day I still had to exert all my weight on the pedals. The danger with granny-gear is that if you go below 3 mph forward motion you risk road rash from falling over while still clipped in. Road rash is another biker specific idiom too, I guess. It describes the removal of top layers of precious epidermis through the sand paper like action of sliding along pavement. Add the salt from perspiration and you have what cyclists politely proclaim, “Dang, that smarts!” (I got my only case of road rash in Kansas when I didn’t unclip my shoes from the pedals clips in time, which helped my worst day, 26, stay my worst day.)

Cue Sheet - It may not be written in English

Pain helps sharpen the mind, and during that day I resolved to do the following:
   1. Admit I can get lost – I needed to lose my arrogance and pride thinking myself better at following instructions than I really was;
   2. Riding my ride – fulfill the purpose why I was in the saddle;
   3. Deal with the elements as an unchangeable fact of life. If God had ordered them up for today who was I to complain about them?;
   4. Learn to listen and ask smart questions;
   5. Learn to be grateful and why. (There is nothing more nauseous than insincere gratefulness);
   6. Learn how to deal with the upside down life; and
   7. Try to see the unseen. 

If I wanted more than seven goals, number eight would have been not to take more pain medicine than the bottle says I can in a day. I was already dizzy enough, and had learned not to put my water bottle back into its cage while still in motion. (It is very embarrassing to run over your own bottle with your rear tire; doing it by touch wasn’t working for me, but worse was the whoozzzzy effects if I tried to put it back by looking down. I eventually did master returning the back bottle mounted on the seat post without looking. The bottle cage on the lower bar… no way.) Looking directly down at the road wearing trifocals allows the eyes to tell the brain that you're moving at three different speeds all at one time.

I had been true to my goals when I came bee-boppin’ down the long hill into Canton, MO. (A bee did

Missouri Man with a Big Heart

fly into my helmet and it got bopped.) I had no idea I had entered the Mississippi River flood plain, fully expected to ‘pay for’ that long downhill (on rotten roads) with another climb. I stopped at the SAG in a park adjacent the levee and immediately got chewed out by a staff member for failing to signal a left turn. “What would I tell Young if you got squished by a truck?” was the admonition. I guess she had already learned that verbal pain on top of my physical pain had little leverage in my thinking, so she went with the different tactic to modify my behavior. She meant well, and never meant to imply that my death would irritate her most because of all the extra phone calls she would have to make. Actually, I thought it as a great compliment that she took the time to know my wife’s name. Nothing she could say could pop my bubble now – Missouri, and its rollers were now behind me. I knew what to expect in Illinois, and couldn’t wait to get there. Fun was on the horizon.

Quincy Mansion - There were a lot of these!

The funniest exchange of the trip happened in Quincy, IL at our hotel. The hotel management had been cleaned out by corporate and was now being run by an auditor and a manager from a sister property loaned to it. All the reservations for all guests had been wiped clean from their systems (which suggested the original computers had been impounded.)  Al was one of the first to arrive and discovered the snafu before the AbB staff knew about it. Instead of complaining, Al told the lady at the front desk that a rider named Paul would be arriving as one of the last riders in. If they were wise they would have a suite with a king size bed waiting for him or Paul might make a phone call, buy the hotel, and fire them on the spot. When I arrived at the hotel the day was already late and the lobby was empty except for me and the two ladies at the front desk. They asked me if my name was Paul, and I said no, but he would be in soon. He was still checking out those grand homes in Quincy. Then they asked me a strange question, “Could he buy this hotel if he wanted to?” I answered them that Paul was very well connected in the corporate world, and yes, he not only had the resources but probably would also know the first name of who to call. I asked why they asked, and they replied with another question, “Would he really do it?” I replied that when they met Paul they would fall in love with him. The man is a gem of a nice guy, but he will arrive tired and will be looking for a warm shower.  I got a puzzled look from the lady as she handed me my room key, not knowing why. When I heard Al’s story over dinner (we ate Chinese that night) I had a good inner chuckle.

Either it is tall corn or a short Ryder

Our first day in Illinois was a great ride, full of people, full of good cheer, full of great roads. (Any unscathed stretch of asphalt longer than ten feet was ‘good road’ compared to west of the great river.) We were in good moods, all wearing our red, white, and blue jerseys. It was America’s birthday and everybody we met was a patriot. In contrast, urban Springfield was ugly with people honking and yelling at us to get off their roads. Actually, I couldn’t wait to oblige them and flee their littered city. I went past one street that was occupied by a gang. A voice came from the group to ‘take that bike away from that boy’ (they didn’t say boy) to which I responded with speed and not looking back after making eye contact. I guess this wasn’t one of my ‘finding goodness in America’ moments. I came close to confessing to Father Eddie my transgressing through some red lights.

Champaign was going to be treat for me because my brother John was to meet me there. He brought his unicycle and later ate with us. It was fun time at dinner and both John and I were full of stories. The other riders could not have been friendlier. The story started that Claire was actually my sister-in-law, and nobody saw fit to end the delicious rumor. Oh, that reminds me; if I had to call one day ‘the best above

Dutch Farm Lawn Ornaments

the rest’ it would have been the leg between Champaign and Crawfordsville. Claire had determined in her mind that she was going to be the last one into the hotel tonight and had no idea the size of that challenge – she would have to be slower than me. I really enjoyed the company; any rider that took time to put pennies down on the rails and wait for a train to come by and smush them is a kindred spirit of mine. The day after was equally as enjoyable, except for the bad storm. I enjoyed all the little things in life as I rode alone. My mind was elsewhere all day living in anticipation of seeing my wife and daughter in a matter of hours. That night everybody ate at the Spaghetti Factory near the Colt’s football stadium. So many great people all in one place; this group of riders are some of the best folks ever.  I'm a Happy Camper!

The greatest gift I received on this leg of the trip was the return of fun into my life.