Lonely Roads and Stormy Nights

It's a common paranoia among cyclists that the winds conspire against them. I'm certainly afflicted. With every turn I think that the wind has slightly shifted to ensure that I continue to face headwinds. I see it in others as well. I passed two eastbound cyclists from England yesterday who told me that they have faced headwinds ever since they entered Kansas. But then where are my tailwinds? I thought I was fighting the wind. In fairness, at times it does feel like the wind is blowing from every direction.

The fact is that the prevailing winds in Kansas come from the south and southwest, so I have faced side-winds and oblique headwinds. While not direct headwinds, these winds are difficult to manage as well. Tim, who I met a few days ago, told me that he was blown over by a side-wind -- on the ground, bike on top of him, blown over.

Riding against the wind can be demoralizing in ways that climbing hills is not. Hills provide a defined challenge, the reward of reaching the top, and often the joy of coasting down the other side. The wind provides none of that. It is elusive, here one day and gone the next. As you fight against the wind, you're left with the thought that others have done this same ride at much less cost. Of course, the wind is all a part of the ride, especially in Kansas. I'm working toward acceptance. I swear I will stop writing about the wind, as soon as it stops blowing.

When I pulled into Toronto, KS, yesterday to take a break from the wind and to get something to eat, I saw Tim and Perry's bikes in front of the only open business in town -- a store and cafe.


I joined them for lunch and we discussed our trips. They were both still recovering from the stomach flu, but they had to keep moving because they have plane tickets to fly out of Denver in mid-June. They are taking a one-week break from their trip in order to attend an engineering conference in Germany where they are both presenting papers. We were all headed to Eureka, KS for the night, so we rode the final twenty miles of the day together.

We arrived in Eureka none to soon. Just as we pulled up to the town park where we planned to camp, the sky turned a sinister color. The lifeguards at the park pool cleared the water and told the kids to call their rides. Fortunately, the park had two pavilions, so Tim and Perry set up their tent under one and I took the other. When the storm finally hit, it raged. I sat on a picnic table under the pavilion and watched. Lightning streaked across the sky on all sides. Thunderclaps followed the flashes of light by several seconds. One particularly loud crack of thunder startled me out of my seat. The rain oscillated between a torrential downpour and a steady, gentler rainfall. When I went to bed at 9 pm, it seemed that the storm was winding down. In fact, it stormed until 6:30 this morning.

When the thunderstorm finally passed, it took the wind with it. I quickly packed my gear and hit the road. I had to make the most of this opportunity. Today's ride consisted of quiet, lonely roads cutting through cattle pastures and the occasional corn field.


I breezed through Newton, KS -- a nice-looking town -- with my sights set on pitching my tent in Buhler, KS. After dinner at a local diner and a shower at Buhler Park's pool house, I was sitting in the park when an older man walked up to me and introduced himself. He was Jim McIver, a retired postal worker and avid biker. He stops by the park occasionally to talk with the cyclists passing through. Jim did not start biking until he was in his sixties and he does not bike anymore, but he managed to log a lot of miles in between. He liked to bike big miles by himself and often on interstate highways out West. He must be one of the few who likes to bike interstates. When Jim left, I retired to my tent and prayed that the wind would stay away another day.

One Month

From my sleeping mat this morning, I could hear that the wind had not abated overnight. Tree limbs were creaking and a banner announcing Immanuel Lutheran's anniversary was flapping loudly. I had planned to cross Kansas quickly to get into the Colorado Rockies, but it seems that Mother Nature has a different plan.

Pastor John invited me over for a breakfast of fresh baked pumpkin biscuits and eggs. As we ate, he told me about one of his sons who is stationed in Iraq. After breakfast, two other Westbound cyclists, Tim and Perry, stopped by the church to fill their water bottles and take a rest. Both Tim and Perry recently received their Master degrees in Mechanical Engineering and are headed to San Francisco, where Tim is going to start a PhD program. Tim likes to stop at churches because they are the most likely places on the route where he can play piano.

Intending to use the Internet at a library about eight miles away, I left Tim and Perry with the hope of seeing them again. It didn't take long on the road to realize that it was going to be a difficult day of riding. In Kansas, services, motels, and camping are further apart, so on some days the only choice is to do either 30-40 miles or 70-80 miles. I decided this would be a 30-40 mile day.

My destination was Chanute, a town of about 9,500. On the way, signs indicated that the road ahead was closed. There was even a specific sign barring cyclists.


I started to detour down a dirt road when a guy in a garbage truck pulled beside me and told me that I should ignore the signs and continue down the main route. I took his advice. After fighting the wind for thirty miles, I benefited from a nice tailwind for the last six miles of my ride. Since the library that I stopped at earlier in the day was only open from 5pm to 7pm Monday through Thursday, I headed to the Chanute Public Library hoping for slightly more liberal hours.

When I pulled in front of the library a man walked right up to me and introduced himself. He was Marc DeLuca, a retired police officer from Charlotte, NC, who is also on the Transamerica. When I told Marc my name, he immediately said, "The lawyer from Chicago." He had been a few days behind me for several weeks and had seen my posts in various log books along the way. Marc was taking his first rest day in over twenty-five days. We discussed the last few days of our rides and some of the cyclists that we had met along the way. Marc routinely starts riding early in the morning, but I look forward to seeing him further down the road.

This afternoon I heard that a wind advisory had been issued for the area. An advisory means “that sustained winds of 30 to 39 mph and/or gusts of 45 to 57 mph are forecast. Winds this strong can make driving difficult.” If the winds can make driving difficult, what hope is there on a bike?

Chanute has a movie theater right downtown, so I went to see "Don't Mess With the Zohan." As I watched two dozen jokes involving hummus, I wondered whether you could even buy hummus in Chanute. On my walk home, I passed a health club that should only exist in the Simpsons' Springfield:

Southern Winds

I have fought strong southwestern winds the past two days, but I am finally in Kansas and back on the Transamerica. I let myself sleep in yesterday after my long ride the day before. I then messed about on the Internet in the Safari Motel's breakfast room, which seemed to serve as the town social hall. Of all the people staying at the motel I think I was the only one who was actually from out of town. Everyone else seemed to be old friends and longtime neighbors.

Before leaving Clinton, I took a quick tour of the downtown. It was the first town I had seen that had a European-style town square with retail shops on all four sides. I stopped into the Dollar General (ubiquitous in these parts) for sunscreen and other essentials. On my way out, a middle-aged guy on a bike started telling me that the Klan in these parts equate bikes with wearing earrings. I didn't quite follow all that he had to say, but his general message was that I had better watch out for the Klan. I thanked him for his encouraging words.

From Clinton, I intended to head directly South for the entire day in order to rejoin the Transam. However, after a few hours pedaling into 25-30 mph winds I changed my plans. The wind crippled my progress, reducing my speed to 8 mph on roads where I should have been doing twice that. I reduced my mileage expectations and found roads headed West as well as South. The wind was a harbinger of the severe thunderstorms that were headed for Western Missouri that evening. Aware of the weather forecast I got a room at the Apache Motel in Rich Hill, MO. I was on a roll with the themed motels.

This morning I used a state map and my GPS to create a revised route back to the Transamerica Trail. The roads were very quiet, however several were in a bad state of disrepair, making for a bumpy ride. In Kansas, where every other road appears to be unpaved, my route took me down several dirt roads. On one stretch of dirt road, several owls soared above me and perched in the trees lining the road. Unfortunately, the road that I took into Kansas was so minor it didn't even have a sign welcoming me to the state. I'll have to stage my photo op on my way out.

As I approached Fort Scott, Kansas, I stumbled upon what must be one of its best restaurants, Sugarfoot & Peaches.


If it seems like all the noteworthy food that I've eaten lately has been barbecue, that's because it has. I went for another combo plate -- spicy sausage and ribs with gumbo and potato salad on the side. The ribs were the thickest I've ever eaten. A local stopped by my table to ask about my ride. He is going to ride the RAGBRAI next month, an annual ride across Iowa that draws over ten thousand people.

Fort Scott was setting up for its annual festival this weekend. Several people informed me that the Clydesdales were coming. I checked the events line-up, but nothing was compelling enough to keep me in town. The fort in the center of town, now a national historic site, was, at one time, the last frontier for European settlers -- to the West was Indian lands. The gold rush of 1848 changed that, making Fort Scott and others to its North and South obsolete.

As I continue to move West, I know that I'm entering a new region of the country because I recently tried to order a sweet tea and the restaurant didn't serve it. As a Northerner, sweet tea was not a staple of my diet before this ride. However, over the course of the past month, I've become addicted. I guess I'll have to get use to once again sugaring my own tea. Also, I'm not seeing as many of these signs:


“No guns allowed” signs are common in Kentucky and Missouri, posted on the entrances of everything from a grocery store to a bowling alley, but most do not have the artistic flair of the sign pictured.

For the last six miles of my ride today I was back on the Transamerica. I arranged to stay the night at Immanuel Lutheran Church. Pastor John and his wife Darla, a music teacher, live next door to the church.


John was working in his garden when I arrived. He showed me around and gave me free reign in the church kitchen. He also picked a bowl full of lettuce, onions, radishes, and herbs so that I could make a salad. It was one of the few times in the past month that I've had a leafy green vegetable that wasn't between two buns.

Long Day

I had my longest day so far yesterday. The goal was to finish the Katy Trail, riding from Columbia to Clinton. Gabe rode with me to the MKT trail before heading back home for his last day of work in the Columbia public schools before summer break. I headed on to the Katy. It soon became evident that the storm the night before had been more severe near the trail than in Columbia. I had to slide my bike under and carry it over several downed trees that blocked the trail.


The weather was perfect. It was mostly sunny, but the tree-covered route kept me in the shade for much of the ride. Unfortunately, swarms of gnats also liked to gather in the shade. I repeatedly rode through swarms and ended up with dozens of bugs stuck to my arms, legs, and face.

Along the route there were several historical markers highlighting Lewis and Clark's expedition. They had passed through these same locations exactly 204 years ago, as they traveled up this section of the Missouri River in late May and early June, 1804. The curvature of the trees over the trail and a few artifacts, like this light signal, reveal the trail's former life as a railroad track.


I added about forty-five minutes to my ride trying to figure out what happened to the trail near Booneville. My printed maps indicated that the trail continued over the Missouri River. I could see the train bridge going over the river but I couldn't figure out how to get there. In fact, contrary to the maps that I had, bikers have to take surface roads and a road bridge over the river to Booneville, where they can then rejoin the trail.

I stopped for a late lunch at Eddie's Drive-In in Sedalia.


I noticed too late that Eddie's serves the Guberburger, a steakburger with peanut butter, tomato, and mayo. I had already finished my double bacon cheeseburger, fries, and shake, and I wasn't up for a Guber before biking forty more miles.

The trail was very quiet especially after crossing the Missouri. The landscape changed as the trail moved into Missouri prairie. When the trail left the woods and opened into flat prairie, strong headwinds and cross winds slowed my progress. This may have provided a preview of Kansas. For the last thirty miles, it was just me, the birds, and the wind. After 115 miles, I was ready to get off my bike. Fortunately, in Clinton, the Safari Motel had a room for me.

I'm looking forward to heading back to the Transamerica. By the time I get back there I expect that I'll start to pass a steady stream of Eastbound riders.

Columbian Connection

I greatly increased my wildlife sightings yesterday on the Katy Trail. I crossed paths with two fox, a muskrat, turkey vultures pecking at a dead turtle, an assortment of birds that I'm unqualified to identify (where's Chris Astfalk when I need him), and a few deer prancing down the center of the trail.

On the way to Columbia from Hermann, I stopped for lunch in perhaps the most unique spot yet, Jefferson City's small-craft airport. Jeremy, one of the friend's I was headed to see in Columbia, works at the Missouri Supreme Court in Jefferson City and suggested that we meet for lunch at Nick's Cafe in the airport. As he said, the airport doesn't have commercial flights, but it does have fried chicken. The airport was conveniently located just a mile off the Katy. We had a satisfying, family-style meal of fried chicken, country ham, green beans, mashed potatoes, cole slaw, bread, and ice cream for dessert. Though it was all you can eat, I tried to exercise some restraint.

After lunch, I had about 38 more miles to Columbia. Before lunch a steady rain had begun to fall. As I rode away from Jefferson City the rain stopped but the trail was more difficult to ride because of the muck. My speed slowed a bit as my tires cut through the silt, but I was still moving faster than usual because of the flat terrain.

Although Columbia is about 8 miles off the Katy trail, I rode into town on another bike trial, the MKT, which connects with the Katy. I pulled up to the house of my friends, Gabe and Rachel at about 6pm.


They were gathered with their two kids, Sadie and Noah, (pictured above) and Jeremy and Amanda and their daughter Helen in the backyard. It felt great to arrive among old friends after 1500 miles on the road. After a wonderful meal, Gabe, Jeremy, and I headed out to Booche's, a Columbia institution, for a few beers and late-night hamburgers.

Today, I laid-over in Columbia. With help from Noah, I thoroughly cleaned my bike which was caked with grit from the trail. Rachel also helped me track down a masseuse who has worked with runners and cyclists. I was able to get an appointment and she worked some kinks out of my shoulders.

The rest of the day was devoted to eating at local Columbia joints and hanging out with Gabe, Rachel, Amanda and Jeremy. After living a somewhat solitary existence with a singular focus for the past four weeks, it has been fun to drop in on the hectic lives of a family of four.

The Katy Trail

What a difference a day makes. I was up and out of the campground by 7 am this morning. I was only about twenty miles from the Katy Trail, and I figured early-morning church goers were the least likely drivers to mow me down. The county roads that took me into Washington, MO, were quiet. Before crossing the Missouri River over to the trailhead, I stopped for breakfast at a family restaurant, which was surprisingly busy at the early hour.


After yesterday's ride, a few days on the Katy is a welcome reprieve. The trail is a state park stretching from St. Charles, MO to Clinton, MO. I picked it up in Dutzow at mile marker 74 and plan to ride it to the end, mile marker 264, before heading South back to the Transamerica. The trail is hard-packed, well-maintained and thoroughly marked. It is also flat -- wonderfully flat. On the twenty-five miles of trail that I rode today, instead of avoiding cars, I had to avoid snakes, turtles, and lizards. Beautiful iridescent blue birds flew along the trailside.

When I stopped into a general store off the trail for one of my daily Gatorades, the clerk asked me about my ride. When I commented on my experience with the drivers, she theorized that since there is the Katy Trail, many drivers may think that all bikers belong on the trail, not the road. Perhaps.

I ended my ride in Hermann, MO. After spending the night in the historic French town, St. Genevieve, I'm now in a historic German town, where the shop names all end in "Haus." It's old downtown streets sport interesting architecture and every other house appears to be a bed and breakfast. Several wineries surround the town.


The only disappointment was the Hermann Riverfront Park.


I think the sign omitted the "ing Lot."

Miserable In Missouri

The title is hyperbole, but I'm a sucker for alliteration. That said, yesterday was one of the tougher days of the ride thus far. I must have woken up physically and mentally fatigued because not long into my ride I felt weary.

It was my first day off the Transamerica Trail. I was blazing my own path North to catch the Katy Trail, a 225-mile bike path that runs East to West across Missouri. I was also planning to visit friends who live in Columbia, not far off the Katy.

The first road that I picked to head North was Highway 61. The State of Missouri has designated this road the Mississippi River Trail, an official bike route. I have no idea why, as it is a terrible road for biking. There is no shoulder and in most places there isn't even an edge to the road because it has crumbled away. (The road in the picture above had a great shoulder -- that is a road on the Transam.) The road also carries a considerable flow of traffic.

This brings me to the drivers. While it is dangerous to make sweeping generalizations, I'm going to live dangerously -- Missouri drivers are the worst drivers around cyclists that I've yet to encounter. Up until this point in my trip, the vast majority of drivers have give me considerable room when passing. Here, that is the exception rather than the rule. It's almost as if they want to prove how good of drivers they are by coming as close as possible without hitting me. It's ironic because there are far more signs in this state than any other state I've been in encouraging drivers to "Share the Road" with bikes.

After about thirty miles I pulled into a roadside store for lunch. My right shoulder, which has caused me some discomfort from the start of the trip, was bothering me and I was ready to get off the road. As I ate my turkey sandwich outside the shop, the two women working there came out to find out where I was going. They seemed genuinely excited by this "crazy" idea. They were telling all their customers about it and introducing me to people as they stopped in. Before I left they brought me out two large bottles of water and a few protein bars. It was just what I needed to boost my spirits.

I managed to find some better roads, but within an hour of leaving the store I had my first flat of the trip. Despite having no recent experience changing a flat, I managed to get the tube patched, the metal thorn out of my tire, the wheel reassembled, and the bike re-packed in good time. Unfortunately, my pump can't get quite enough pressure into the tire so I had to complete my ride on a slightly deflated back tire, making the hills especially difficult to climb.

The day ended with a thunder and lightning storm bringing premature darkness. Fortunately, I was close to the Robertsville State Park. My luck wasn't all bad, as there was an open tent site. After setting up my tent in a light rain, the storm passed and the sky brightened for the half hour until sunset.