A "Cyclist" Gone Rogue: No Code, No Rules, Just a Keen Sense of Adventure

When I hear the word cyclist, I envision one of those fancily clad guys wearing the skin-tight clothes with bright neon colors. In addition to this, they'll usually have the made-for-cycling shoes, gloves, flashy sunglasses, and aerodynamic helmets. Their bikes are usually dubbed the lightest and most efficient two-wheeled machines in the sport.

The way I look at it, a cyclist is like the kid at the local basketball court who showed up with the fresh, out of the box Nike's that supposedly makes him jump higher. He's also usually sporting the newest jersey of that player who just got traded to your favorite team and seems to continually boast about how much better he is than you.

It is for this unrelatable image, that I am disassociating myself as a cyclist. I am simply a guy who enjoys riding his bike (not cycle) around the neighborhood. My neighborhood just so happens to be the world. I don't need the helmet, the new bike, uniform or sunglasses. I need a body of metal with two circular tires on either end. Give me that and I'll simply have a wonderful time. 

I'm out here on a mountain bike, wearing running shoes, a wifebeater, and a little green hat. I like to be able to walk into a bar in the middle of nowhere and not nonverbally scream "asshole" to the average joes around the room. I'm a biker. I just like to bike. I'm not obsessed. Obsessions promote unhealthy mental fixations on things. 

Perhaps I've just alienated myself from the only other group who would have claimed me as one of them. But... as Groucho Marx once said, "I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member". 

That's my rant. Sorry, I've just had numerous people act surprised that I'm a cyclist because I don't look like one. So I guess I'm not. Just an average joe with a curiosity that leads me to strange places.

So! I woke up today and said goodbye to the kind bikers of the MS group. We'll all be friends on facebook and in contemporary America, that might as well be real life. Sad? but true. I got ready to hit the road and go north an hour after they all left. Or so I thought.

As I left the park, there was one of the two MS vans sitting in the parking lot. There was one of the few ladies in the group in the drivers seat of the van; it had broken down.

"Yeah, I'm going to try and limp my way to Hutchinson. If you hurry, you can probably catch up with the guys up there", she said to me.

"Nah, I'm parting with you guys today, heading north to meet up with a good friend of mine who's going to Colorado."

"Ah, that makes me sad... Don't you get lonely on your trip by yourself?"

"...Well, I think the word lonely implies a sadness or yearning for other human beings... And I haven't felt either of that... So no, I don't, really."

"I've been thinking of doing it alone but the other guys think that's... weird."

"Nah, you should totally fucking do it."

And I departed.

The ride north was very calming and different. It was exciting to get off the TransAm route. Like I was Lewis... &Clarke going to foreign places that few other bikers have gone or seen. I eventually made it to McPherson where people aren't as used to the cyclists coming through. It's nice not to be represented by a whole other group of people that share no similarities with you other than sitting uncomfortably on a two-wheeled instrument and pedaling across the country. In McPherson, I am an individual.

So I relaxed and ate my fair share of bad food at the McDonald's in town (yeah). The gift card's done though so I'm done with feeling like shit after my meals. 

Michiel Personaire, one of my best friends from Pitt, arrived at 2:00. I took the two wheels off my bike and we burned rubber across the Kansas plains, passing... nothing; flat, green grass and windmills. 

I was the happiest man in the world, meeting up with an old friend and going on a road trip hundreds of miles away... Things wouldn't stay that way.

Michiel was on a mission to go see his girlfriend in Boulder, CO and I very quickly fell into a mental block. I relapsed into an awful old habit and bought my first pack of cigarettes since before the trip. Anxious thoughts began to occupy my mind as I sat restless in the car, passing town after town with individuals with stories, lives, and purpose. It didn't feel right. I continuously attempted to dismiss these antsy thoughts but they only seemed to come back with more force. After two hours in the car, I let my thoughts spill free from my head into the small space of the car. Michiel could sympathize, saying he even kind of expected me to feel this way. This made me feel even more strange.

At the junction of Interstate 70 and Highway 40, I got out, we said our goodbyes, and he drove off to fulfill his goal, just as I have mine to achieve. I can't really shake this feeling of letting him down... but deep down, I felt like I was letting myself down.

More drained than I've ever been on a bike, I checked into my first motel since Chilhowie, VA. It was there that something rather magical happened. 

In the parking lot where Michiel dropped me off, I slowly put my bike back together and wearily crossed the dirt lot to the lobby of the small motel. An Indian man with poor, broken English gave me a card for room 17. As I walked my bike over to the room, I slipped the key into the electrical slot and opened the door to my single bed space. Then, I heard the Indian man yelling something. I looked over to him but couldn't interpret him so I jogged toward him.

"Room 11! Room 11."

"No, it says right here Room 17", I smiled to the forgetful owner.

He shook his head, took my room card and repeated said "eleven" as he walked back to the lobby. I got my bike out of the tiny, decrepit Room 17 and walked back to the lobby. There, he gave me the card to Room 11. Confused, I gathered the rest of my things in the grass that bordered the gravel and dirt parking lot. I shifted one foot in front of the other to my new room, slipped the key into the door and pushed it open. Inside was a room twice the size with two beds, a refrigerator, and new television. I smiled. Turning toward the lobby where I hoped the man was still watching me, I gave a wide grin and a thumbs up. I walked into my relaxation chamber for the night.

And here I am in Oakley, KS. To get back on route, I need to bike directly south 53 miles to Scott City. I'm going to get a nice bath, wash my clothes, and get back on my feet tomorrow. Tomorrow, I start anew. 

From left to right: Norman, Anthony, Rob from England, and Duncan.

                         The Team

This is the car that the children of Buehler, KS paid $1 for: 3 hits with a hammer, $2: 2 swings with a baseball bat, and $3 for 1 shock with a sledgehammer. One of the bikers, Sam, a grizzled Swedish looking guy with a Mohawk, paid $3 for 3 hits with the sledgehammer. After 3 hits, his whiskey-driven mental led him to also pound his fists into the old car's hood until his knuckles were bleeding. This picture was actually taken by him... it was only right.

As I left to stray off the path North, I saw a race of cyclists pass South that inspired my rant. This person was in last :(

Everything is closed, and everyone is at church on early Sunday morning.

          McPherson in the distance

Michiel Persenaire, my tall Dutch friend who I missed all last semester. He went to Italy. I stayed in Pittsburgh. It was wonderful to see the guy, if only for a bit. 

You Won't Find Security Here

This morning, despite being proud of the fact I was awake at 7am, it seemed that all the other cyclists had left hours earlier. I was thee last cyclist out of camp at 815. 

The first stretch of the trip today was 38 miles with nothing; no services, houses or cars. Just miles and miles of prairie. It was actually extremely beautiful and pleasant. There were no unexpected climbs, no turns, no nothing. There was only a steady pace and in my case, the steady flow of music from the ipod into my brain. It was serene. For the last 20 miles, I cycled with Beth and Duncan, which was hilarious. We made games out of the rather monotonous ride. One such was a game where one cyclist would close their eyes and start in the center of the road while another tried to verbally steer them. The cyclist would keep their eyes closed and count until they became too afraid or drifted off the road. I got to 14 and Duncan has the record of 15 seconds.

Beth looks surprisingly exactly like Erin who I'd previous biked with. She's also 21, has one older brother (25) and a younger sister (16). She goes to school in Ohio at Bowling Green and studies education. She's a funny gal and appreciates Duncan and I's zany sense of humor. Imprinted in my brain matter as a highlight today was the simple sentence, "You're funny, Ralph". 

Success.

Eventually, just as I began experiencing withdrawal symptoms fron my lack of soda, we pedaled into Newton, KS (pop. 18,000). I started looking for the nearest McDonald's to use my gift card graciously given to me by my Aunt Dede on "Christmas in Chester". So I went there and as I've developed a habit of doing, cleaned out the soda fountain. From McDonald's, I went to the Harvey County Historical Museum.

Originally built in 1905 to be a library, the building was one of the many that Andrew Carnegie's vast amount of wealth went toward. The man had a profound respect for education and if you didn't know, made all his cash from the steel industry in Pittsburgh, PA. It's strange to see his influence even all the way out here in the Midwest.

Anyway, the museum was awesome and had some interesting stuff on residents from the county during WWI. The highlight of this section was a ton of letters from two hometown lovers; Glenn and Fatty... yeah, her name was Fatty. I even double-checked with the museum curator to ensure that was her name. Jane Jones giggled and nodded. Shortly after, Jane dissapeared while I continued learning things. She reappeared shortly after with a small container of ice cream for me. I was beside myself with happiness. I walked through the rest of the exhibit with my treat. 

Before I left, I decided to reapply some chafe cream to my constantly aching butt cheeks (TMI?). As I walked back to my bike, I realized to my absolute horror that I had forgotten the most important piece of gear at the last camp. Luckily, there was a bike shop down the street selling some similar stuff called chamois butter that actually turned out to be even butter than my old cream. Haha get it? HA! I'm hilarious.

So I got back out on the road and headed the remaining 30 miles to Buehler. Midway in the town of Hesston, I stopped at a gas station to see if I could fill my water container with ice. Before I went in, I met a cheery man by the name of Larry, equipped with silver hair and mustache. He was really interested in my trip and his sprightly attitude rubbed off on me. I got my ice and got ready for the last 20 miles to Buehler.

6 miles in, I started to get the shakes. I needed some food but didn't want to eat my last two Clif bars so decided to finish off my jar of peanut butter. Finding a thin tree that provided little shade, I parked my bike a few inches off the road, and walked down the slanted dirt to sit on the 3 ft. tall grass. As I finished the peanut butter, I started to get awfully sleepy. I fell asleep sprawled out, hidden in the grass, almost appearing deceased.

As my thoughts gradually become more and more absurd and I began losing consciousness, I heard a faint voice.

"Hey! Buddy! Are you alright?!"

I looked up to a truck above me on the road, engine still running with its driver walking toward me. I jolted upward, embarrassed that I'd caused this much panic in someone. "Oh! I'm fine! I'm fine! Just taking a little nap! Sorry about scaring ya!"

He told me it was no problem and drove off. I laid back down and closed my eyes. 4 minutes later, another car stopped and called out to me to make sure I was okay, then offered ice cold water, which I denied. I laid down again. 2 minutes later, yeah, another worried friend. This one was a cyclist named Mike heading East. Covered head to toe in clothing, he told me the West would be amazing. At this point of seeing all the worried peoples, I knew I wouldn't be sleeping. People are awesome.

With a renewed sense of energy, I struggled into the powerful Kansas headwinds. I would eventually make it into the town of Buerhle, KS (pop. 1500). It was the perfect time to be there because there was a giant festival in the park called "Spark in the Park". Free hamburgers, ice cream, corn, and hot dogs. There were fireworks, a car that you could pay money to take swings at with a sledgehammer, AND a little scene where some people would set a ton of explosions underneath an anvil and blow it skyhigh into the air. The explosion rocked the entire park and thumped into your chest.

I've eaten myself silly. I am lethargic.

Oh, so this will probably be my last evening with the MS crew. In an awesome case of chance, one of my best friends from Pittsburgh, whom I haven't seen since December, is coming within 50 miles of me on his way to Colorado. I'm going to trek off-route north and meet up with him. We haven't planned anything but I've already decided that if the event arises to trek with him inside the car, then fuck it, I'm game. 

The cows here have much larger pastures then I've seen in any other state or farm. At least they get to live life gleefully ignorant within larger barbwire fences before being slaughtered. 

The influx of settlers into the West negated the idea of the "open frontier" because of quarrels over property. The invention of barbwire in 1874 created a solid way to isolate each person from the other.

            Entering Newton with Beth leading the way.

   The Harvey County Historical Museum

Viewpoint from my tent nestled amongst the others. In the distance was the location of the food and absolutely horrid local talent. I'm sorry, some of the singing made me cringe. 

The Apparent Dying Breed of Cyclists on the TransAm Are Not Endangered After All

Things I learned today: 1. Advil is a performance enhancing drug. 2. Pizza Hut buffet is the best nutrition prior to cycling. 3. Learning other biker's destination for the day influences my goal. 4. You can sing as loud as you want in the final frontier. 5. Voodoo cult church fanatics will have you hitting the open road in record time.

I was nudged awake by a foot within the confines of a shoe early this morning. Surprised by the contact, I alertedly jolted my head up from the floor.

"Rise and shine. Do you like coffee?" greeted Joe.

"Oaaahhhhh, what time is it?"

"Oh about 6:15."

"6:15? Shhh-shucks", I managed to sputter. I don't like to imagine the reaction a curse word may have gotten. 

So, Joe was actually much more... for a lack of a better word, quiet this morning. There were moments of more than 10 seconds of silence where I was able to collect my thoughts. Joe made coffee and a special hot wheat cereal that was really healthy and actually worked wonders for my bike ride. It was either the cereal or the satanic ritual before I left where I sold my soul to the devil to be the most bestest cyclist ever.

Joe said "goodbye" to me at 8:00. I stood on my bike and listened to him talk for over an hour, giving all the body language hints possible that I needed to go. The lack of eye contact and shifting of the feet only made Joe move closer and use physical contact to ensure he was being heard. By the time 9:00 rolled around and I'd listened to the religious spiel as well as a story about a hidden treasure in Oregon, I was tired just from attempting to hold my attention. No more than 5 minutes after hurrying out of Benedict, I ran into a small unit of 3 cyclists with no bags on their bikes.

"Hey! Fucking beautiful day out isn't it? Shit, how do those panniers feel?"

"Holy shit, you have no idea how fucking nice it is to hear somebody curse," my filthy mouth responded. "I just escaped a cult."

The Ride the US for MS cyclists was a group of 20 bikers that had two buses, which held all the gear and waited every 25 miles for a resupply drop and rest area. With no gear on their bikes, these guys fly. I had met them on the first day they would be going for a century of miles in a single day, from Chanute to Cassoday. Well, I could do that.

So I did. Granted, it was minus the 10-20 miles from Chanute but I felt pretty good about it.

It's funny, these guys have a totally different philosophy and purpose for this trip. They live for the cycling aspect. A good example is that people were biking past their destinations just to hit the century mark. Now, I could give two shits about this. Like I said, I'm here for the experience of the West, meeting the individuals of these places, and garnishing a respect/understanding for the different ways of life and cultures. I understand the obsession with the sport and the fun of cycling in a group but it would totally eliminate the premise of my journey alone.

I'm throwing myself to the wind and seeing who catches me. 

Also, I didn't really notice until now but this is one of my much shorter posts. Perhaps it's because I'm tired but I think it's because I spent the entire day speeding along to keep up with these weightless bastards to prove I could hang with the big dogs. Hmmm, lesson in the process of being learned? 

Right out of Benedict, I ran into Anthony, Norman, and... a kid who I remarked at how intersting his name was. Anthony had graduate from college a few years back, lived in Salem county in NJ, cursed like a sailor, and was great to converse with. Norman was more quiet and reserved and watched for cars approaching from behind while I explained my night. Kid with the different name was still in high school... And I give him lots of kudos.

The geography of the beginning of the day was still dead flat but the ground had turned a lush green.  

      Moo cows and interesting clouds.

A huge overloaded truck came down Highway 54 with... whatever that is and backed traffic up about a quarter of mile. For whatever reason, this brought a maniacal smile to my face that I made sure to display toward all of the vehicles passing at 10 mph.  

   She still finds a way to break through.

I rode over 40 miles today with a man by the name of Duncan Moore. Born in San Francisco, CA, he migrated to New York at a relatively young age. Now at the age of 30, he went out in search of adventure. He was awesome company and had a good sense of humor. In a group of men who love beer and cycling; Duncan isn't primarily fond of either, something I found curiously interesting. Usually the last to finish each day, Duncan understands the way I view the trip and from my perspective, is doing well soaking in the experience for as long as possible. Since I neglected to take a picture of him, I'll describe him. Swedish descent, average height/weight, bushy beard being grown since March, aviators, and a voice that changes pitch regularly based on his excitement, which is verbalized in every word.

Upon reaching the final destination of Cassoday, KS, a woman by the name of Margerine had brought an array of eats and beer. My god. After today, there was nothing better than this. The company also beat last night's mental spiral. 

                     We up in chea.

Utopia

I was startled awake in the pitch black of the night to a mad dog barking right outside my tent. Great. Judging from the shrill pitch of its annoying battlecry, I guessed it was a weiner dog or a pup of that stature. I was barely awake and my mind wasn't quite functioning but I do recall looking out of the screened-in tent to see a person hovering over me a few yards away.

"Gary?" said the shadow.

"Hu-wha? Who's that?" I sleepily responded.

The person darted off calling the dog to follow. It ran around the building two more times, tempting me to go out and hit it with a rock. Then, the barking became more and more faint until I was unconscious again. Sorry but when I'm disturbed from my slumber... I have the urge to kill.

Eventually, I woke up to the sun beating down on me. I attempted to go back to sleep but I just kept sweating more and more. Finally, I got up, slowly packed my stuff and was on the road around 10. There was a detour that added who knows how many miles (10?) and that was a tad maddening. I was heading toward Chanute, KS. The humidity made every pedal feel like I was consuming all of my energy. 

In Chanute, I went to a McDonalds where I guiltlessly consumed all the fountain drinks the establishment had. Additionally, I had a quarter pounder and fries, which fortunately did not not taste very appeasing. Maybe I'm getting healthy. Maybe. After the lethargic acids and fats made their home in my stomach, I decided to check out the Martin & Goa Johnson Museum.

What an intriguing story. Martin and Goa Johnson grew up in Chanute, KS and married when she was 16 and he 22. They lived an incredible life of adventure, filming the wild of isolated villages and peoples in Africa and Asia. During the 1920's and 30's, these movies were huge! The first one that catapulted them into the public eye was a journey into the Solomon Islands where they lived with a group of cannibals. It was pretty cool stuff. Unfortunately, Martin died in '35 from a plane crash. Goa died from a heart attack at the age of 58. And so is life.

Eventually, I left Chanute at 330 and took an alternate route to the next town of Benedict; a distance of 20 miles or so. Heat indexes were up to 100* and hell, it felt like it. Delirious for some cold water, I decided on a whim to stop in the extremely small town of Benedict (pop. 66) to get something cold. I spotted a small store as soon as I entered. 

As I stepped into the air conditioned building, I breathed a sigh of relief. Immediately, a man stood up and hurried over to me. "I bet you're hot. I got a whole refrigerator over here of cold waters for cyclists free of charge. We got jell-o and pudding snacks in here too. Now, first things first, we need to get your sugar back up. Come over here to this freezer. Take your pick of ice cream from here."

....

......

What was this place I had stumbled upon? Had I died and gone to heaven? I was so overwhelmed. I sat down at the table with this man and other woman as I began to dig into all my snacks. I met Joe and his friend Carol. I'd planned on biking pretty far that day but the prospect of "an air conditioned room, free supper, breakfast, and a hot shower" lingered in my head. It wouldn't go away. I relinquished to the idea. I agreed to stay the night.

As with all utopias, things were... strange. I'm not about to bash the hospitality of Joe because it's amazing but there was apparent issues that made me uncomfortable. When we left his store and went to his home, things just got more strange.

At Joe's home, there is a much older woman with amputated legs who isn't the most open or kind woman. Joe is 71, served in the military, used to be a criminal all his life but has now completely reformed to Christianity. I've come to learn that his friend Carol doesn't know Joe all that well so I hope she shares my level of anxiety. (Update: a subtle sentence before bed by Carol singled me out when she said, "Yeah, that went bad when they took my kid's because I was in a 'cult'). 

Shit, guess it's just me.

Now, there's no danger. It's kind of like I'm surrounded by mental illnesses. It's difficult to listen to Joe's unceasing conversation, religious ramblings, and unending list of stories. It's not that the stories aren't interesting but the man doesn't listen to anyone. It's eerie, it's like he's talking to himself. There's never any display of emotion to any of these stories. My intuition has him almost directly balanced between a rambling madman and a genius.

The older woman Sue is also a profoundly religious Christian. Both of the two are absolutely convinced of an apocalypse within "4 years". They don't drink the town water (this actually had a logical reasoning) and interpret the bible literally. 

One moment that made my blood boil and almost triggered a conflict was when Sue frowned at the fact I'd been to a McDonald's. Preparing to sympathize with the food quality issue I said, "Don't support McDonald's either? Yeah, I really should stop going."

"Well, they support Disney."

"What's the matter with Disney?"

"Joe, did you hear what Ralph said?" she said to the man who was lost in translation. She turned back to me and said, "Disney supports homosexuals".

I cringed with hurt at the statement. I wanted out. The food on the table no longer looked as good. As I got myself under control, I reasoned in my head that it wasn't there fault. Now, again, I need to reiterate things weren't bad.

The longer I've stayed with Joe the more I've begun to appreciate him, sympathize and even worry for him. 

He lost his wife 6 years ago, which has been the only thing I've seen draw a noticable display of emotion, and a slight glossing-over of his eyes. The subject changed quickly. 

Also, Sue whispered to me, and Joe expressed more than once his mother's long fight and spiral into dementia. I believe Joe is absolutely terrified of that happening to him. The sad part is... and I really hope I'm wrong, but the signs look rather... apparent that this is occurring. 

From a humble and hospitable viewpoint, it doesn't get any better than Joe. He's the most charitable man I've met on this entire trip. I feel bad saying these things but my conscience has been... struggling today with different views and... issues. I don't mean for that to cloud the incredible individual Joe is. He's amazing. I'm just worried about him.

Tomorrow's anew. The temperature will be back to normal. The sun will rise. The dew will dissipate. 

And I will continue to my next destination. 

My brain is frying.

Central African Art at the museum. The bottom floor was dedicated to the art of all of Africa, this being Central Africa.

           Martin and Goa Johnson: my long lost relatives.

One of Joe's vehicles; a school bus he uses to take Sue places.

Sue and Joe on the right as we prepare for sleep.

I Need More Synonyms for Beautiful

I stumbled into the kitchen and turned on the faucet, letting the water get cold before putting the glass underneath it. I brought the opaque basin to my lips. Across from the kitchen, I watched, through the two narrow slits in my skull, as Graciela walked into view. I made breakfast.

6 eggs, 4 pieces of toast, butter, provolone cheese, and a cup of cold coco (delicious nonetheless). 

Graciela and I had a fairly joyous morning... or I did. I took forever to get all of my things packed this morning and felt like a mooch using the shower, eating her food, drinking her coco. But, we laughed quite a bit and smiled often. I had a morning soundtrack special blasting through my phone from 1030 until 1230 when I left.

I biked over to Abdullah's from yesterday to say goodbye to Audrey and Hannah. I got there and learned the two had not slept and were reeling from the night before. They were actually still pretty conscious. I was impressed. The goodbye turned into a hangout and before I knew it, Abdullah got home from class. Since the day before, he had been trying to get me to stay an extra day to cook me dinner. As soon as Abdullah laid his backpack on the couch, he was already chopping onions on the kitchen counter. 

Kabsa, a favorite Arabian dish, was in the process of being made.

If there's one thing I can agree with all foreigners on, it's the fact that American cuisine sucks. On the contrary, Arabian cuisine rules. Abdullah laid a sheet of plastic upon the floor and set a gigantic dish of spicy rice with baked chicken breasts on top. We all ate from the same plate while Abdullah and Aziz (very quiet roommate) ate with their hands. It was awesomely different. I gave it a shot as well.

Eventually, Hannah and Audrey went to the library to meet someone, leaving the boys to party. Abdullah and I talked and watched a t.v. special on Rihanna. It was pretty sweet. Seriously though, Abdullah is my boy.

When 415 rolled around and the girls still weren't back, I knew I had to rollout. I stopped at the library and said my goodbyes to Graciella, Hannah, and Audrey. 

For kicks, I stopped at the bike shop one last time to get my chain checked out quickly. 

I needed a new chain and cassette. 

I almost lost my shit. I tried to laugh about how pissed off it made me... and I guess that kind of worked. Stupid bike. 

I don't mean that, baby. You're a beautiful piece of molded aluminum.

The ride out was absolutely gorgeous. It made me ponder why I don't always bike while the sun is just going down.

Oh yeah, darkness. 

But was the black void really as impossible to navigate as us cyclists believe? Well, twenty five miles later, I ran into Charles (coming from Oregon) and Ian (coming from San Francisco). Two very pleasant gentleman. At the mention of biking at night, the two balked at the idea, Charles noting, "There's no way you'll be able to get to Chanuke". 

I retorted, "Based on what?" The fact the sun's going down? We have lights on our bikes for a reason. Plus, I was banking on the moon being bright from its recent escapade 16,000 miles closer to earth then usual (on Sunday). As Charles told me to get a move on, I stood up on my pedals, and said cooly (I thought, so probably not), "Let's see how bright these stars get".

Mystifying. Breath-taking. Mind-blowing. Luminating. The constellations in some of the more desolate prairiers shined so brightly, I more than once almost drove off the road, losing my mind in the space above. 

One particular moment that struck me was in a small section of foliage. This area was covered with a few trees on either side and had an innumerable count of fireflies glowing every few seconds. The sheer amount within the shrouded darkness of the trees, surrounded by space and the stars, proved to be a beautiful scene. 

Although I was really enjoying the ride, there were still more cars than I would've liked. There was also a distance of 30 miles separating two camping areas so I elected the one in Erie. I arrived in the small 2,000 person town around midnight and I just set up my tent.

Also, I electrocuted myself attempting to charge my phone with the outside outlet of the city hall building. I hope you're all happy.

            The other Pitt college.

The delicious kabsa being traditionally eaten on the floor of Abdullah's apartment.

From left to right: Graciela, some dude, Audrey, and Hannah.

The humidity this evening became so bad that my camera lens fogged up and for a long time I couldn't use the touch screen.

Back to School

"So you're one of those cyclists traveling the country. You're alone?" said a welcoming voice behind me. As I took my eyes off the tent I was setting up, I turned my attention to the shirtless, stocky figure holding a basketball under one arm.

"Yeah", I generically responded, unsure of my tone as it walked a fine line between confidence and vulnerability.

"Shoot, that's gotta be an experience. My name's Aaron Moyer. I'm the youth pastor at the local church. Are you planning on sleeping in the park?"

"That's the plan. Nothing like a little nap in the park".

"I've got a small apartment down the street with an empty bed. You're more than welcome there. It's also supposed to storm tonight".

Whoa. Suddenly, I had the option of a home and a social evening or an introverted/slightly creepy sleep in the park. This also had come shortly after another kid had told me there were "new girls in the town who had thrown rocks at the cyclist's tents last week".

"You said it's supposed to rain?" I asked retorically. "I mean, a bed does sound pretty incredible".

Aaron began helping me clean up all my camping gear. Right from the get go, I immediately got to know the character that Aaron was. Firstly, he was absolutely hilarious. He had the crazy sense of humor that I've found in very few people outside of my family. The both of us got into our little comedy routines as if it were a stand-up show. We fed off each other's energy.

Aaron drove ahead of me as I followed my bike to his apartment almost directly across the street from the park. It was funny, within 10 minutes we had both shared our past with girls, our families, and everything about each other. In 10 minutes, Aaron and I became close friends.

The night was spent hanging out, watching television, talking, laughing, and eating tostitos with cheese dip (homemade cheese dip made by Aaron's sister and mom... SO good). At one point, Aaron drove me past the town of Joplin where an F-5 tornado had passed through two years earlier. To put it in perspective of the one that recently ripped through Oklahoma, this tornado killed over 160 people. Eventually, the two of us passed out watching "Van Wilder".

In the morning, Aaron and I went to Cooky's Cafe, which is renowned for their pies. Although I skipped dessert, I've come to obsess over the South's biscuits and gravy. Where the hell have these been in New Jersey? They're the greatest combination of ingredients since chocolate and peanut butter (they're probably older than that). 

After breakfast, Aaron took me over to his massive church where I met the pastor, David Powell. Very kind, the guy was maybe 60 years old but was an avid triathlete. The guy was moderately intimidating. He was an avid cyclist, riding the 30 something miles to Pittsburg then back. He was very sociable but it was strange how his eyes communicated. I won't go in depth, it was just weird. We talked for about an hour about cycling stuff and then we all prayed. I went back to Aarons, got my gear, got some water and snacks from the church, and hit the road.

Winds today were over 20 mph but they were coming at an angle all day. Pastor Dave stressed the difficulty they would cause but it was a really enjoyable ride. The wind didn't really bother me until the last 15 miles. In that last stretch, I spied a truck with yellow flashing lights coming from behind me. After it got 50 yards ahead of me, it pulled over and the two gentleman wearing those relfector worker  shirts waved me down.

As I got closer, the one man reached into the bed of the truck and withdrew an ice cold water. Garry and Alva were awesome individuals. Coincidentally, the two men were placing signs for the TransAmerican Route (76) and I was the first biker they'd seen. Questions were numerous and conversation was plentiful. When I got onto the road again, they told me that they'd probably see me up the road. 

Fast forward the few miles to the border of Kansas/Missouri, and I'm clumsily attempting to set up my phone on a timer to take a self portait.

"You'll never get anywhere riding like that", yelled Alva from the front seat of his truck. The two saved me with another ice cold water. Alva did me a favor and took the picture for me and we ended up chatting again. Alva had been living in the town of Houston, Missouri for 38 years. Garry had been a resident just north a ways for the last 30 years. The two were wonderful company. We talked for a good half an hour about the lay of the land, their past, and work. It was lovely.

No more than 5 miles away, I finally reached Pittsburg. In a matter of an hour, I'd get my bike fixed, and meet Audrey, my host for the night (and also the niece of the bike shop owner... Right? Small world). Since my bike wouldn't fit into the car, I cycled the two miles. 

My house for the evening would be at Graciella's, a student from Paraguay who'd been in the United States for the past two years. I also met Alberto, who was a fascinatingly intriguing intellectual. He was born in Brazil, lived in Paraguay, then moved to Hong Kong and eventually found his way to the United States a few years back. Hannah was the third guest who I got the vibe was really laid back and relaxed. She'd finished high school a year back.

The evening had no shortage of excitement. From Graciella's, we went to the Pitt State (also strange) dormitories were I met a plethora of other people. Abdullah; the awesome host who helped Audrey and I cook a delicious pasta dinner. Abdul; the quiet but constanty smiling hookah owner. Colin; the Saudi fresh into the United States with a strong language barrier. Morgan; a 20 year old stoner/student with one year left. Amanda; the thin tattooed lady with the intricate fashion sense. And Alyssa; Amanda's right hand girl with a profound sense of humor.

Eventually, I would go out and hit the summer college party scene. Out there I would meet more individuals. Trezz; the local student from Wichita who was really interested in my trip. Joc from Southern Sudan who owns a house with his two younger brothers (all over 6'4) and throws parties regularly. Man, the evening was long.

My head's a tad fuzzy. It's 95 today and only looking to get hotter. This should be fun.

:/ 

Aaron and I eating at the delicious Cooky's Cafe.  

A far as the eye can see

Are those real trees? ...maybe

A waving sea of wheat.

      Photo credits to Gary and Alvie

                 Downtown Pittsburg

 From left to right: Hannah, Colin, and Graciella

Inside the Conscience of a Constantly Pondering Machine: The Battle for Balance in a World of Chatter

You cheated.

No, I didn't, and even if I did, it was worth it. All that cycling purity bullshit is just that; bullshit. I saved a ton of milage on a bum wheel that would have probably given way in the Ozarks anyway. The amount driven surmounts to less than 3% of the entire trip. Also, the fact that I can't stand up on the bike while pedaling upward because of the drastic pressure change would've made the slow ascensions miserable. The constant worry of taking it easy on my back tire would've taken away from all the beauty. Lastly, I'm not in this trip to win some golden medal for using a bike to see the country. I'm doing this to meet people and experience each place. Whether I do this in a car or on a bike is irrelevant as long as this is done.

You cheated.

Fuck off. The other half or 75% of telling myself I'm guilt-free is because I got to spend the Ozark's with a multifaceted, fully dimensional, dynamic individual whom I was able to completely share all the joys with. The roller-coaster like ups and downs were ridden with its two passengers cooing with each elevation change, all the while sticking our hands up out of the windows to feel the wind pass through the space between our fingers. We shared thoughts of beauty out loud in vocal expression as opposed to keeping them trapped within our skulls. I got to know somebody I never would've gotten the chance to if I hadn't driven with her. And she ruled.

Yeah, well you still cheated.

Well, perhaps I did. And. I'm really fucking glad I did. 

------------------------------------------------

What time is it? Ugh, it's too loud to still be dawn. Shit, so much for going to bed early. Whoa, it's 7! I guess I can lay here for a little. What crazy dreams.

Okay, I should get up. Back to the old grind... I wonder if Marcela would've joined me if she was done class. There's a nice breeze this morning. Wow, somebody waved at me. Breakfast.

Okay, I should be out of here by 8:30.

Okay, 8:45.

Right, 9 o'clock it is.

Do I have everything? Got my ipod, phone, and kindle from charging in the bathroom. Whoa, soap and shampoo are still in that shower. Ah! My new shirt is in there too! Okay, let's roll.

Where to today? I could have a relatively short ride today and a long one tomorrow. I'll see how I feel. Okay, I'm on this route for awhile. Oh! Another wave! Missourians ain't all bad at raising their arm.

I wish I could stand up to pedal on this bike. The slower pace is kind of nice. My ass hurts. Why does my ass hurt so much? That's better. Why won't Instagram load my video? This update is stupid. It's hot.

Is this an abandoned campground? This looks picture-worthy. Let's check this out. I wonder how far away Oak Grove is? I should start moving again.

Oak Grove! I'm stopping at this gas station. Why is everyone wearing overalls? Ah, that guy gave me a head nod. Soda, soda, soda. A can of Dr. Pepper is 68 cents? Sold. My god, this is delicious. This Clif bar ain't bad either. Okay, time to go- oops, wrong way. Junction V, there you are. 

Music.

Nathan Boone Historical Park? Is he related to Daniel Boone? Only one way to find out. Man, this dirt road is gonna bust my tire. Maybbee, I should walk my bike. Why is this guy significant? He's the youngest son of Daniel Boone and that's it? Big whoop.

I think I'll give Mike a call.

Time to leave this place. Ash Grove! This is a quaint and nice, little town. Where can I get some grub? The lady at the firework stand looks like she knows. Copper Grill, huh? I miss the buffets.

Don't get soda, don't get soda. Ahhh, ice cold water is a nice replacement. I hate this show but I can't look away. History Channel, you disappoint me. The Frank guy is cool but the main host is so fake it's crazy. I wonder if they're even real friends in real life. 

Whoa, these portions are pretty small. 

I'm still kinda hungry. Meh, whatever. Still lots of daylight... Let's see how far I get today. 

Okay, west on 160. My god, it's hot. Was it this hot before? This is a big hill. 

There's nobody on the road anymore. I'm glad nobody so far has had anger problems or mental issues. Someone could easily hit me with their car and peace out. No one would even know. Here comes a car. Huh, another person with good intentions. Nobody wants to hit me. Out of 30,000 or so passing cars, that's pretty damn good. 

This is Pennsboro? I need water. I wonder if this church has a water fountain. Wow, this is an archaic church. There's a pack of water bottles but I wonder if that'd be "stealing". Better see if I can call somebody. 

Nothing on the internet. The brick steps hurt my butt. Maybe if I lie down it'll relieve some of the pressure. That's better. Man, I could fall asleep he-

Ahhh, What time is it? How long was I out? Ah, only 5, I'm okay. It has certainly cooled down some. Holy hell, why do I have poison ivy on my thigh? Ahh, sorry god, I really need this water. Time to roll.

Turn right onto Z. 17 miles to Golden City, two more hills, and flatlands the rest of the way.

Ahh, last hill. Thanks for waiting for me to pedal by Mr. Whooaa, that guy gave me a thumbs up; the best of all hand gestures. 

Wow, this is flat.

Where does this road end? 

Music.

This isn't a bad ride at all. About 4 miles to Golden City now. 

Man, this is a strange town. Everything looks to be closed. This still looks like the Wild West. There's a grocery store.

1.99 for a big bag of salad mix and a .68 cent soda. Dinner is served.

Baseball games are still being played in the park. Time for me to eat dinner in the picnic shelter. Goodness, this is delicious. 

I'm full.

One more spoke gone. I wonder when that happened? 30 miles to the bike store.

What do I do now? I can write my blog. 

When should I post this?

        Abandoned campground area? 

    The beginning of today had plenty of hills but it's getting very flat as I get close to Kansas.

This is pretty much how every piece of fenced off property looked with a bunch of bails of hay. 

            Nathan Boone's old house. 

Another big hill.

The flatness begins!

Baseball in the park.

Angels

How long since I've blogged? One, two, three days? Anybody worried? Well, no need. I've been off the grid with no cell phone coverage, no electrical outlets and no shortage of fun being had. In hopes of saving my fingers from cramping up, I'll give a relatively general synopsis of the last few days.

On Friday morning, I woke up at Kyle's Campground at the bar that John owns. Stewie came through early for his daily toiling of the area and was still awfully kind to me; reminding me it wasn't just a social drunk we were experiencing the previous evening. John drove by two hours later and invited me to drive into town with him.

Stewie, John, and I drove to Lowes to checkoff a bunch of supplies that the two needed to fix up the bar. Afterward, John graciously bought us all lunch from Captain D's and we headed back to the bar. I helped the two fix up the bar for a few hours before Marcela would arrive for our weekend camping excursion. 

Before Marcela arrived, the working men were treated to some of Rita's famous homecooking. Stewie called me in to join John and him as we dug into the greatest "open" pork sandwiches I've ever had. I don't even like coleslaw and I was shoveling that down as well. 

Eventually, after driving over three hours to pick up helpless, little, old me; my saving grace pulled into the bar parking lot. Rita was courteous enough to share her pork with Marcela as well. Just as everyone was so warmly welcoming to me, it was no different with Marcela. All attention was given to the guest with no shortage of questions. After dinner, I stuffed my bike into Marcela's trunk and off we drove to a campsite. 

Over the next two days, Marcela and I would have one of the most fun weekends I've had in a long time. We meshed like peanut butter & jelly; a huge reason being our love for music. The tunes played repeatedly for the whole weekend. Moments of silence were a rarity. If there was no music, there was no shortage of conversation. 

Previous to our adventure, Marcela had just bought a new tent, wanted to get out of Carbondale for a few days, and go on a road trip. Check, check and check. Marcela was taking a little vacation and as we agreed, "I was taking a small vacation from my vacation". The first night, we camped at Jack's Fork River, which was awesome. We went swimming in the river that John, Bob, and Stewie had described as numbingly cold (false) and kicked back, enjoying each other's company.

Yesterday, the two of us got a breakfast buffet in the town of Eminance. Afterward, we went on a canoe "float" from the town, down 8 miles, and quite literally, to less than 20 ft. away from our campsite. As we got to our tent, we packed up our gear just as it began raining and went to another camping area by the name of Alley Springs, 15 miles down the road. 

As we accidentally passed the campsite, we ended up stumbling upon a 2 mile hike and seeing the old historical mill at the spring. A heavy, dewy mist encompassed the spring and surrounding area. It was like walking through a lucid dream or a natural landscape with those smoke machines used in plays. 

Afterwards, we retraced our steps back to the camping area and set up our tent much more quickly than we had the evening before (I'd screwed up every step in the manual and you would've thought I was working against Marcela). 

Today, Marcela drove me to the town of Marshfield. I've been having fun this entire journey biking solo across the United States but it was absolutely wonderful to spend a few days with another human being. Besides the total enjoyability on my behalf of sharing the company of Marcela, she drove my bike and I a bunch of miles because she cared! Hell, the lady wanted to drive me all the way to Pittsburg to ensure I stayed safe! It made me sad to say goodbye to Marcela but it won't be the last time I see her.

I had a really short ride today of about 16 miles to the town of Fair Grove. Hopping back onto the saddle was like... riding a bike? It felt awkward for the first mile but pretty soon, I was cruising and relishing the freedom once again. Good news: no broken spokes so far. I'm only about 80 miles from Pittsburg where I have a tire waiting for me, which brings me to my next point.

Katie fucking Hinchey! You are an angel! Out of worry for my safety, she got a wheel sent to Pittsburg to make sure I continue to ride with minimal danger. I can't even express my gratitude. People are awesome... especially Katie and Marcela :) 

So much for keeping it relatively general. My fingers are cramped. 

County Line Bar in Middlebrook, MO. Despite not showing up on any maps or GPS, I personally know it for their amicable staff and hospitality. John, Truma, Rita, Bob, and Stewie took special care of me

As opposed to bathing in the cold water outside shower, I elected to clean up in the fresh water stream behind the campground. Stewie found this very amusing. 

Stewie was around 30 years old and I came to learn he's been everywhere since serving in the Army. He fought in Afghanistan and Iraq for too long and has been to over 10 different countries. He got out about a year ago and spends 3 days a week working for John, and the other days of the week working at the largest furniture store in the United States... it's an 80 acre hanger... 80 acres. Stewie was the bee's knees.

Across from the bar, there was an old truck from the 1920's. As I was waiting for Marcela, Stewie told me how that tree had grown through the truck bed. He said, "If they ever wanna cut the tree down, they'll have to take the whole damn truck with it". I wanted a closer look but Stewie described the surrounding grass as "tick heaven", which immediately got my skin crawling.

       The lovely and amazing Marcela.

Marcela's "spaceship", as I called it, seeing its first night of action. It also proved to be waterproof as it witnessed a thunderstorm the next evening. Better than my tent, I can tell you that. 

In Eminence, Marcela and I found this sign hilarious. 

My baby and I cheating our way to the West. And I don't feel a single sense of guilt whatsoever. 

           Blazing a trail westward.

Got a bit lost and ended up on a rocky, little road outside Hartville, MO. However, the stream around the bend was asking us to swim in it... so we appeased her.

       Current Home: Fair Grove, MO