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.