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Bicycling, June 2007
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44 miles (1500 total)
A new month (June), two new states (Nebraska for 2 hours, then Kansas), a new highway (US 36), and a new time zone (Central).
If you remember, two days ago I had seen a sculpture of an Indian on horseback out in the middle of a field, and had wondered who had sculpted it and how did it get there. On a county road, out in the middle of nowhere between Haigler, Nebraska and St. Francis, Kansas, the answers appeared. The sculpture was done by an artist Tobe Zweygardt in memory of Cheyenne survivors of an 1864 massacre that occured in Sand Creek, Colorado (where I saw the other identical statue).
The artist also commemorated with an iron statue of a buffalo the shooting and butchering of the last bull buffalo seen in the region by Sam Ferguson in 1887. Way to go Sam. And then there was also an iron statue of a prairie dog. Was there a rodent massacre that I missed?
And then, I was amused by the above street sign, wondering who or what might lurk over the rise on Road X.
By the way, one of the claims to fame of St. Francis is the fact that Apollo 17 astronaut Ron Evans was born here. This is ironic given that the bookstores that I have visited have almost no science fiction.
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42 miles (1542 total)
Hopped from the County seat of Cheyenne County (St. Francis) to the County Seat of Rawlins County (Atwood). This is likely to be the pattern for the rest of Kansas. County Seats are typically the only communities large enough to have a motel or two, and are spaced about 30 miles apart. This causes a small problem, in that I can either do an easy 30-35 miles in a day, or try to skip a county and go for a strenuous 60 mile day.
Atwood has an interesting downtown, with the high school on a rise overlooking the rest of the town. It has a Masonic Temple and a Knights of Columbus lodge. Of course, like every county seat since Idaho, it has a museum of antique housewares, Indian artifacts, military uniforms, and an account of some significant historical event. Gaelic fiddle music was playing from loudspeakers on one of the center downtown blocks.
There must be an enormous strip mine or gusher well of hogs somewhere near here, judging by the number of trucks hauling hogs. Over the last week, I have been passed at least 100 such trucks, about 50% of the total truck traffic. Now, guess why the hog trucks are so noticable: That's right, the smell, strong enough to knock you down. And, for a special experience, I have been passed by a few of these livestock trucks in the rain, where a brown mist hoses down unlucky cyclists on the side of the road.
And while we are on the subject of olfactory challenges, I passed the first two dead skunks in the middle of the road, you got your dead skunks in the middle of the road, stinking to high heaven. It also took me a day to figure out that a number of grease puddles in the middle of the road were road-kill turtles, presumably run down by hog haulers.
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28 miles (1570 total)
An easy 2.5 hour ride. Arrived in Oberlin at around 11:00 and enjoyed a pretty good, all you can eat Sunday brunch buffet. Which reminds me of the topic of food, with which I am becoming more and more obsessed. It appears that I have lost enough weight that my brain believes that I am in a famine. I'm craving a lot of rich food. Corndogs. Waffles. Cheese Danish. I cannot pass a rootbeer float or milkshake, anymore. The good news is that I also have a vegetable craving, so that I cannot pass a salad bar either.
Oberlin is famous for hosting the last Indian raid in Kansas in 1878, two years after Custer's fiasco at the Little Big Horn.
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36 miles (1606 total)
One of the only highlights of the ride were eggs, biscuits, and strawberry-rubarb pie for breakfast in Norcatur, Kansas. The other highlight was finally seeing a live turtle. It was in the middle of the road, recently straddled by the wheels of a passing car. Of course, it had its head pulled into its shell to protect itself from 1500 pounds of steel. I did the compassionate thing and placed it in the grass on the far side of the road.
Every county seat along US 36 is famous for something. Norton is famous for Stagecoach Station 15, the actual station house at the middle of the Leavenworth to Denver run. This station house appears to be the nexus of the wild west. The stationmasters were the Bonney family, parents of Billy the Kid. Horace Greeley, newspaper editor and presidential candidate stopped there. Pat Garrett and Wild Bill Hickock, too. And speaking of presidential candidates, Norton is also the home of the Gallery of Presidential Also-Rans, paying homage to every failed US presidential candidate from Thomas Jefferson to George Bush.
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35 miles (1641 total)
Interesting weather has been developing. A high pressure system is passing from NW to NE, with a trailing low pressure system. The result for yesterday was a moderate headwind, making for a slow, but not impossible ride. But today, the combination of systems is producing 25-40 mph (gusting to 55) winds from the south. Such wind gusts from the side could easily push me off the shoulder into traffic. Today seems like a perfect rest day to camp out in my motel room and catch up on reading.
Tomorrow, the winds are forecasted to continue shifting around to the west, still at 25-35 mph, gusting to 40. With such strong tail winds, I should be able to make some good time.
Phillips county is the self-proclaimed cattle/calf capital of Kansas. This is a little surprising, since I haven't seen a single cow or calf since I entered the county. They also call themselves the hamburger capital, mostly because of the obscenely large burgers that they try to put on a tiny bun (I had one last night). Given the picture above, I should think that Phillipsburg could call itself the town with the largest flower pot (30 ft tall) in Kansas.
The only other excitement for the ride was seeing one of the large hog haulers being towed. Looking at the damage to the rig, it looks like it rolled over onto its side. If the rig was carrying hogs at the time, the poor beasts must have had a hard time getting tossed around.
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60 miles (1701 total)
Having yesterday off as a weather enforced day of rest put some spark back into the ride. Despite the no-show of tail winds during the morning hours, I covered 16 miles in the first hour and 13 miles in the second hour to reach Smith Center at 1100, where I stopped for a long lunch. The remaining 30 miles to Mankato were done in 2.5 hours, with the help of 20 mph winds from the SW.
My outlaws told me years ago that as they got older, they found that they could do the same things that they did when they were younger, it just took them longer to recover. I seem to be discovering that same observation for myself. Even a string of fairly easy 30 mile days did not help me recover enough to want to attempt a 60 mile day. But take a day off, and 60 miles was a piece of cake.
Smith Center's claim to fame is being the geographic center of the continental United States, which means that I am finally in the eastern half of the country. Jewell County was the home of the last surviving veteran of World War I.
I saw a dead raccoon and a lot of dead birds along the side of the road. Less disgusting, more disgustingly cute, was a family of golden-mantled squirrels. Outside a restaurant before dinner last night in Phillipsburg, I surprised mama squirrel (about 4-5 inches long), who shot back to her hole. She kept sticking her head out every 20-30 seconds, waiting for me to go. After dinner, I stopped to look in on her and was surprised to see a much smaller (2.5-3.0 inch) squirrel looking out. It was less afraid than mama, since the pup stepped out of the hole to look at me. It was followed by 3 more siblings, all pushing for position on the front step of the hole to get a look at me.
A sign on the inside of my motel room: "Absolute NO cleaning of game in rooms. Anyone that does not comply with this rule will suffer additional charges and eviction. See manager about a designated area for you to clean game." Todo, I guess we must be back in Kansas.
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35 miles (1736 total)
A common scene in Kansas is feed lots, as pictured above. Hundreds and even thousands of cows are concentrated in just a few acres, and given the cow equivalent of strawberry milkshakes and cheesedogs, to fatten them up. I have even seen feedlots that advertise custom feeding, that you can request a specific diet, I presume to flavor the beef.
I also came across the sign above, fearing that this was an over-the-top example of pride in your political party. However, I later found a historical marker that clarified the name. It appears that when French traders in the late 1700s first encountered the Pawnee Indians in Kansas, the Frenchmen mistakenly thought that the Pawnee were practicing a republican form of government (just like in post revolution France), and named the tribe the Republican Pawnee.
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34 miles (1770 total)
Sad to say, I woke up with a serious hangover, this morning. It's sad, because it is from a single beer (the first I've had in a month) and a large DQ milkshake. I had pictured a large milkshake as 20 oz. This milkshake was at least 32 oz (of course, I had to drink the whole thing). The result was a slow, dull day on the road. Having 25 mph winds from the south didn't help, either
I spent part of the day thinking about cleaning up my diet some, both for better health and to save money. I've been having coffee and a donut for breakfast. Today, I bought a box of cereal to carry with me for breakfasts.
For some reason, it occurred to me this morning that I hadn't seen a vulture in all of Kansas, despite all of the road-kill. Coincidentally, I saw one on a fence post 10 minutes later.
And while I was poking along dragging my hungover butt up a hill, someone on a bicycle (the first cyclist I've seen in Kansas) with a small gasoline engine effortlessly blasted past me doing at least 20 mph. I have been good and virtuous, having done 1800 miles without any assistance. Now, I want a motor. I could still get exercise, but long distance trips would be more practical, easily cutting the time in half. I'm trying to adopt bicycling as an alternative to driving a car, but taking off 2-3 months to cross the country is not a practical way to travel.
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24 miles (1795 total)
I saw a sign in a restaurant in Kansas that said "Whining will cost $5 extra". Appropriate for my mood today. Just outside of Marysville began 10 miles of road texturing in preparation for a new layer of asphalt. While this will make the new asphalt adhere better, it makes riding on a bicycle very uncomfortable. Imagine hugging a jackhammer for an hour. Then throw in a 25 mph headwind (where are the promised prevailing westerlies?) on a 4 lane divided highway with no shoulders. And, whoever designed the highway was a sadist. I presume that the east-bound lanes were part of the original highway and the west-bound lanes were added later, since the east-bound lanes formed a high amplitude sign wave, a veritable roller-coaster of a road. The west-bound lanes were extremely smooth in grade, as if the road had been built on an old railroad bed (which actually is a possibility), taunting me as I rode the roller-coaster side.
And then there were the dead animals. I counted 8 dead raccoons and one dead fox in a 5 mile stretch of road, 3 of the critters in one mile, 2 within 20 feet of each other.
Speaking of road-kill, I forgot to mention that I had a close call yesterday. I have commented before that western drivers have been very considerate. Well, there have been a few exceptions. On two occasions in the last month, truckers have crowded me to within two feet. While there was probably no danger (the truck and I both stayed on our sides of the white line), the closeness is enough to trigger an adrenaline rush that is a complete waste, since the incident is over before the adrenaline is released. Yesterday, on a stretch where I was riding at a brisk pace, an oncoming car started to pass an oncoming, very wide farm combine. The width of the combine was forcing the car onto the shoulder where I was riding. While I was preparing to dive off the side of the road into the tall weeds, the combine driver saw the situation and drove his machine off the shoulder into the grass, giving the passing car room to pass with comfortable room. While I was probably not in serious danger, at least the adrenaline release was timely.
The other excitement (much more pleasant) of the day was that I came upon a doe walking along a fence, about 30 feet from the side of the road. Behind the doe, I could see a pair of ears bouncing up and down, presumably belonging to the doe's fawn. When I rode up even with them, the doe stopped and froze while the fawn dropped to the ground. As I pulled out my camera, the doe took off with her white tail flashing (I got a picture of a distant doe butt). About 10 seconds later, the fawn got up and clumsily started running in another direction, almost at right angle to the doe. I realized that the white tail is used to attract a predator away from the fawn.
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32 miles (1827 total)
The weather was forecasted to be rainy, hot, humid, and windy, but there was no rain and only a moderate headwind. The humidity was over 90% with temps pushing 80 by 0900 according to the Weather Channel. I sweat profusely, but for some reason the ride today seemed pretty easy.
Today was a continuation of the parade of road-kill, and I almost added a bird to the collection. Riding on the shoulder, my wheels passed within 12 inches of a bird lying on the asphalt. Approaching it I assumed that it was already dead. But as I passed, it looked a little too intact. As I walked back, the bird, a young fledging barely able to fly, jumped up, reached its neck up into the air and frantically looked around. I was going to nudge it off of the asphalt, when it took off and flew about 15 feet to a crash landing in the tall grass (a vivid re-enactment of what I was thinking about doing day before yesterday to avoid being road-kill myself).
Kansas is also changing as I ride east. Today, I saw my first corn fields. There are more trees. I saw a real river (the Blue River). The towns are looking more affluent with more shops, restaurants, etc. In Seneca, I saw today the first McDonald's since Phillipsburg, Kansas (about 180 miles back) and the first WalMart since Fort Morgan (about 400 miles back).
The picture above is of a sculpture of a pony express rider standing in downtown Marysville, Dansas. The stretch of US 36 between St. Joseph, Missouri and Marysville, Kansas is on the old Pony Express trail, aka the Oregon Trail, aka the California Trail.
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33 miles (1860 total)
Overcast, headwinds, a lot of road-kill, corn fields, and roller-coaster roads, just like yesterday and the day before. Oh, oh, oh, added possum and snapping turtles to the list of road-kills.
I stayed overnight in Hiawatha, Kansas, which is the site of the first Halloween parade in the United States.
Blah, blah, blah.
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52 miles (1912 total)
The last day in Kansas looked more like New England than the rest of Kansas: rolling hills, dense forests, and thick vegetation. I'm finally done with Kansas and am in Misery (er, Missouri).
I stopped in Highland, Kansas to visit the Native American Heritage Museum. The museum is in a building that served as a school and orphanage for about 40 students from the 1850s to the 1870s. The students, from the Iowa, Fox, and other tribes, were learning crafts such as blacksmithing, wheelwrighting, farming, etc.
From the displays, the school was a popular stop for travellers on the Oregon Trail. The students were skilled enough to help with repairs to tack and wagons. Other Native Americans were friendly, helping the travellers with fordings, trading food for goods, and serving as guides. One enterprising Native American had set up a toll booth at a ford across the Wolf River and collected $1 per wagon (an exhorbitant price for the times). In one day, 1500 wagons passed.
St. Joseph is one scary city for a bicyclist. There are no bike lanes, no shoulders, often no sidewalks, and a whole lot of traffic. One example, on US 36 crossing the Missouri River into St. Joseph, the left lane was closed for bridge work. The shoulder looked like it had never been swept, with hundreds of nails, screws, broken glass, sand, and remnants of shredded tires. On the far side of the bridge, there was a complicated series of two cloverleafs accessing Interstates 29 and 229. I felt like the proverbial one-legged cowboy with a rubber crutch in a cattle stampede.
Or else, after 500 miles of small towns and a two laned highway, any city of 75,000 would cause culture shock. Oh my gosh, my motel is within 1000 ft of a Wendy's, a Long John Silvers, an Appleby's, a Ruby Tuesday, and a shopping mall.
I decided that I need help to finish the ride before the end of the decade. Inspired by the cyclist with a gas engine I saw a few days ago, I bought a moped kit for the bicycle, which should arrive on Friday. Not only will I be driving with gas, but I will have at least a 3 night rest while the kit is shipped from Oklahoma City. The bike shop owner here in St. Joseph is a good guy who is willing to help me with the conversion, but he is purist in that he doesn't believe that bicycles should be powered by anything other than muscles.
In a tavern that has food and wifi in St. Joseph, I overheard a woman say, "I never said that, I was kidding."
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72 miles (2001 total), 40% of the distance through Missouri
The surgery was a success. I now have a Frankenbike, half bicycle, half motorcycle. The parts arrived Friday morning. Shawn at Forces of Nature Bicycles and I worked for a couple of hours in the afternoon putting it together. With the motor on the rear wheel, I had to take off the rear luggage rack. I bought a new front rack and a couple of panniers to provide some replacement capacity. I also got rid of all the camping gear, shipping 21 pounds of stuff to my sister's house. Total cost of the conversion was $700. The result is in the image above, alongside its cousin.
On this first day, the motor was able to propel me at around 25-28 mph on level ground at 160 miles per gallon. The instructions state that the motor will gain power and efficiency after a couple of hundred miles after the engine breaks in. While gas won't be expensive, rear tires will be. The friction drive roller chews up a tire every 500-1000 miles or so.
Having a motor doesn't mean that I get away with no work. For one thing, the motor is not strong enough to carry me up hills without assistance, so I get to do a fair bit of pedaling. On top of that, I still want to continue exercising, so I plan to ride for an hour or two each day with the motor turned off (the motor has a quick-release mechanism to lift the friction roller off of the tire). Finally, while having a motor gives my lungs and legs a break, my wrists, back, neck, and butt still feel the pressure.
Because of the heat (expected high in the low-mid 90s), I wanted to stop by noon. Because I got a late start (0930) after waiting for the UPS store to open, I only put in three hours of riding including one hour with the motor turned off (actually, I let the tank run out of gas). I plan to start at 0600 tomorrow in order to have 6 hours of riding.
I continue to be unimpressed with Missouri, at least the parts that I have seen. US 36 is a 4 lane divided highway that is pretty boring. The towns are no longer quaint small western towns with mom-and-pop motels, local cafes, and everything clustered together and accessible for a walker. The towns in Missouri are carbon copies of what I see in the east, filled with McDonald's, WalMarts, and other national franchises. The towns are more spread out along highways, designed for automobiles and inhospitable to walkers (no sidewalks). Missouri is gnat infested - everytime I stopped a dozen immediately tried to fly into eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Finally, the people here don't seem to be as friendly. The area around the bike store in St. Joseph was populated with a lot of street toughs, homeless people muttering to themselves, and a lot of abandoned or neglected properties. The area around my motel was shopping mall and franchise mecca. All in all, I'm glad that I'll only be in the state for 2-3 days instead of 6-7.
The final comment for today is that I am amazed at how lucky I've been regarding weather. The storms, severe or otherwise, that have been afflicting the mid-west have continually kept away from me. While I was stopped in St. Joseph, a major storm system has remained stalled in Oklahoma and Kansas, with towns just 40 miles west and 60 miles south getting rain nearly every day. It shows signs of starting to move, and is forecasted to finally move into western Missouri on Monday, but I should be in Illinois by then.
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105 miles (2106 total)
Wow, I figured that Sunday morning would be a good time to be safe on the road. I also underestimated the rudeness of Misery (er, Missouri) drivers. In the course of 5 hours of riding, four drivers laid on their horns. One motioned that I should be riding on the shoulder, despite the fact that the shoulder was gravel. One yelled at me, and although I didn't understand him, the tone sounded insulting. Several drivers passed me with little room to spare, despite the other lane being open. This is a small percentage of the total number of drivers that passed me, the truckers especially were cautious and considerate. But in all of the eight weeks riding in the western states from Washington to Kansas in 8 weeks, I didn't encounter the amount of rudeness I encountered in one day.
There is one other difference to consider - today I was riding with the assistance of a motor. I wonder if somehow there is a different attitude towards an idiot on a moped versus an idiot on a bicycle. A bicyclist is an athlete, an adult, an adventurer. I moped driver is usually an inexperienced 15 or 16 year old who doesn't have a driver's license or money to buy a car. In support of this, I rode with the motor off for about 25 miles today and don't remember any rudeness during this time.
I have to admit that after only two days mopeding, its not as much fun as I thought it would be. For one thing, it is more dangerous. I cannot hear traffic coming up from behind. Because I am travelling faster, I have less time to avoid potholes and ruts. It is also less aesthetically pleasing. I do not see or hear the wildlife that I saw and heard before. The bicycle smells of gasoline, so that I am a little worried about bringing it into a motel room. The friction drive is chewing up the rear tire at a rapid pace, scattering rubber dust all over everything. Finally, the vibrations of the motor, the harder impacts on bumps in the road, and the more intense focus required make the riding less comfortable. I was considering buying an electric motor, that would have been quieter, not smell like gasoline, and would have looked and felt more like a bicycle. Maybe next time.
In the meantime, I am going to try to avoid US 36 and look for back roads for the rest of the way. For whatever reason, I think that I am reaching the point where I'd like to be doing something else. At the present pace, I'll be at Ann's and Peter's in Indianapolis, my primary destination, in another 5-7 days. I think that I'll pack up the bike at that point and call it quits for this year.
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56 miles (2163 total)
I pedaled for 25 miles along US 36 in Missouri and across the Mississippi River, then motored for 31 more. After Missouri, the roads in Illinois are heaven. There are plenty of roads that parallel US 36 and they are so far in excellent repair. The forecast of severe thunderstorms by noon, the appearance of threatening clouds and a light shower, and another 40 miles to the next town with a motel caused me to stop at 10:00 in Pittsfield. The weather channel fooled me again. The afternoon has been fine.
Pittsfield is OK, but it has a WalMart and all the fast food franchises and only one local restaurant. Given that McDonalds is across the street from the motel, I may break down and eat there tonight.
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77 miles (2240 total)
US 36 merges with Interstate 72 in Illinois, making it unavailable. Fortunately, Old US 36 still survives as a reasonably good quality road that is not heavily travelled. Now that I have a route that is not along a major thoroughfare, the hazards and stresses are greatly reduced, and the ride is whole lot more fun, pedaling and mopeding. Old US 36 still has traffic, but it similar in volume to what I saw in Kansas. I even experimented with getting off Old US 36 to try some of the small county roads. For about 5 miles I was wandering around on dirt roads before finding another paved road.
But, I also have the luxury of taking in the sights and letting my mind be on something other than the next car that is overtaking me. I have been stopping more to take photos or to check out points of interest along the way.
Speaking of which, along County Road 106, before I connected with Old US 36, I stopped to read a historical site marker about Mormontown, Illinois. In the late 1830's, Mormontown was a place of sanctuary where Mormons came from Missouri to escape the legalized persecution, including extermination orders.
Among other things, this trip has been a pilgramage to discover Mormon roots. In addition to stumbling onto the site of Mormontown on a back road, I have seen a museum that commemerated the trek of Mormons who carried their belongings in handcarts to Wyoming. Shawn, the bicycle shop owner in St. Joseph who helped me install the moped engine, is a Mormon. Kelly and Sheryl Cronquist, the couple who stopped by the side of road to offer me a neck massage and a blessing, are Mormons. Several other historical markers have remarked about the several passages of the Mormon immigrants.
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85 miles (2325 total)
Today was a blast. The humidity and temperature are down, so that pedaling does not result in immediate saturation in sweat.
I followed a set of back roads that parallel US 36 (which split from Interstate 72 and merged with Old US 36). While these roads are paved, they are narrow and rutted. I have seen more impressive driveways. But, no traffic. I felt like an explorer, wandering through canyons of corn stalks 6 feet tall, and seeing farms and towns miles in the distance. Compared to US 36 in Missouri, it felt like freedom.
I stopped at the Post Office in the small town of Hammond, Illinois to ask for help in finding a paved route of back roads that would take me to Tuscola. The woman at the Post Office was very friendly and very helpful. I told her of my experiences in Missouri, and she said that there are a lot of strange people travelling on US 36.
I'm beginning to think that there is a huge difference between rural folk and city folk. Everyone I met in Kansas was rural and nearly everyone was friendly and helpful. People I have met in rural areas of Illinois have been equally friendly and helpful.
But I have not felt welcome in the large cities. I hadn't noticed any hostility in Missoula, Montana and Fort Collins, Colorado, but neither had I sensed much friendliness, either. In Jacksonville, Illinois, I stopped for breakfast at a cafe and people there stared at me as if I had two heads. The waitress was polite but distant. In the rural towns, people were ready eager to strike up a conversation. In a rural hamlet outside of Springfield, the owners of an antique store spent 20 minutes figuring out directions for me to reach the motel district in Springfield. In Decatur, Illinois, a teenager yelled at me from a car window, trying to rattle me with their car only two feet away. Along US 36 in Missouri, people were downright hostile. In Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming people on the highways were constantly stopping to offer help.
Incidentally, for any readers who are students of Skip Hancock, I experienced being out of time when the teenager yelled at me. I escaped serious injury only because the bicycle was moving on a safe course for the 1-2 seconds that I was out of time. In addition to pain and being out of balance, I wonder if anything that is surprising can also take you out of time.
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61 miles (2386 total)
Today sucked. Well, actually, the moment I reached the Indiana border, the day started sucking.
I tried the back roads again in Illinois, but they ran out and became gravel, forcing me back onto US 36. Fortunately, US 36 is not heavily travelled between Tuscola, Illinois and Rockville, Indiana.
When I stopped for breakfast at a cafe in Chrisman, the last town in Illinois, I checked out the rear tire. The friction drive has taken a serious toll on the tire, and I noticed that the rubber had worn down so far that the beads were showing through in one place. I tried to keep going on the bad tire, keeping close watch. But by the time I reached the Indiana border, only 6 miles further, sheets of rubber were flaking off the bead. I had a spare tire and a couple of spare tubes so I thought that I'd replace the tire at a roadside rest area.
I discovered that the spare tire that the original dealer had sold me was 700 mm in diameter, but it was a racing tire and not a more rugged and thicker touring tire. The tubes I had were for a larger tire, so that when I tried to clip the new tire inside the rim, I pinched the tube. In 3 miles, I had a flat. I stopped at a convenience store in Dana, Indiana to fix the flat. This time I only travelled 1 mile before a flat appeared.
So, I realized there was a pattern here. I found a tree with a rock ledge to work in the shade and tried again. I fixed the tire 5 more times, each time pinching the tube. Either the tire was stretched a bit or I learned how to reseat the tire in the rim without the tire irons, but I finally got the tire reassembled without pinching the tube. But, when I tried to put a few more pumps into the tube, the valve broke off inside the pump, and the tube instantly became garbage.
About this time, I was losing my cool. I tried to pull the broken valve out of the pump with a pair of needle nose pliers, but the points were too large. I tried to pry the valve head out with another tool from my Leatherman, but I only succeeded in damaging the pump hole dust cover, in slicing the ball of my thumb, and raking my knuckles. At this point, I had already thrown away the old tire, I had no clue if the new tire would stand up to the friction drive, I only had one tube left, I only had two patches left, the pump was useless, I was still 10 miles from the nearest motel, and forecasted thunderstorms were beginning to form.
I was cursing profusely, then I sat down in a funk to regroup. I tore out some notebook paper to stop my hand from bleeding (I was too lazy to dig out the first aid kit). Someone was driving a tractor in their yard nearby, so I went over and borrowed a smaller pair of needle nose pliers to extract the valve head. Incidentally, the person also gave me a bottle of cold water. I patched the only remaining tube and managed to reseat the tire again without using the tire iron. I pumped up the tire and it appeared to hold.
Its ironic that I had more difficulties on the second to the last day of the trip than in the entire previous 9 weeks. I had not broken anything or injured myself before today.
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78 miles (2462 total)
There were very intense thunderstorms last night, but by dawn the rain had stopped, leaving a dull gray morning. While the weather channel said that there were be continuing thunderstorms throughout the day, the radar picture showed the last band of rain passed Rockville around dawn and the thunderstorms passing to the south.
When I went to start the engine, I discovered that the tread had already worn down to the point that the bead was showing through at one point. With that, I knew that I would never reach Indianapolis with the engine off, so I turned it off and started pedaling. Eighty miles would be a long day to pedal, but the terrain is mostly level. I had also talked to Ann the night before, who said that if I got stuck that she would drive out to pick me up.
I made it all the way to downtown Indianapolis, nearly 60 miles, when I had the next flat. I've figured out that, because I cannot fill the thin tire with high enough pressure, sharp impacts on stones or ridges pinch the inner tube and cause it to go flat. The first flat happened crossing railroad tracks, and I walked the next mile to the IUPUI campus looking for a shady place to fix it.
The next flat happened on a break in the sidewalk about two miles further. After walking another mile, I came across a small park, and tried ot fix it one more time. Unfortunately, the holes in the tube were large, and the patch failed almost immediately. As fate would have it, a bicycle trail was next to the park and as I was cursing my luck, a cyclist noticed my flat and offered me an inner tube that fit the tire.
With that, I was able to make it to within two miles before the third flat of the day. I gave up and called Ann to pick me up.
So the disgrace is that I went nearly 2500 miles across the country and could not finish the last two. Oh well.
Still trying to make up my mind whether or not to continue on to Annapolis, MD where my younger sister lives. Day before yesterday, I was convinced I was done. However, Ann suggested that I rest up a few days before deciding.
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| Copyright (c) 2007 by Dick Delanoy
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