EnRouteTransport

I looked at the bank clock as the gate to Hawkins House closed behind me. 8:40 a.m. “Oh well. The only way I’m going to get there is to pedal. I wonder if anyone will offer me a ride?”
I wasn’t averse to taking a ride. I did think it would be nice to ride the hills, see what they would do for me. I wanted to smell the air and hear the quiet of the place, look for treasures.
No one stopped. One man trying to get radio reception with a homemade-looking antenna asked as I pedaled by, “Where you headed?”
“That way,” I pointed with my head down the road because these hills are no place to take my hands away from the front of my bike. There really isn’t much time to have a conversation at the crest of a hill unless it’s a great conversational hook. At the top of a hill, I don’t have a ready conversation gripper in mind…I’m just sucking wind and trying not to fall over.

Powder Mill hill, the infamous. I pedaled it.
“All I have to do is keep pedaling, and I’ll make it. It’s not so long, you know. Just steep. And, it’s ok to stop.” The hill had enough little plateaus in it that I stopped only once.
“Getting through them.”
Another hill went up and up and around and up. At the really steep part, I stood to pedal in my granny gear, slowly making it to the crest where I could sit or stop. I saw a big hole in the road ahead. The hole lay to my left, and I had plenty of room to pass between it and the side of the road. The closer I got to it, the deeper it appeared. I looked down as I passed it.
“It goes all the way through, down to…!” My handlebars twisted to the side and I couldn’t recover. Down I went. Boom. Happily, the downward twist my bike took from the uphill direction naturally unclipped my feet from the pedals, and I landed standing astride my collapsed steed.
“Poor bike. You’re exhausted.”
I picked it up and pushed my way to the crest of the hill, pedal cleats clicking on the road.

The hills moderated some but remained continuous up, plateau, up, and down, plateau, down, and up. Repeat. Trees lined the way, creating a pleasant shady way in the growing heat and humidity.

27 miles to Ellington. I made the distance I covered yesterday on the Harley. “Yes!” Ellington broke up the consistency of deciduous forest with some large, well-kept buildings. I took a juice break before the route took me north, filled my water bottles with ice.

The next stretch of road broke out of the dense forest with a wider road of more moderate grade. I appreciated the grade change considerably. The wide shoulder had no paving, however, and I continued to ride the paved road edge in the blazing sun. Perhaps I hadn’t quite considered how far the next services where, or maybe I forgot to look ahead in my celebration of making it through the monster hills to Ellington. Who knows. If I don’t know what happened, no one does, because it was just me out there pedaling in space.

After a long while of cycling out on these country roads, I saw some large structure way up on the hill.
“What is that? It reminds me of something from some doomsday movie.” I passed a sign for Johnson Shut-Ins State Park. “What’s a shut-in? Maybe that’s what it is…one of those crazy doomsday shelters where all the people are supposed to go in case of apocalyptic meteor impact, sudden global flooding….

“It’s hot.
“I’m not going to make it.
“Not going to make it where or what.
“I’m not going to make it.
“Keep pedaling.
“It’s so hot. I can’t.
“Ok, fine. Just keep moving. Get off and walk.
“Walk. Good. Walk. I’ll walk. I can walk.
“Drink some water.
“That hot yucky stuff?
“Yes, you need it. Drink it.
“Ok.
“Take a breath. Get back on the bike.
“No, I need to cry. I’m gonna.
“If you cry, your nose will get all snotty and then it will be hard to breathe in addition to everything else.
“Shush.” The tears came, a little. I probably didn’t have enough extra moisture in my body to make many. Some of the pressure lifted.
“You good? Can we go on?
“Yeah, ok. Just keep moving, yeah?
“Uh huh.
“Here we go.”

I rode into the state park visitor’s center dripping sweat and dry tears. Someone went to get a drink at the fountain.
“Is that cold?”
“I wouldn’t say cold, no. But I’m so thirsty, I’ll drink it. It’s more like cool.”
“That’s worlds better than hot.”
I dumped the hot water from my bottles and refilled them at the fountain, drinking deeply. The water had a touch of cool to it. Better than nothing. I washed my face in the bathroom with warm water from the automatic sink. For once I wished cold water came out of those things or that I could have the freedom to adjust the temperature. I went back outside and lay on a bench in the shade. I just lay there. Tears wanted to come again but couldn’t. Eventually I got back up and noticed the sweat outline of my body on the bench. I went to my bike and had a gel.
A couple was trying to get direction to Ellington from a ranger. They didn’t want to believe him.
“I just came from Ellington.”
“She’s riding her bike.”
The woman glared at me, probably still annoyed that she couldn’t see how they were going to get to Ellington, and directed a comment directly my way, “For heaven’s sake.” She looked back down at her map and then walked briskly back to their truck.

“Whatever. I can make it to the next place. I have just a little way to go and then it’s all down hill to Farmington pretty much.
“Forget Farmington. Get to Pilot Knob. It’s closer.
“Ok.”

I rode down the hill into Pilot Knob and sort of through it.
“There must be lodging right on the main road here.”
Finally I saw a motel and pulled in.
The woman at the desk set me up with a room, tourist brochures of area attractions, and history of that big thing on the top of the hill.
“They built a reservoir on top of the mountain. Over the course of the day, water flows down (it flows up at night) and generates reserve electricity for non-peak hour use. One day, there was a mechanical malfunction and the reservoir overflowed. It washed everything off the mountainside along its path. That area is now known as the scour. They rebuilt the reservoir.
“So what’s a shut-in?”
“A shut-in is a rocky area along the river where the water gets trapped in the rock formation. They make a series of pools.”

BBQ was the only restaurant within walking distance, so I went there. They were out of salad so my attempt to resupply on something that wasn’t fried failed. Oh well. I made it work with the three bottles of BBQ sauce and the roll of paper towels for napkins. I even used my silverware but still had to take about 5 paper towels. Better to refuel than none at all.

Everyone had been telling me it was going to get hotter with higher humidity. I would definitely leave earlier in the morning.

The yard at Hawkins House proved to be a decent place to stay for a town that had no other lodging available for that particular night. The air temperature cooled considerably by the middle of the night, and I had some decent sleep once I could cover myself a little bit. Like my night in Bazine, the little crawly things under my sleeping pad and on my skin kept me up for a while until I could let go of the idea that some invisible bug was going to bore into me and die there.

What a gorgeous morning!

Stanley got me set up with a cup of tea and invited me to have breakfast with the other guests. Peach French toast. Yum!! I even ate the bacon. The two people I shared the table with found my trek curious and inspiring. He still rode a Harley, and we swapped stories about life riding the roadways.

Not long after breakfast, my room was ready.
Bed and Breakfast. Nice spot. I haven’t really stayed in one of these yet. I liked it. There’s something about being at “home” on the road…can’t get that in a motel room. Some people might be able to find it out camping, but I couldn’t believe how nice it was to have a room of my own. The clock in the room was set 15 minutes fast. Who was in such a hurry? These small towns thrive on a slow pace. Time has been a strange concept for me out here anyway.

I walked across the street to the courthouse to wait for Larry. The zinnias were in full display. Even cultivated flowers are fun, they’re in a place. These white ones are gorgeous. I got down low in front of them, took a deep breath. Like this morning’s peach French toast!

Larry rode by, looked my direction. I waved. He came back around, and I got on.
“Have you eaten?”
“I had breakfast.”
“Do you need to eat?”
“Let’s go riding. My body feels all tired today.” I didn’t feel great, and I had no idea how lunch would mix with a ride on a windy road. Better to eat after transportation excitement than before.
“You don’t have to pedal anywhere.”
“Good.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about if we ride the road ahead, and you can check out where you’ll be riding tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” I did want to know what kind of hills I’d be getting myself into. Everyone kept telling me stories about Powder Mill Hill. On my map, the elevation profile looked scary. I couldn’t tell if it really did just go straight up or if it had some of those little plateaus in it that would allow me to catch my breath. “I’ll probably hold on. I’m scared.”
“That’s fine.”
I remembered a ride one time that had me gripped the whole time, and I hardly opened my eyes the whole way. Larry gave me an entirely different experience than that one, an easy ride on the roads, nothing too fast or crazy. We hardly went over 50. I tried to remember to look at the scenery…left, right, left, right. I noticed I looked right more than left, something I also noticed myself doing on my bike. Larry rode more toward the middle of the road than the right side edge though, and I enjoyed the experience and views of being more fully in the road.
“Some people say don’t move around on the back of a motorcycle. It won’t bother me, so feel free to adjust if you need to.”
The scenery distracted me from the hills a bit, but I did notice some roadway sections that appeared to go straight up. Oh, that’ll be fun.

We stopped in Ellington and he took me in to the Eagles lodge.
“What’s the deal with this place?”
“If you weren’t with me, I might have gone to the other bar. They don’t allow fighting here, so if you’re with someone who you’re not sure would appreciate the rough and tumble of the other place, it’s good to come here. I don’t come here much, I’m sure they were surprised I had a card to get in.”
“What was your job in the military?”
“That’s a good story.” He started by telling me about an incident that hampered the rest of his military career.
“But what did you do first?”
“I’ll get to that, but you have to understand that this Major pulled rank, and every time I went for a promotion my file had nothing in it.”
His story started: This Major was going to get married, but they weren’t getting along. He went to North Dakota, and she stayed in Arizona. I took her out on her birthday. On the way back home, she asked me to pull over so she could throw up. I found this good spot by some mesquite trees. When she was done throwing up, she came back, gargled with some beer and said, ‘You can have anything you want.’
He played trombone.
“Now that I’ve talked your ear off… What about you? Do you have any 15 minutes of fame?”
I told him my story of my first Oregon Country Fair and running off with the Canadian.

We got back on the road…once Larry figured out how to get the door to the Eagles club to open. Everyone at the bar yelling at us, “Push the red button on your left.” It was like opening a car door with an automatic lock that you keep lifting the handle on right when the locking mechanism activates.

On the way back I counted the steep hills. Did I really feel like I could do this?

We stopped back at Margie’s Place.
“You know, I’ll give you a ride there tomorrow in my truck if you want.”
“I was looking at it thinking about that. It’s such a pretty ride, I think it would be nice to do on the bike. Apart from three big hills, which seem doable, I’d like to ride it.” I wanted to see what it would be like without the noise of the motorcycle and just experience it…let my body take me there.

Larry chain-smoked the entire time at Margie’s. Somewhere around the seventh or tenth cigarette, I really needed some fresh air.
“Thanks so much for the ride, Larry. I need to get on to the next thing now.”
“I sure hope you come back this way some day.”
“One never knows.”

I picked up some postcards at the grocery store and then went in to one of the restaurants for dinner. Afterwards, I came back to the house for a relaxing evening. I wanted to go to sleep, but it took me a while. I had a rendezvous with my computer. I heard people come back to the house and Patty say, “There’s chocolate cake on the table.” If only I’d known earlier…but was feeling pretty well full from the day. My body just wanted to stay still. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to air out from time in the smoky Missouri environments.

I was up early the next morning, as usual for a riding day. I thought I would skip breakfast until I went downstairs for a cup of tea and told Stanley I didn’t think I would stay for food. Then I looked at my watch and realized that breakfast would be served right about the time I’d be ready to leave.
“Well, actually, I’ll stay for breakfast. It’ll just be the last thing I do.”
He had a couple of skillets full of sausage, and I knew biscuits and gravy were on the menu. I wanted peach French toast again.

Breakfast unfolded much like the previous morning, and I chatted with the same couple. Right as I was on my way out the door, another woman I’d chatted with some asked me about my cause.

After I told her about the U.S. Bicycle Route System and rural economic development through bicycle tourism (and motorcycles, ATVs, snowmobiles, trailers, etc.) she launched into a monologue about Columbia, MO’s recent addition of bicycle infrastructure. Who knows what kind of planning process the community went through. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was one of those things that people got notice about and no one came to the meetings and then got really upset once things started to change. Still, I appreciated her feedback and thought about what needs to happen with a community to develop bicycling facilities they could support.

It’s time to take the train.

We’re fast forwarding just a bit to the morning of Tuesday, August 10.

At the post office in Eminence I shared the counter with another woman named Heidi who had driven a trailer load of horses there for the Trail Rides. Maybe she was from Utah. Traveler. Heidi was part of the conversation that led to me stay an extra day in Eminence to let the traffic subside on the road.

Of course we talked about big hills.
“When I came over the Rockies I had to stop a few times because my engine overheated.”
“I found the high elevation challenging but doable. Out here in the heat though, that’s a whole different story.”

Yesterday I rode from a place called Ironton to Ozora, both of them little specks you’re not likely to find on a map. The temperatures were only in the 90s, but the humidity amplified that in a way I can’t quite explain. Add a hot roadway, water that is instantly warm to hot, and some serious hill climbing, and you have a recipe for an overheating bicycle engine. It won’t be any cooler for a week, the humidity will increase…today they expect the temp to feel like 118.

I want to return to the purpose of En Route Transport, a study of sustainable transportation networks. Before I left, I wanted to know how people could get on and off a bicycle trail and transport themselves elsewhere. Not everyone has the good fortune of living right on the trail nor do they have all the time in the world to follow it to a convenient terminus for return.

As I rode through gorgeous Missouri wine country yesterday and could neither appreciate nor document it, my mind immediately switched to durability concepts and trains. So far, I have experimented with different transportation modes, including airplanes, motorcycles, and tractors. I have even had a few rides in a car. I planned my study of trains for the return trip, but like these other modes, plans do not always give rise to opportunities. Sometimes plans can even block opportunities. I want to move with the current, not stand against it in a display of will.

En Route Transport examines sustainable transportation networks. It never put forth an ironclad rule that the only way it could happen would be through bicycling the entire TransAmerica Bicycle Trail. In fact, my curiosity about the U.S. Bicycle Route System would suggest that traveling other bicycle trails around the country might be just as effective as riding one its entire length. Couple that with an interest in making long-distance bicycle travel a more appealing and effective transportation choice for more people means identifying the “access points” where people can enter and leave the system.

I just found one.

Before the worm hole closes up, I’m gonna dive in.

Nineteen miles to Eminence seemed totally reachable. After the relatively easy going to Summersville in partial rain and cloud with moderate hills, a plan to only go 19 miles made me feel pretty good about what lay ahead. I checked the elevation profile and knew that I would have some serious climbs before I got to Eminence. The town appears to nestle in the heart of the Ozarks’ beauty. I’d like to think that’s why it has the name it does, and that perception must have been why I chose it for a mail stop.

My two primary motivators for Eminence were 1) mail, and 2) connection so I could deal with my deadline. While agenda’s help structure time, I appreciated that those nineteen miles showed me something I never could have dreamed. Scenic Riverways. The dense deciduous forest, a road that goes straight up and straight down the precipitous slopes, the buzz of cicadas, and a slight haze that tells some of the secret humidity story all introduced me to an essential character element of this place – the Ozarks.
One thing for sure. Flat as a quality of road does not exist. The narrow roadways drop off dramatically at the pavement edge.
The slight undulation in the hills eats view distance. Switchback is not a concept road designers understood or employed out here. Trucks travel fast. The roads support all manner of recreation, putting bicycles (very few – am I the only one?) on the road with people hauling horse trailers, canoe trailers, RVs, parts of the forest (a few logging trucks, yes), junk…whatever.

The scenic riverway becomes a kind of transportation corridor, perhaps a lazy one full of beer or pop and sunscreen. The spring-fed rivers offer a deliciously cooling change from the hot, muggy air, sweating at picnic areas, or freezing in air-conditioned spaces. Why not?

I wasn’t hot enough just riding in those conditions. You know. Somehow that’s the fun of it or the condition of it. I find it impossible to know how much my body heats up working for those hills, but I can only imagine what kind of torturous program setting it would be on a Stair Master or in Spin Class. When people honk at me on the road and scare me, I figure they mean I’m an idiot because who else would willingly do that? Sure is pretty scenery. I recognize the insanity of it. Perhaps that’s an added layer of why it’s nuts to ride through this country because every so often you get to deal with people who don’t think you should be there. No one who’s been pissy about me on the road has yet offered a ride. In my mind that would be the full connection. If you really don’t think a person should be on the road, help them get where they’re going.

Eminence greeted me with a steep hill. I thought I would come down a hill and land in a quaint little town. I came down the hill but then had a short steep climb to get to the slopy perch where Eminence makes its throne.
Post office?
I rode through town amid a buzz of activity.
No sleepy town, this. Awake. Happening.
Looked like I was about to leave town. I saw a man on the street I thought I would ask directions to the post office until I realized that he was walking into it.
The woman behind the counter made a big pile of stuff for me.
I did a series of little jumps up and down clapping my hands. “Yay! Mail! Now I need to find somewhere to open all this.”
“Are you staying in town?”
“That’s my plan.”
“Do you have a place already?”
“I don’t, but I figured I’d hunt around and locate something.”
“You might have a hard time. The Trail Rides are in town, and I think most places are full up. Are you staying tomorrow?”
“I hadn’t planned on it. Should I?”
“I would recommend it. People are starting to leave today from the Trail Rides, but they’ll definitely be leaving tomorrow. You on the road with all those horse trailers and canoe trailers. I wouldn’t recommend it. The traffic should be better Sunday.”
“Hmmm. Ok. I saw that sign back there – Stay a day or stay a lifetime – you all are pretty good at making an argument for people to stay, huh?”
“Let me call a couple of places for you, see if they have room.”
“I could call. Oh, I don’t have reception here. Ok, if you want to call a couple places I’m ok with that.”
Everywhere she called was full.
“Tell you what, there’s a new Bed and Breakfast just down the road. They might have room. If they don’t, then try this other place.”
“Thanks. Do you have a bag I could put this mail in?” I wasn’t sure how I would get back on the road with so many pieces of things to manage. I tied up my box, mailer envelopes, and postcard in the bag and managed it to perch is more or less securely on the front of my bike. Enough to get somewhere and devour it.

I went back down the street to the B & B.
“Do you have any room available for this evening?”
“No. We have a room tomorrow but not tonight.” Someone else walked up.
“Do you have a tent? Do you want to stay in the yard?”

“Yeah, sure. At the post office they sent me here. It doesn’t sound like there’s room anywhere in town. They also suggested I stay another day to wait for the traffic to get better.”
“That’s good, yeah. The Trail Rides have everything pretty busy. You’re welcome to hang out here in the living room.”
“Do you have internet?”
“We do.”
“I actually have something I need to get done. Is it really ok if I spend all day in here.”
“It is. You can use the bathroom. If you want to take a shower, I’ll let you use mine downstairs. The back yard is safe, and you can find a place wherever you like there. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you!”
A little while later she came back. “Did you want to stay here tomorrow night? I’m pretty sure the room will fill up if you don’t want it.”
“How much is it?”
“$80, but I can give you a better rate than that.”
I thought about it a minute. She wasn’t charging me to sleep in her yard, so $80 over two nights was pretty good. “Sure. That sounds good. Thank you.”

I brought my bike into the back yard, parked it next to a tree and sat in the grass to open my mail. It felt so good to get chocolate, postcards, a letter, and fun surprises. I didn’t even open the box I sent myself. It was just boring food, and I didn’t even put a love note in it from myself. Oh fun delight!

When I finished my intense focus on the mail, I looked up to find I was sharing the yard with a cat snacking on some treat. It seemed friendly but didn’t come running to sit in my lap. I couldn’t tell if it lived there, belonged with someone, or was out in its independent feline state – a bit like me. When she finished eating, she gave me a wide berth, coming my way, checking me out from the side, but didn’t get too close. She did think my transportation mode was ok and gave it a nice kitty rub with her side. Cats are predators. Funny, they look so cute, soft, and fuzzy. She seemed interested in other things, so I took my laptop inside and got to work.

By late afternoon I accomplished what I needed to. For the time being, the deadline was satisfied.

I went back into the yard, set up my tarp, crawled inside and changed out of my cycling clothes. I went on a little explore of the town and ended up at the grocery store looking at cards. I bought a couple and asked the clerk at the store, “Where can I go for a drink and dinner?” She said something I didn’t quite catch.
The guy in line behind asked me, “How much do you want to spend?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, if it doesn’t matter, would you like to buy me a drink?”
I didn’t reply to him, just kind of looked down, putting my change back in my bag and the cards in my journal. Meanwhile, the cashier rang up his purchase, and he paid. As he started walking out past me he said, “Excuse me. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Ok.”
He walked over to his truck.
“Where is it? Walking distance?”
“Hop in.”
People don’t walk here even though the town is only a block or two long.
He took me to Margie’s. As soon as we got a table, he lit up. “Oh. I should have told you, I smoke.”
We had a drink. I ordered food. We talked. He smoked.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Four years. I was in the military.”
“What brought you here?”
“I love canoeing. I’d been here before and when I was ready to move, I thought this would be a nice place to spend some time. I got into real estate at first, but that was right when it was a really bad time to get into it. Now I do commercial mowing. It’s really affordable. I have 2.5 acres with a 3-bedroom house and three sheds. I got it all for $40,000.”
After drink and dinner, I needed to get back.
“Do you want to go for a ride tomorrow since you’re not leaving town?”
“Ok.”
“ATV or Harley?”
I had to give that one some thought because both modes are important parts of what I’ve been studying on this trip. “Harley. How do we do this?”
“Tell me when.”
“Ok. How about noon, and we’ll meet somewhere between here and where I’m staying. It’s a small town, we’ll find each other.”
“Sounds good. See you then.”

I walked next door and got some ice cream, devoured that and then headed for the back yard and my sleep for the night.

That morning in Marshville, I rose before light as usual. Even though, for a change, I didn’t have the curtains drawn in the room, it never got light outside. Unusual. I kept hearing a low rumbling, thinking the trucking activity generated extra noise early in the morning. I went to get breakfast and looked out onto the dark, wet, electrical downpour that kept Marshfield closed in for the last bit.
“Holy smokes. I wonder how long this will last.”
In the breakfast room I asked, “Do these storms usually blow over quickly?”
The guy putting muffins on a plate didn’t seem too certain, but he nodded anyway.

I put together some breakfast and noticed that I am – for sure – in biscuits and gravy territory. I had most everything but the biscuits. I figure it’s only a matter of time before I eat that, but I’m not super excited about it. Meanwhile, news on the TV in the breakfast room had weather information. I felt a little silly hanging out in my cycling clothes if I wasn’t going anywhere, but I knew I’d be going somewhere. The lightning made me somewhat nervous about heading out into the weather. I had less concern about the rain as long as I could see and wasn’t going to encounter flash flooding in the low areas on the road. Every time the weather guy started talking about the electrical storms, some massive bolts would knock out the power or fuzz the TV momentarily. As far as I could tell, the storms were moving south, slowly. I wanted to head east, and it looked like I could shoot through the middle of a couple of cells and not worry about it too much. I just didn’t want to leave in the blackness.

Despite my intention to get an early start, I got moving at 7:30. Happily, the storm meant that the 100-degree heat passed. Oh, the air might really heat up again in a few days, but I could at least look forward to high humidity in overcast skies in the 80s. What a difference ten to twenty degrees makes.

I headed toward Hartville. People told me it was close, relatively flat, and Amish country. I liked the idea of all of that and pedaled through light and intermittent sprinkles to get there. While I didn’t see any buggies on the road, I did see one man riding a low, horse-drawn wagon in one of the fields. And I almost stopped to take a picture of some laundry. I like how on one side of the road stood an Amish farm and on the other stood a 1990s vintage house with two cars in the driveway. “They work it out. I guess they don’t need to be insulated from the world to practice how they choose.” Still, I wondered how well the Amish can maintain their tradition in the increasing crush of culture. Do the young people not rebel and demand technology? Do they make room in their belief system to explore contemporary lifestyles and return to the Amish way if they choose? I could see that being a beneficial component to a strong community, but it’s really all speculation. I admire their commitment to living without modern conveniences partly because it seems impossible and partly because it is possible. “Is the Amish way a sustainable lifestyle?” I have to ask.

I saw a water tower ahead. Even though there were no other towns between Marshfield and Hartville I had a feeling the hills would extend my riding time. “I must only be half way.” But then I saw the sign for Hartville and smiled. “I made it.”

Hartville has one of those nice downtowns that’s one street wide and two blocks long. Even the Subway was in a downtown building. I went to the first café sign I saw only to discover papered windows and a closed sign. Thankfully, I saw another café across the street and pushed my bike into a “Welcome Bikers” area. My bike does not fit into most bike racks with the panniers on front, so I leaned it against the porch rail there hoping it would neither put too much pressure on the wooden structure or be in anyone’s way. My feet were soaked. That’s the most difficult part of being wet for me to tolerate, but what was I going to do?

I picked a seat on the edge. Thankfully the chairs accommodated wet cycling girl, and I didn’t have to worry about leaving a soggy seat for someone else.
“Are you ready to order?”
“Can I get lunch items or are you just doing breakfast?” My watch read 9 a.m. but my appetite did not.
“We can do either breakfast or lunch.”
“Cool. I need another minute. Thanks.”
I wound up getting lunch…as light as I could muster while still getting a meal that seemed like it would fuel me up and down the hilly road ahead.
Two older women walked in with a young boy.
“Can we smoke?”
“Yeah, sit wherever you’d like. I’ll get you an ashtray.”
They wound up at the table next to me, but I think the air conditioning vent I avoided by choosing my particular seat kept the smoke away from me. One of the women seemed as though she could not abide the boy and would bark at him from time to time but never look at him. She had some serious talking to do with the other woman. I never quite caught what they were talking about, sounded like someone was in jail.

I finished my lunch and watching the curious characters who came into that place and continued on my way. I thought I would stop in Houston. Even though I took a rest day, I just wanted to sleep. No amount of tea seemed to lift the fog feeling from inside my head. I pedaled on, musing at the names of towns on the signs. “Success! Why am I not going there?” Kevin’s comment from a few days ago reminded me that the names out here told their own story, depending on how you want to spin it. He mentioned the town of Climax. “There are some big hills out here. Maybe I’ve had the dramatic climax of this trip already. I thought of some other ways to use “climax” in a sentence. After I passed Houston, I came to another sign that made me wonder how these places got their names. “Licking. That must have been the place they sent young schoolboys for misbehaving. Nah, probably like that place “Colgate Licks” a mineral deposit or salt lick identified the area.” Again, I thought of more ways to use “licking” in a sentence. I came up with at least a paragraph of ideas but I wasn’t sure they took paragraph form in my thoughts.

Houston struck me as one of those places I didn’t want to stay. It was a bigger town, but like Marshfield, most of its development lay on the edge of town in a mess of commercialism without landscaping. I wanted to sleep, but didn’t particularly want to sleep there. I stopped at a table and looked at my map. They had some lodging in town. One was right behind me. I kept my back to it. The next town, Summersville was another 20 miles or so down the road. Then Eminence. I really wanted to get to Eminence for my mail. I probably wouldn’t make Eminence while the post office was open, and that would mean I’d have to wait around for it to open the next morning even if I got there. Hmm. Summersville was close, only 19 miles from Eminence. “I’ll get there. That’s easy.”

I checked the elevation profile. I had climbed some decently steep hills that day, but mostly they hadn’t killed me. Right around Eminence I could see the hills that would have me weeping for Mommy.

Plod this one.
Ok.

There was one place to lodge in Summersville, Rose’s Green Roof Inn. When I finally made it to the junction for Eminence, the inn lay to my right. It looked vacant. I rode up to the office, and on the door a note said to call, use the phone in the hallway, CASH ONLY. I powered up my phone and dropped it.
“Oops. That wasn’t good for it.” It kept making noises like it too had just had its innards reorganized. I couldn’t get reception anyway, so I put it away and called from the hallway phone. The phone had no numbers left on the keypad. “How often do we use these things?” I made a decent stab at the numbers and picked out the right ones.
“Green Roof Inn.”
“I’m curious if you have lodging available for one this evening?”
“Just you?”

“Yes.”
“Are you a cyclist?”
“I am.”
“We do cash only.”
“How much is a room?”
“$30.”
“Ok. I can do that.”
“What’s your name?”
“Heidi.”
“Go on into the room. There’s a key and envelope on the nightstand. Put your money in the envelope and leave the key there with it in the morning.”
“Great. Thanks. Can you tell me where I can get an internet connection in town?”
“The restaurant just down the road, the Trails End, they have internet there. You could get it at the library too, but they’re probably closed now. Also the convenience store across from the Trails End is open 24 hours if you need anything.”
“Thanks so much!”

I went into the room and found everything agreeable and as described. I heard Mary in my thoughts too, “I do the wash when I first get in and hang it outside to dry. It usually dries in an hour.” My clothes smelled kind of not nice when I put them on in the morning, and they definitely needed something after being partially wet all day. I washed everything in the sink, found some hangers and draped everything on the chairs outside to dry.
“I guess it’s obvious there’s someone here now.”
I showered and went to the Trails End with my laptop. They had a great signal. I sent a couple of emails to people I needed to contact for my grant application. I couldn’t imagine I would get much work done on it in Summersville. I was tired and had no cell reception. The waitress thought I could get reception in Eminence. I held out for that. I could see it all making sense. I would get to Eminence early in the morning, get my mail and then find a place to stay and spend all day working on the grant application. Solid plan. With the time change, I managed to send my emails during business hours (albeit the very end of them). Totally felt like I accomplished something that day other than just riding the 87 miles to get there.

Arriving in town in the dark has a profoundly disorienting effect on me. I knew I would stay another day in Marshfield to recover a bit, catch up on sleep from the excitement of dog attacks and the utter depletion my system underwent riding so many miles in high temperatures. I rose early, but not early enough for a heat-beating departure, and walked outside to see if I could more substantially orient to my surroundings. The air closed in around me as I walked out in the expansive parking lot. Across the street I could see some fast food stores. Not just across the street but across four lanes of fast-moving traffic with a separating median and some fencing at the edges.
“How do you cross that?” I scanned the roadway a little more and decided, “This place ain’t for walkin.” To my right, it looked like a Mom & Pop BBQ place or something. They probably had breakfast. As I neared, I saw the “For Sale” sign big in the window. “Nope. Not there either.” I turned around and saw the innkeeper coming out of a room. She motioned to me, and I went to talk to her.

“What are you looking for?”
“Just trying to get a sense for where I am in space.” She looked at me quizzically. “Where can I get breakfast?”
“Oh. There’s a place over there, Ziggie’s. That’ll be a good place for you. See the yellow building? And the gray building next to it? It’s behind the gray building in the shopping center there.”
“How do I get there?”
She motioned to the overpass. “You have to go up there. You have to cross four lanes of traffic. It’s not very safe, I don’t know how you all do it. It’s the fourth light I think. Where are you headed today.”
“Not too far.”
“You need to leave earlier. It’s going to be hot. Are you headed to Hartville?”
I nodded.
“You can make Hartville today. It’s not too far. You need to leave earlier.”
“Thank you.”
I went back to my room and packed up my gear. I hadn’t planned on moving right away, but I did want an internet connection. Since I had to get on my bike to go to breakfast anyway, I figured I might as well just load up all my stuff and take it over the highway. The next thing would present itself.
I found Ziggie’s easily per the innkeepers directions and had a quite satisfyingly large breakfast. The Greek omelet was on par with the one I had in Riverside that sent me 100 miles down the road. This time, I used it to replenish what had been, oh, somewhere about a hundred miles of travel. I checked out other lodging options at breakfast to see what my wireless options were.
“Where’s the RV park?”
“Just right there.” The waitress pointed in the direction of across the street.
“Across the street?”
“No, just right there.”
I went out into the growing heat, found the RV park. They opened at 9 a.m. I could wait. And then I wasn’t sure I wanted to wait. The Holiday Inn was right next door. I went there, thinking I could at least hang out in the lobby.

“Do you have any space for one tonight?”
“We do.”
“Do you possibly have anything available I could get into right now?”
“We do.”
“I’d like to do that please. Thanks. Is there a code for the internet?”
She put the internet code on a little slip of paper in the folder with my key cards. I checked into a room with a king bed, sofa and coffee table, work table and computer chair, jetted tub, and all the usual necessities – like a TV, which I have not yet turned on anywhere I’ve stayed.
I took the bags off my bike and pulled out my computer and got to work at the table. About five minutes from finishing my post and while I was online sorting out this little glitch I sometimes get when something in one of the pictures makes the whole post show up blank, the internet went out. I restarted my computer about three times. No internet. Grrr.
I called the front desk. “Hi. I was just using the internet and it kicked me off the system. Can you reset it?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. We’re doing some alarm testing and had to shut the system down for a minute. It should be back up in about ten minutes.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
More than ten minutes went by, still nothing. I called again.
“It should be up in five minutes.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
Then the phone rang.
“This is the front desk. I wanted to let you know we’ll be doing some alarm testing for the next couple of hours. You may hear some alarms.”
“Ok. Thanks. There’s still no internet.”
“They may have to reboot from the main system. I’ll give you a call and let you know what’s going on.”
“Thanks.”
In the mean time, the piercing alarm startled me a couple of times. It’s the kind of sound that made me want ear protection. I suppose as a kid I slept through that kind of thing. Anymore I have to wonder how you wouldn’t be made deaf in a room with one of those going off. I covered my ears with my hands and shoulder.
The phone rang.
“They’re restarting the internet from the main system. It should be back up by 4 p.m.”
“Four? In an hour?”
“Yeah.”
“Where might I be able to get a connection in the mean time?”
“At McDonalds or Taco Bell they have free wifi.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
“Sorry.”

I walked over to McDonalds. Taco Bell was closer, but I’d have to cross those four lanes of traffic. I didn’t want to go to McDonalds, and while I felt badly about using the internet without buying anything, I figured they’d be ok if I didn’t. While I was connected, I got an email from Chris reminding me that the Travel Oregon grant I wanted to apply for had a deadline in two days.
“That’s planning ahead Heidi.” I knew about this before I left, but I departed five days before the online application became available, so I didn’t really know when it was due, and I hadn’t looked. I went into internal freak out mode. “How am I going to get all of this done? What was I thinking that I’d have time to do something other than ride my bike and take fun notes on who and what I encountered throughout the day?” Friend Amanda had a dear friend in eastern Kansas who was coming to visit. I expected him about 4 p.m. “No different than being in school is it? Just this is the kind of work. It comes with all kinds of deadlines. You know how to do this.” I downloaded all the materials I needed, read through what I needed to submit for Friday. “When am I going to do this?”

I went back to my room to wait for Craig. I kept writing.

I had a big communication day. It started the night before when I got to my motel room and made phone connection. I had to dramatize the dog attack just a little bit, now that people knew I was safe.
“Amazing though, I can’t even find where it bit into the panniers.”
“More evidence for how bomb-proof those bags are.”
“Indeed.”

The next morning I had friend request from Whitney. I accepted and checked out her page and found her account of my adventure:

tonight was so interesting. Very brief overall. Cross Country bike rider, Heidi crashed her bike because dogs attacked her, dad found her laying in the road. He picked her up brought her home, she got relaxed, rode my dad’s tractor (she’d never ridden one before) we all ate supper together shared stories, and me and mo…m took her to marshfield to a motel to spend the night.

Whitney Williams Oh, and, she started her journey in Oregon and is on her way to Washington DC Tonight was great.
#
Cory Hansen Haha! Oh my gosh that is insane! I can’t beleive that happened… That’s gotta be a one in a billion chance wow lol
#
Whitney Williams Oh my gosh. I know. Tell me about it. Lol. And she was such an amazing lady. Its not like she does it for fun either. She is doing it for two reason, 1) she’s in college for Rural Economic Development so it was partially for her schooling 2) she’s doing a big meeting or presentation in washington dc about cycling tourism and stuff. Like its awesome dude. Forreal
#
Phoebe Clayton So is she like famouse or what ? And did she get hurt by the dogs ?
#
Cory Hansen Oh my goodness Wow… That will be a story to tell your children and grand children someday, I guess Its just so unbelieveable!! Did you get a picture with her? Lol
#
Whitney Williams
No Phoebe, she isn’t famous but definitely someone i’ll remember forever. And the dogs pretty much just grabbed the bags on her bike and pulled her bike down to the ground the bit her back and stuff but she’s okay. My dad came just in time …and got them away from her and yes Cory, i’ll def tell everyone about her. I took pictures of her my family is just a bunch of rednecks. She’d never rode a tractor before and my dad showed her how to pop a wheelie and i took a picture of it. I’ll have her send it to me she is an awesome person.
#
Cory Hansen Haha Okay sweet She sounds awesome! Was she hot? I’ve never ridden a tractor before either.
#
Whitney Williams Lol. Um. She was i’m guessing 35-4O sooo Cory your just a freak.
#
Cory Hansen Lol! Hey shut up Whitney you said she was in college so I was thinking she was like 19 or 20… That seems normal right?? Soo You da freak
#
Whitney Williams True. Well… Thats just wierd haha
#
Cory Hansen Well… I don’t know. If you were a man you’d understand haha
#
Heidi Beierle Cory, very hot. 100 miles in 100 degree heat. I look cooler now that I’ve had a shower. What an awesome rescue by the Williams’! Thank you!
#
Whitney Williams ‎:) you’re so very welcome! have a safe trip (the rest of the way)

Craig showed up. I invited him into my “living room” and felt partially adult in being able to invite someone in to sit on the couch in front of the coffee table. I don’t have much in my bike bags, particularly in the way of being hostess to visitors. ‘Tis the nature of the beast. I am a visitor, full costume deal. Still, I couldn’t get over how the room came equipped for how I used it that day, for telecommuting and in-person communications.

I spread my map out on the table and showed him how I made my way across the country.
“The route is here, in red. Each map covers about 350-400 miles and breaks that distance into approximately 25-mile segments. You can quickly gauge how far you’re going by how many map segments you cover. The towns are coded for services too. These with the star are “full service” towns. If there are only some services, they break them out individually. The “hotel/motel” icon has been the important one in the heat because it means sleeping in air conditioning. Very little of this service exists in western Missouri, which is why I had such a big day yesterday. Also,” I flipped the map over, “the services have more detail on this side. They give the names of the services, phone numbers, addresses. And, here is also the elevation profile, so you know what kinds of hills or passes on the route. The other day I realized that the elevation intervals in Missouri are only 200 feet, which is not much. It makes the hills seem bigger than they are. All the same, it’s important to note the steepness of the line. While the hills may not be very big, you have to ride straight up and down them…no gradual incline or decline.”

We decided to hunt down some dinner.
“I haven’t even seen Marshfield yet. I have no idea what might be here.”
“I think I ended up in the downtown earlier looking for you. It’s sort of cute. I’ll bet they know where we could go at the front desk.”
“Good idea.”
We asked at the desk.
“What kind of food? Do you like BBQ?”
“As an option.”
“Well, I know it’s kind of weird, but there’s a BBQ place in the KFC that’s really good. It’s my favorite place to eat. There’s Ziggie’s over there is kind of like a Denny’s. I wouldn’t recommend the Mexican place right next door. And then there’s the fast food.”
“You don’t have anywhere in the downtown area to eat?”
She shook her head slowly with pursed lips. “Oh, and there’s also a Chinese food place across the street.”
“Ok. Thanks.”

We got in the car.
“I’d like to go see the downtown because I haven’t explored it yet.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I can’t believe that they don’t have anything other than fast food in this town.”
“Springfield isn’t too far away. We can go there. I’ve never been there.”
“Sounds good.”

We explored the downtown. Sure enough, they had no food services. “It’s definitely a regular pattern in these places. Some of the downtowns have all the commercial services. In other towns the commercial areas are on the edge of town, particularly if that’s where some major transportation corridors or intersections are.”

In Springfield, we got directions to downtown. Seemed like the area should have been bigger, but we got out and checked it out.
“Let’s ask at the hotel.”
“I wonder if it’s a functional hotel.” I noticed that each window had a box fan in it but no air conditioning units.
“Maybe it’s an SRO.”
We walked into a busy lobby full of parents and children and single men all in various states of tolerance to the heat, the children loud and rolling on the floor. I noticed a kind of mail system behind the desk. Someone walked up to Craig and asked what he needed. She handed him off to the person behind the lobby desk. Brochures on the table explained the safe house for families. Others had titles pertaining to domestic abuse.
“I got directions to downtown.”
“Nice. I want to go check out that place with the bikes.”

We walked down the street to a storefront. The shop had no sign but appeared to sell antique bikes. I’m still geeking out on the bike craze of the 1880s-1890s after reading A Social History of the Bicycle. The high-wheelers, many of which stood in the shop, were called “ordinaries.” I only recently learned that people call them Penny Farthings. One of these days I’ll have to look up where that name came from. In the front window stood the original “safety bicycle,” the innovative machine that brought the bi-rotate chariot into popular use by everyone.
On the other side of the street, near the train tracks, we climbed the National Register of Historic Places Jefferson Footbridge.
“I can see why this is here. The trains really cut that area off from the residential area on the other side of the tracks.”
“Neat, coal.”

We got back in the car and made our way downtown.
“Where was that? It’s like we ended up on Skid Row or something?”
“This is what I was thinking of. Downtown.”
We had thai food in mind, and our address had us far south of the downtown area in another strip development. We had a great chat over dinner that included literary theory discourse and sticky rice with mango.
“Have you had the big change out here?”
“Of course, but it depends on what aspect of my life, how I answer that question. I will say that my understanding of America and what it means to be an American has changed considerably.” I talked about the flag on my bike and riding the TransAmerica Trail, which was developed as a route to celebrate America’s 200th birthday. My flag lay in two pieces at the hotel, but I hoped a little black masking tape would fix it. Craig launched into a philosophical contextualization for America as a set of symbols and meaning structure. He filled in the details and gaps with personal history, a substantial treatise on ontology.
“You probably need to get back, huh?”
“Yeah. I’m getting tired, and it’s an early departure for me in the morning.”

Once we finally made our way back onto the interstate I told him a little bit about some of the communications I had during the day.
“I sent a thank you note to Patty this morning. I wanted to let her know how I was doing and thank them all again for their help. She wrote back with an intense and incredible story.”

Heidi,

Thank you so much for the update, we were wondering how you might be feeling today. I will tell Daryl, Whitney & Dayton. I am so glad you decided to take a break. The fact that Daryl found you is a blessing for you and for him. Ironically, he has topped a hill and found a girl in the road before, she did not survive. She had fallen from the back of a pickup truck and the driver (her mother) had no idea she lost her. He has been really bothered about her death for a long time. Finding you and being able to help is going to be good for him and it sounds like you will be fine. We will pray for you and follow you.

You’re welcome, the pleasure was ours,
Patty