Three days in and what have we done? Running all day and into the night. Meeting all the creatures along the way. Snakes, lizards, centipedes, deer, raccoon, possum and armadillos. We pass rich Central Missouri fields and cool, verdant bluff forests.
Squirrels so thick you have to pick when to chase them. I keep us moving with a promise of rest, relaxation and sleep when we're through running and drinking and eating.
So many nice people make it all possible. Can't imagine how hard it is for those who gotta keep running with no one to turn to.
We left St Louis three days ago a couple hours after midnight. Riding down the often dangerously busy Olive reminded me that night riding has its benefits. It was 6 hours later than hoped, but that's what happens when your paying life and loving wife need things taken care of. I should have done more. It's never enough. No time is right, but we made it good enough for me to go.
Why do we ride? What do I know? It occurred to me that I can ride and write about agriculture, geography, biomes and history. Maybe I'm just looking for a sustainable 21st century version of a howling old time on the road.
This seems like a good time to talk about biking. Biking is often, for me, especially when pulling a bike truck, something like walking or jogging. You find a good pace and rhythm, and see how far you can take it. Now, nothing lasts forever. Breakdown is inevitable. You start feeling mild pains and fatigue that inevitably grow unbearable. So you adjust, shift, and cycle the pain through your thighs, hands, wrists shoulders, ass, feet and anywhere else that wants to be noticed. You move the pain around and find some rhythms and hope that's all it gets to, cause when the pain stops cycling and says we're all over to stay, then you go into survival pedaling in any low gear that keeps us moving. Personally, each ride finished without stabbing knee pain is a bonus. But it's so awesome to ride.
Maybe you power through, but I've learned that to run and ride more days, you have to adjust and adapt.
Nearly three decades ago, I thought I could power through a lot. One year, I was lucky to bike from Portland to Hood River, OR. After I was done, one wiser than I said they get some wind out there. I said, yeah, I found out. They asked if I used spinning, shifting to low gears and keeping the pedals spinning in a headwind. I said what? I didn't know any better than to exhaust myself powering through the wind in high gear. Wish I would have learned that spinning technique a little earlier.
Back on the calm and flat Katy Trail in MO, 24 miles on day two was terribly hard after an exhausting pre-ride and day one to Marthasville. I barely made it to Hermann. Every pedal was harder than the last. Each mile stretched longer. I dry heaved outside the lovely historic Hermann Crown Suites and wrestled my bike truck in pieces up to my room.
Two asides. First, for those who need them, there are elevators in downtown Hermann. Good luck getting to them. It's far from accessible. Second, Surly or somebody, I'm begging you please for a decent trailer handle and a heavy duty stop, wheel lock and prop system for the bike.
After 10 hours in bed, and biscuits and gravy, 26 miles on day three was just fine. We had time, and I found some rhythm a few times. For me on the bike truck, a good rhythm lasts no more than a few miles, but it was there. Busta likes to run too. He ends up running 30-60, minutes, with breaks and chases, and then riding for about the same, at least in this good, coolish weather. Each step and pedal gets us a little closer, or is that further?
Looking back, on this this third night, with the full moon shining through the window in our tarp tent, and farm dogs wailing with wild ones around our cozy encampment at the welcoming AmVets local 153 in Mokane, MO, we've seen beauty every pedal of the way. Most beautiful of all are the women we meet. I harbor no illusions of enticing anybody into sleeping on a yoga mat in a tarp tent. Besides, sexy fun is only as good as the sorrow, frustration and pain that, sure as entropy, enters relationships. Long story long, I'm excited to report three days in the tarp tent with no jealous lovers barging in.
Make that 500 pounds of joy, Howling Wolf, for me, Busta and the bike truck.