Four again

Made our exit from the courthouse lawn and started the riding for the day. We were going up a hill just as an Amish teenager was driving his horse-drawn carriage down. He had something to say about the heat and we waved back. Not fifteen seconds later we waved to a Nissan Xterra who was tearing down the road in the opposite direction. They gave us the peace sign. Isn't America a strange place?

It was twenty-six miles to Marshfield for a fully stocked grocery store and then another seventeen miles or so to a lunch stop in Fair Grove at a Subway. I've wondered occasionally about seeking out more of the local flavor and less of the national chain stuff... but there is security in knowing you're going to get a big, familiar sandwich for five dollars. We were told about a road closure by another cyclist a day or two before, and it was time to go sort it out. First there was an electronic sign: “Road closed. 2.5 miles ahead.” We kept riding. Detours are unacceptable. No more miles than those on the regularly scheduled program. Another sign: “1 mile ahead. Road closed. Local traffic only.” Then another sign: “Road closed. 1000 feet ahead.” I kept my ear out, listening for construction traffic. Our plan was to plead with the guys to let us through if need be. We turned a corner and saw the closure. Nobody was there. Alright! They were resurfacing a bridge and the concrete for one lane was still a bit damp but the other was fine to ride on. We shimmied around the blockades, got to the other side, and were elated to have caught at least one break on this ridiculous adventure.

We had a brief stop at a gas station in Walnut Grove and then made the final eight miles to Ash Grove where we were staying for the evening. It was practically a cyclist's convention when we showed up. There were two retired riders going east, a few Californians going who knows where, and us. We were all talking on the corner when a police officer drove up and said we could sleep inside at a park building for the evening. Cool. Ash Grove also has a pool so we sampled the diving board and their water slide. We finished the miles fairly early in the day so there was time to splash around before dinner and other arrangements. We were all in the pool when we took in a wondrous sight. I looked out into the park beyond the pool fence and Jeremy was riding his bike down a path. We're back! The four of us were all smiles as Jeremy gave us the skinny on the last two days.

His first problem was the broken freewheel and his aunt picked him up in Eminence, drove him nearly all over the state, and to a series of bike shops in Springfield. He bought a replacement freewheel that matched his old one in gearing so no compromises had to be made there. Unfortunately, there was still the issue of the deteriorating rim and there were no quality 27” replacements to be found in that city. It's sort of an odd size these days so it's harder to get parts and tires, etc. I had suggested a bike shop back in San Diego, Oceanside really – called Pacific Coast Cycles. An awesome guy named Chuck Hoeffer has owned the shop for many years and I thought it might be a good candidate for solving Jeremy's wheel woes. Chuck had a 40 spoke rim laced to a Phil Wood Hub (that's a nice combo for the non-bicyclists out there) and Jeremy's mom was going to buy it and ship it ahead to us. The current wheel just has to hold out a bit longer. I should also mention Chuck's wife Gretchen who makes a mean iced tea. Hi Chuck and Gretchen.

Also: hello to everybody at REI, thank you for the great comments. I really dig my Big Agnes sleeping pad. Concrete, asphalt, who cares – it's still comfortable. Jordan and Adam got jealous and had family buy and ship them each a Big Agnes too. Having to blow it up every evening probably helps my lung capacity.

We went out to a Chinese dinner with Richard, one of the cyclists. He talked about being snowed on earlier in his trip. Woah. And we thought we had it tough. Made it back to the park and the house where we set up camp in the great big air-conditioned indoors. Not bad.

Hartville courthouse lawn.

Missouri.

You think you have a big lawn?

Road closure schmosure.

Can you see the water tower up ahead? We're almost there.

Down to three

We woke up early and said goodbye to Jeremy who stayed behind in Eminence. It was three riders again. Part of the decision-making process the night before had hinged on a hill that looked nearly vertical on the elevation profile. Our waitress at the pizza joint said her car had a tough time getting up it. She also told us the thermometer on her dash had read 103 earlier that day. The older gentleman who had lent us his spigot said we might have to walk up it. Overblown. It was steep, but short, and we got to the top. It was all the more difficult, however, because of loose gravel on the road. Or I should say loose gravel was the road, for twenty-five miles. The steamroller must have been late that day. As we were leaving the campground a lifted truck pulled around us, slowed in front, then accelerated hard and shot a spray of gravel backwards. Nice. Thank you. That was foul. Most foul. The original text of this post had some nastier things to say but we're trying to keep a bent toward optimism.

Anyway, enough with the locals. Jordan, Adam, and I got up the hill – scoffed at it and moved on. We got to Summersville and had a fine break at a “Summer Fresh” grocery store and then it was forward to Houston and lunch at a Subway. We think Subway should sponsor us. It would cut costs quite a bit. We spoke to Jeremy on the phone and it went from bad to worse. While hanging out in Eminence, he had taken a closer look at his rear wheel and spotted hairline cracks emanating from the eyelets of his rim. Not good. That means eventual failure. Will it never end? We have, however, finally made it to the rolling farm country. The land is opening up around us. We made it to a place called Bendavis where the tap water was no good. Jordan and I bought bottled water.

The elevation profile lied to us again, but in a nice way, and we got to Hartville without an anticipated steep climb. We really should stop reading too much into those profiles but it takes a couple weeks for us to learn anything. In Hartville you can camp on the courthouse lawn, so we did. All of the civic business for the county is housed in one building. The library was closed but we did have access to bathrooms and wifi. We met a cool deputy who gave us the scoop on the services available and we talked a little bit about his upcoming entry into a police academy. We also met a variety of mild crazies out on the lawn including one lady who was eying some cookies I had pretty hard. I thought the polite thing to do was offer one but she didn't like nuts. Jordan told her his Nutella spread had hazelnuts, lots of them. The doors to the courthouse also lock after you, so we had a cyclical dance of smelly ruffians letting each other into the building. I got online to research potential solutions for Jeremy's wheel and we talked on the telephone about what he might do. The situation remained unresolved. On a positive note, we charged many of our electronic devices. The bugs weren't out in quite as much force so Adam and I slept without a tent.

Canoe country.

That hill wasn't that hard.

Pushing miles.

Big sky.

Misery.

More Missouri. We got on the road and did a fairly uneventful fifteen miles to a place called Centerville. Another gas station. Another round of filling water bottles. Anyway, it was another stretch and to a town called Ellington. We had our lunch on the front porch of the library and checked email and such inside. We heard about another crew of cyclists and their decision to stay in Ellington the day before and not press on in the afternoon heat. I thought they were a bunch of pansies. Oh how wrong, how wrong.

We managed to regroup around noon and set off for a twenty eight mile stretch of pure torture. It took us about four hours to do it. Embarrassing. We were in the Ozarks today and the combination of really steep hills and soul-crushing heat just about did us in. We took a break at the top of one climb and our jerseys were drenched. It was as if we had just been fully submerged in a pool. Not sweaty. Not damp. Soaked through.

We took a break at the Current River and headed down a trail to the water. It was cold and beautiful. And not misnamed either. If you swam against the flow it was like one of those endless pools where you struggle against the jets. Somewhat. I guess there was more flora and fauna. We spent perhaps an hour cooling off in the river and got back to bicycling. The heat was unbearable. We thought we were doing alright in terms of water but were actually drastically understocked for the day. We stopped at an older gentleman's house and refilled. One more rescue. I probably put down five to six bottles within the stretch.

The area is popular for canoe rentals and tubing so there were all sorts of passenger vans hauling trailers with six canoes – none too keen on giving us much room on the road. The last hundred miles or so have probably passed without any speed limit signs. They just drive as fast as feels good.

We finally made it into Eminence around five. We surveyed the local restaurants and chose an Italian place that proved to be a wise decision. Enormous calzones for five dollars. Our original plan was to push farther for the day but the hills and the heat had knocked us flat. We discussed the prudence of pushing on. It seemed to be a tipping point of the struggle between old tour versus new tour. The old way would be to push on without fail to a seemingly arbitrary goal. The new way would be to recognize that we had pushed hard all day and only gotten this far. It was onward to the new tour and we decided that Eminence would be the stopping point for the day.

We chose Harvey's Circle B Campground but without knowledge of the half mile of nonsense road out to the spot. Really steep. Badly paved. Rutted. That may have been the kicker for the next mechanical failure. All wheels rolled down the final hill and into the campground parking lot where Jeremy told us his freewheel had failed. That means the cranks and the pedals spin, but the bike does not move forward. That's alright. Riding is fine, but not quite interesting enough. Mechanical failure is the ice cream on top of the cake. We were feeling low again. Thankfully, Jeremy has an aunt who lives in Missouri and he made arrangements to be picked up from the town. This particular campground was bustling. More than a hundred marked spots, cabins, the whole works. It's also right next to the river which means bugs. Big time. Even though the heat is up you have to sleep in the tent to avoid being chewed to death. Two dudes in a small tent on a hot evening makes for a stinky night.

Kyle's campground.

Current River.

The water felt fine.

Swim across America.

On the road again...

It was time to get back on the road this morning. We said goodbye to the Barthols and all their generosity and started bicycling around 7:45, a good start. It was only a few miles before we were on a bridge crossing the Mississippi River. On the other side, Missouri. Another state down. Several thousand to go. People enjoy their fireworks in Missouri. That seems to be the main economic activity directly across the border from Chester. We were tempted, but continued on.

We took a conventional food break at a church and had twenty miles completed by 10 AM. That's more like it. It was another 25 to our lunch for the day in Farmington, Missouri. We started off the morning with several miles of absolute flat but we're back in the rollercoasters again. It's not so bad this time around. They roll a lot more and pitch straight up a bit less. Farmington is a town of about fifteen thousand so there were several choices for lunch. We chose First Wok, a Chinese restaurant. One of the pieces of mail for us in Chester was a letter with a generous monetary gift from the Kent Family. Today was Jeremy's birthday so it seemed appropriate to accept their generosity in Farmington. Everyone says thanks to the Kents. The restaurant had free Wifi and the owner was very committed to keeping our glasses full.

People are a little bit less conscientious on the roads in Missouri. It seems like we're getting passed with less leeway than in previous states. We have not yet taken to throwing rotten cabbage. The terrain is attractive though – low forests and foothills farther in the distance and pasture and grazing land near the road. Throughout this part of the country everybody but everybody and everybody's Grandma is out mowing grass. If I've laid eyes on eight thousand people on this trip then four thousand were on some tractor or riding mower. And that's an accurate figure.

We passed through the St. Joe State park and were treated to some more greenery before the crater road. State Route 32, sucks. We slalomed around large potholes, and got jarred by poor patchwork, and those of us with fillings had to stop and comb the ground after they fell out. I'd go to France if I wanted Paris-Roubaix. And then the F word. I'd been afraid to use it because of jinx possibilities but it finally happened. We were nearly finished with that seven mile stretch of an excuse for a road when I got a blowout. It was a pretty nasty rusty nail that went in through the top of my tire and destroyed the sidewall as it came out. I suppose that's why you carry a folding tire. Have to get another though. But I got some assistance with the pack mule I call a bicycle, put on the new tire, put in the new tube, and started riding again.

We took another stop at a gas station and were just about ready to hit the road when I noticed my rear tire was flat again. This time it was a conventional puncture. It always comes in waves. Our break got extended a little bit as I threw another tube in. That was alright, though. It gave this mangy gas station dog more time to play with, or perhaps bother Adam. We named him Gassy. It was back on the road again and we smoked through the last ten miles or so on a downhill stretch to Kyle's Campground. Somehow or another we invented a variety of rude alternate names for the spot which are unfit to be published on this website. Our level of politeness is probably declining as we speak. By the time we're finished we may have lost the ability to speak English.

This particular campsite has a bar as well so we celebrated Jeremy's birthday with a drink or two and resolved to hit the miles early tomorrow.

Crossing the Mississippi.

The Show Me State.

Spirits are up.

It's all happening in Farmington.

Jerk.

Thank you to the Barthols

We had a tremendous time in Chester with the Barthol family. Unfortunately, there are no pictures due to excessive gorging and frequent naps. We were driven to the library, hung out at the local pool, stocked up at the grocery store, and generally enjoyed a glorious two days of rest. Thanks again.

We made it.

We went to a house that Adam had arranged for us to stay at in a neighborhood nearby. We bedded down in the carport and did our best to go to sleep. It was about 85 at the time, and humid. The crew was sticky, sweaty, and funky.

At about 2 AM I woke up to people talking. “Hey, who are those guys at our house?” “Yeah, who are these guys?” “Shit, I almost stepped on one.” “There's another.” “Bicycles?” “Oh, they must be Transamerica guys.” After a little bit of confusion we were let into the house and slept in spare rooms. Jordan brought in his sleeping pad, it was totally soaked from sweat. We woke up only a few short hours later for John to open up the Bike Surgeon at 7 AM. We had sorted out the welding the night before, but the axle still needed to be resolved.

John switched over the parts to the new axle, repacked the hub with new grease, and adjusted the hub. Adam got a new rack and we set off from the Bike Surgeon immensely grateful for their help. Within the span of twelve hours we had gone from disastrous tour-ruining problems to everything fixed by awesome people and ready to go again. We went to Schnucks, a grocery store comparable to Vons, and ate cereal inside at a picnic table. I neglected to mention yesterday that Adam's dad was in Carbondale as well. Adam's family was on a road trip in Iowa and his dad drove down to say hello. They went to breakfast at a restaurant while cereal was devoured. Then we changed clothes and did some light bathing in the bathroom and set off for the day.

We rode near the Mississippi river all day, mostly on the top of various levees. We passed by a coal plant which either took or received the stuff from barges on the river, to an enormous overhead conveyor belt, and then to the plant on the other side of the road. We played a practical joke on Adam and told him there was about 30 miles left to ride when we had eight.

We finally made it to Chester and Jordan's uncle Frank. It was euphoric. The house is really nice, sits on some acreage – complete with their own small vineyard. The family has a 4x4 which has been getting some good mileage around the yard. Frank grilled and we ate enormous amounts – salad, fruit, ice cream, etc. It's wonderful to be here, very relaxing. A big storm kicked up around dinner and it was a real treat to experience it secure and indoors.

At the end of the evening we took out the maps and tried to determine our route and destinations for the next two weeks to Colorado. It is going to take us longer than we originally thought but now we go forward with a hopefully reliable plan and realistic goals. The next leg is how we want to ride the tour so we'll see how it goes. Thanks to the Barthol family for having us. It's great to be resting.

Thank you to John and everyone at the Bike Surgeon.

Mississippi country.

What turns on your light bulbs?

Taking shade underneath the conveyor belt.

Check that camouflage out.

Beer and golf carts.

And 4x4s.

And absolutely nothing.

Madcap

Whew. What a day. Let's get into it. We split ways with Chris this morning and the rider count slipped to three. We originally had planned for a tour of seven. We had gone off route to go to Golconda and Chris decided he'd rather take an alternate path and not back track to the Adventure Cycling route. We've had a number of mishaps when straying from the route so the vote was in to go the four or five miles back to the map. There was some strain about riding style and other issues so it wasn't so bad to part ways. We'll probably cross paths with Chris again though. You either meet or get word of the people who are going across in the same timeframe as you.

We took a stop at an elementary school for something to eat and then went in search of a drinking fountain. I found one first but the thing had a crack in the metal and put out about an eight foot horizontal spray. There was a hell of a lot more water hitting you than dribbling out of the head of the fountain. Luckily, there was a spigot on the other side of the brick pedestal. Jeremy was around the corner while all of this played out so I let him get sprayed, then disappointed there would be no water, before showing him the spigot to actually fill a bottle. Then Jeremy and I both cracked up as Jordan went through the same routine. There was a map of the United States painted on the playground blacktop and we took a few pictures of our progress thus far.

The heat persisted another day. We seemed to have escaped the rain for now. It was so hot though that the slurry seal patched on the roads had started to melt and our tires left tracks behind us. We stopped and had lunch in Goreville, which was a wonderful answer to the waste of the time the day before. Our waitress was really nice and the place was cooled and best of all, they give cyclists free pie. We had our picture taken outside the restaurant – Delaney's on Broadway – and rode on.

We've been in the roller coasters for a while now. Climb up a short hill, descend down another, pedal furiously to try and get up the next one, get about halfway and slug it up again. You climb your current hill, shimmering water mirage at the top, desperately hoping for a break and then you see the next one. But we are invincible, or slightly short, so we kept riding. It was only about 66 miles into Carbondale and we arrived around four. It was awesome. Carbondale has a population around twenty thousand and we felt like were in the Big Apple. Buildings taller than two stories? What witchcraft is this? The three bike shops in town are within a block of each other, and we visited them all. Adam had been doing business with a shop called the Bike Surgeon and we were told he'd be back shortly.

I asked if we could put up Jeremy's wheel in the truing stand to have a look and the mechanic working at the time, Mike, said sure. I had been dreaming of access to a truing stand. We flipped Jeremy's bike upside down and were having a lot of trouble removing the rear wheel. Well, we got it out and muchas problemas. His axle was broken. But worse than that, we discovered a crack in the dropout, the portion of the frame that supports the axle and rear wheel. Now it was crisis mode. Another guy named John who worked at the shop showed up and we started to discuss strategy. There was talk of buying a new frame, or a totally new bicycle, or looking through the used market in the local area. I asked John if there were any frame builders locally and he called up a friend of his, John Medwedeff, a blacksmith, metal worker, and sculptor. He agreed to have a look and we said: alright, we've got a plan. This was all while John was scrambling to make a train departure, helping us nonetheless.

Then it was a question of getting the bike to him. Mike offered a kid's bike trailer that was outside his house a mile or two away. Jordan offered to go along with me so we both went to a restaurant called Fatty Patty's for veggie burgers. It was another nine miles to Murphysboro after a full day of riding. The burgers were excellent. I rode and picked up the trailer, attached it to my bicycle, went back to the bike shop, we loaded and strapped the bike down (sans wheels), and Jordan and I set off to John's shop. We got lost at one point and showed up at a youth detention center but got back on track and arrived at John's studio.

It was not a good situation to be dealing with a broken frame but it was an experience and a pleasure to see John's shop. He has drill presses from the 1930's and lathes from the 1920's and tools to roll wagon wheels from the 1800's. We looked at photos from his portfolio and were blown away. John does commissions for public arts projects and the work is incredible. If anybody was going to do anything for this bike, this was the guy. You can check out his website here. John welded the frame and reinforced the joint with another piece of metal. It was great to see his work. And then, if that wasn't enough, he gave us a ride back to Carbondale with all of our gear and gave us an extremely generous price on the repair. Thank you John. You've let us continue the ride.

At this point Jordan and I were pretty hungry and we went to a pizza place where Jeremy treated for having helped with the frame. We were finished around 11 PM and dropped off the trailer. The excitement was not yet over.

Joke's on you sucka.

Only this far!?

Free bricks.

Having a good time.

Grassy Lake? Little Grassy Lake? Who can remember?

On the way to Murphysboro. Ridiculous.

John's shop.

John Medwedeff.

Warm Reception

We walked over to the gas station and restaurant to buy cheese sandwiches and pick up some breakfast items. The staff had changed over since the previous evening and our sandwiches had inexplicably increased by 50 cents. No matter. When we got back to the motel Adam had taken a ride with the owner of the Pine Tree Inn. They were heading to Lexington, Kentucky so Adam could take a Greyhound bus to Carbondale. Now we were four, three San Diegans and a marketing and communications dude from Munich.

There was a very light rain that morning, nearly more fog than falling water but it was a welcome respite from drops that sting when they come down. Nearly pleasant. We took some conventional stops and made it to a grocery store in Whitesville for some grapes. Chris opted to drink a half gallon of buttermilk. He says it's kind of spicy. How he rides on that stuff, I'll never know. He also buys quite a bit of Sprite, or Coke – no ice. The heat started to come up. So did the wind. We've started to get into the corn now, the rolling farmland. We lost a few miles an hour to the breeze but we pressed forward without much problem. We took a lunch at a gas station in a place called Utica. Jordan and Jeremy had cheeseburgers. Jeremy would come to regret that later. I had one chocolate milk, and then another – I would come to regret that later. Before meeting up with Chris we were pressing harder and it might have made sense to eat more, but at a slightly reduced pace we were all eating too much. It was difficult to leave the air-conditioned sanctuary of the mini mart and press on. The air dryer in the bathroom sounded like a jet engine, a little disconcerting.

We walked outside and got hit by the heat like a Mack truck. Us Californians are used to things a little drier. Jeremy and I were suffering from the excessive lunch and I threw up a little bit while on the bike. Didn't stop though. Always forward. We made it to Sebree and were welcomed into the First Baptist Church and met Bob and Violet, the pastor of the congregation and his wife. Outstanding people. Before we go further I'll mention that I found a wifi connection and looked up the charity cyclists we've been chasing. Apparently the guy in Damascus wasn't lying, but instead of 10 there are 13 with only four or five girls. We dream big nonetheless.

We were shown to the church's basement area which had mattresses for us to sleep on, a kitchen, bathrooms, and a shower. The washer and dryer was upstairs. The church was air-conditioned and we felt stupendous. But wait, there's more. Violet likes to cook for the touring cyclists and we had a dinner unsurpassed in modern times. There was salad, apple sauce, corn bread, sliced tomatoes, squash, several types of ribs, scalloped potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese, stir fried vegetables, and several other dishes I'm undoubtedly forgetting. Dessert was a blueberry cobbler with ice cream on top. Bob and Violet have been hosting cyclists for thirty years and their church has made it a part of their mission to support traveling riders. Bob told us a number of stories and local folklore, Jordan liked those in particular. We sat and talked and rested after a spectacular dinner and then thanked them for their generosity and went off to bed.

Toast.

Beginning of the day.

Hmm.

Jeremy of the corn.

The color of the water in the pond looked like they had tossed a few urinal cakes in.

Peering into an old store at the end of the day.

On the ferry.

Being treated so well might have left us a little soft and we didn't leave Sebree until around 9:30. I must shoulder the blame for some of that, adjusting brakes took longer than I thought. It was the old cold inside, hot outside game as we got blasted as soon as we left the church. Buildings have airlocks in this part of the country. There will be the exterior door, which opens to a very brief hallway, before the door that actually that goes to the interior of the building. Gotta beat the heat somehow.

We had a conventional break or two and then took our lunch in Marion, Kentucky. It was sour. Jordan ordered a cheeseburger and was served a bun, a patty, and a slice of cheese. Maybe it's a cultural thing, do people like things plain in Kentucky? The wifi was out because of a lightning storm. I ordered a taco salad with a stale tortilla bowl. The place was down to only one waitress. Jordan ordered a second round of food which took forever to arrive. It took forever to take our money. I don't mean to harp too much on the Marion Cafe but it was bogus.

After about two hours or so we were back on the road. The bunk lunch was put aside as we caught sight of the Ohio River. The timing was perfect. The ferry was just about to cross over and we rode on to the barge, the last passengers. Now we could've taken it again in about ten minutes, but still, it felt good. The boat only took five or six minutes to get across and then we set foot in Illinois. Another state down. Badass. There were some steeps hills right out of the gate. Walls. Short stretches of a couple hundred feet or so where you had to crank hard just to get up.

We got through the steep sets and made it to a place called Elizabethtown. Jordan's brake cable had frayed but he replaced it in pretty short order and we started the last few miles into a campsite in Golconda. Golconda is a little off route, but there's not much choice in terms of services. We went to the first campground, down about a mile of gravel road. Off roading, getting crazy, spewing rocks. But, that campground was abandoned. The bathrooms were locked and there was no running water. The grass was overgrown and branches blocked the entrances to the bath house. It was actually kind of cool, post-apocalyptic. We even considered staying but the lack of water cut that idea short. It was another four or five miles to a private campground that was nice, but a bit expensive. We went to sleep, three San Diegans and a German.

Thank you to the First Baptist Church.

Remnants.

"I liked my pancakes."

Crossing over to the other side.

The Ohio River behind.

Deer Run Campground.

A new foe.

Varmints successfully invaded Adam's bags last night. They made off with a whole loaf of bread, a few packets of oatmeal, and two Clif bars. Adam was a little bummed at first but he managed to come up with at least a half smile. Everyone else's food was OK.

Our wake up call was a parade of obnoxious riding lawnmowers. Have they no decency? Must the lawn really be cut at 6:30 in the morning? There are no satisfying answers to these questions. We gathered our belongings and were out of there by 8:30. The time of our departure may seem a bit procedural but it always feels good to have a lot done by noon. Our first minor hangup of the day was at Fogle Road, unsigned. In Virginia we had it easy. Nearly every turn on the route was marked with a bike specific sign. Not so in Kentucky. We asked a woman on her front porch and set down the right road.

We were passed by a vintage car touring club. Just another way to hit the back roads. We made our first 25 with no problem and had the usual stop at a gas station/sandwich shop that offered a few bags of chips, fishing accessories, and a wide choice of sodas. Many of these places seem to only be making a half-hearted attempt to stay open and compete against the Wal-Mart supercenters that have popped up on the interstate. Then we met our new foe. The wind. It started to warm up and our progress was robbed by headwinds of mild strength.

We stopped at a small produce stand at the side of the road and filled our bottles from a plastic cooler with a spigot. Two boys manned the station. They seemed Amish but it really wasn't the right area. It felt like that reality show that PBS did where the family lives as the pioneers do. They had really strange haircuts. We got into a place called Sonora for a lunch stop at a Subway in a truck stop complex. There was video poker but we skipped that and wifi, for two bucks an hour. No deal.

Started to get a bit windier, and the sun grilled us as well. We took another break at a gas station to wait out a storm that seemed to be coming on. As we made conversation with the cashier a group of four touring cyclists rolled in. They're all college age as well and have been following the same route. We compared notes on certain climbs and where we had stayed and when the storm passed, set out in a group of nine. That didn't hold together long, but it was a nice idea. We surged ahead but made shelter again under a large wooden awning for storing farm equipment. The sky ahead looked like a cinder block wall that was waiting to smash us to smithereens. So we waited. The earlier gang of four caught up and we waved, proud of ourselves for taking cover and wondering how soaked they would get.

The storm passed through and dumped and we pressed on again. We arrived at the campground after 95 miles and two successful escapes from the rain, gear and person totally dry. Pretty proud of ourselves. When I mention we it now includes Chris the German who has joined the riding party. Adam mentioned that his wheel seemed out of true and we had a look. Gone. Adios. Toast. Blackened to a crisp. The rim has a sizable crack in it and is totally unsafe to ride. We rode down to the campsite to discuss what to do next, but our time there was fairly brief. We decided that the sites were too soaked, and that we'd be better off with the internet to plan for a replacement wheel and checked in at the Pine Tree Inn less than a mile away. Our first motel stay. We swam in the pool and Adam made arrangements to leave the crew briefly in pursuing a replacement wheel. Tomorrow morning we leave the Rough River Dam State Resort Park and ride to Sebree.

Give us a ride.

Truck stop lunch.

Only if they do trade-ins.

And then there was nine.

Playing around.

Traveling circus.

Adam making plans.