I got on the road just as it was starting to get bright. Some very dark clouds immediaately to the north, almost overhead were a bit of a concern initially but they moved away northwards. It had rained during the night so the air was fresh and cool. The road was busy enough for the middle of nowhere. There was no great sunrise this morning dur to the cloud cover.
Three miles down the road I crossed into Utah. There is a physical divide at this point between Colorado and Utah. A band of hard rock has been pushed up to form a rampart-like barrier between the two states which runs for a number of miles through which the road runs. Its almost as if nature has erected a barrier at this point to protect Colorado and keep at bay the barren wastes of Utah. Passing through the 'gateway' during the twilight of dawn this morning gave theimpression of passing into a different realm, as if I was leaving the safety of the mountain highlands of Colorado to embark upon the hot, hostile wastes of Utah.
I skipped along the road westwards parallel to the ancient, gnarled rocky ridge of Blue mountain. Here and there red sands showed a dried-up course of a river bed. Its path gouged out in the past to form a tiny Grand Canyoun-like feature along the north side of the road. I climbed over a couple of ridges and descended down into a broad valley and crosses the powerful Green River at the village of Jensen. 10 miles to the north the green river has carved out a magnificent canyon through Dinosaur national park. It is from the exposed rocky beds around here that paleontologists have exposed the plentiful dinosaur and plant fossils. So rich have the finds been that whole ecosystems have been reconstructed.
10 miles down the road I came to the twin towns of Naples and Vernal. They basically run into each other. Slightly larger versions of Blacklion and Belcoo at home. I stopped in Vernal for a bite to eat and went into a local diner. I sat at the counter and ordered pancakes from the waitress. While waiting for the food the waitress, and a friend of hers who was sitting seats from me, got into a blazing row.
The gist of the story, from what I could make out through the argument and shouting, is that the waitress has a small 13yr old dog which is getting savaged by a neighbouring alsation. The friend minds the dog when the waitress is at work. Where the dog was this morning I don't know. At her wits end over the suffering of her dog the waitress has decided to have her dog put down this afternoon at the local vets. Visibly upset, she now has to contend with her friend who is also very attached to the dog and is now refusing to giver her back her dog!
As emotions snap the argument flares into a massive slagging match. The friend leaves, and as she goes out the waitress screams after her that if she doesn't give her back her dog she'll set that fxxxxxg alsation on her and then call the fxxxxxg police!! When my food comes and I'm asked if everything is ok? I reply that "Its fxxxxxg great!! no problems here, no siree!!" It was a quick breakfast.
Afterwards I go down to the local dinosaur museum to have a look. It would be great to have a car or motorbike in this area. THis region, north of Vernal and Dinosaur looks to be magnificent, not just for archaeology but scenery, wildlife (including Brown Bears), white water rafting, the works.
I leave Vernal around 10.30. Its 60 miles to Duschene (Doo-Shane) so I need to get moving. I climb up a high ridge overlooking the town and I get a magnificent view over the valley to the hills beyond. The skies have cleared up now and the temperatures are rising through the 80's. Roadworks nearby have produced dust which gets whipped up by the breeze into pink clouds. The dust coats my arms and legs. I crest the ridge and the road descends gradually for about 5 miles through a barren, pink, rocky ravine before opening out onto another plain of scrubland. Distant mountains to the north show snowcapped peaks.
At the end of this plain I pass through another small ravine which, this time, opens into a small oasis valley. A river flowing through here allows vegetation to thrive, in contrast to the past 40-50 miles. I stop at a small shopping Plaza which is run entirely by local Ute indians. This is the first time I've encountered native indians in a regular, daily situation.
A pint of chocolate milk keeps me happy for the next 10 miles where I stop at a town called Roosevelt. More drinks and the last pancake I was unable to finish in Vernal are consumed and I'm back on the road. I was tempted to stay in Roosevelt as my energy feels low but I decide to do the extra 30 miles to Duschesne as it keeps me on track for this segment of the journey.
I cross another set of ridges after I exit Roosevelt whic give great views over to the Unita mountains which rise to 13,400ft. I cross some more ridges and find myself in the Duschene river valley. Along the way I encounter a little wind . Its a small whirlwind that erupts right beside the road. It whips up the dust into a funnel shape about 2m high. It grows in intensity and then whips away through a fence and into the adjacent scrubland before dissipating and then disappearing.
The Duschene river valley is a long narrow oasis valley, less than half a mile wide. It is lush and green, supporting both livestock and crops along its course. It stands out because either side of the low ridges which define the river valley the land is dry and barren. I follow this valley to its head at the town of Duschene. I've cycled just over 90 miles today which is the daily target from here to California. The last 15 miles were tough though and I feel drained by the time I reach the town. I didn't eat or drink enough today and when the heat gets into the 90's my energy drains quickly. I get into a foul mood when I have to pay $70 for a room, a rip off and double the price in Craig. Later, a at the checkout in the local supermarket irritates me further with her ignorant behaviour. As I leave her fatuous, nasal and false "Have a nice Day" is nonchalantly ignored. I'm wrecked. I go to bed.
29.7.08
Day 63: To Dinosaur (Sun 27th July)
Was out on the road just as dawn was breaking. I left at 5.45am. Another nice cool morning. I was stealing myself for a 120 mile hike to Vernal in Utah as I'd been told there were no motels 90 miles down the road at Dinosaur.
On a ridge overlooking the town I stopped for a shot of the rising sun. As I got my shot I could a snorting sound. I turned and saw an antelope watching me, obviously annoyed that I'd stopped in his patch.
The road pushed away from Craig and entered a region of scrubland. Barren, dry, sandy-looking ground held together by tufts of wispy grass and scattered shrubs. I was entering the cold desert of the Colorado Plateau which stretched all the way into Utah. The road was easy. I flew the first 31 miles to Maybell, a small village which, surprisingly had a motel. From here it was 57 miles to Dinosaur and then another 33 miles to Vernal.
A couple of miles outside Maybell I passed a guy hiking on the road. He had 2 walking sticks, a large backpack a banner and a pink wig! I stopped and said hello. Turned out the guy was from Delaware. His name is Ron Kessler. He was walking coast to coast in aid of a charity for breast cancer research. He's been on the road for the past 10 months and expects to get to San Francisco in another 2 months. A remarkable person. He's already cycled coast-to-coast twice in the past. His website is www.trailjournals.com/roadtothecure. He told me there was a motel in Dinosaur. I felt relieved. I forgot to get a photo of him and was annoyed with myself afterwards as he was a real character. That happens a lot when I'm around people.
The next 10-15 miles brought some big hills but then the road levelled out again. The countryside is really beginning to feel like a desert region. The air has a warm, earthy smell. While there is a lot of scrub the ground looks parched. The hills show shades of light brown and pink. Theyre flat-topped, steep sided, wind blown and eroded.
At a hamlet called Massadona I stopped at a tavern fro a bite to eat. It was like a little oasis as it was so unexpected. Massadona basically consists of the tavern. Refreshed, I did the last 20 miles to Dinosaur with relative ease. When I got a room there I found out there is nothing available at Vernal. There's an oil boom over there and all prices have doubled with all the contracters in town.
Dinosaur was originally called Artesia but its name was changed in 1965 in honour of Dinosaur National Park just north of here. Two streets in the town are called Tyranosauraus trail and Brontosaurus Boulevard. The national park is full of dinosaur fossils, rock art and eveidence of human habitation going back 12,000 yrs. There are many sacred indian sites in the park aswel. This region being the territory of the Ute tribe in times passed. Their territory spread across western colorado, Eastern Utah and Southern Wyoming. Butch Cassidy and The Wild Bunch also roamed these lands.
On a ridge overlooking the town I stopped for a shot of the rising sun. As I got my shot I could a snorting sound. I turned and saw an antelope watching me, obviously annoyed that I'd stopped in his patch.
The road pushed away from Craig and entered a region of scrubland. Barren, dry, sandy-looking ground held together by tufts of wispy grass and scattered shrubs. I was entering the cold desert of the Colorado Plateau which stretched all the way into Utah. The road was easy. I flew the first 31 miles to Maybell, a small village which, surprisingly had a motel. From here it was 57 miles to Dinosaur and then another 33 miles to Vernal.
A couple of miles outside Maybell I passed a guy hiking on the road. He had 2 walking sticks, a large backpack a banner and a pink wig! I stopped and said hello. Turned out the guy was from Delaware. His name is Ron Kessler. He was walking coast to coast in aid of a charity for breast cancer research. He's been on the road for the past 10 months and expects to get to San Francisco in another 2 months. A remarkable person. He's already cycled coast-to-coast twice in the past. His website is www.trailjournals.com/roadtothecure. He told me there was a motel in Dinosaur. I felt relieved. I forgot to get a photo of him and was annoyed with myself afterwards as he was a real character. That happens a lot when I'm around people.
The next 10-15 miles brought some big hills but then the road levelled out again. The countryside is really beginning to feel like a desert region. The air has a warm, earthy smell. While there is a lot of scrub the ground looks parched. The hills show shades of light brown and pink. Theyre flat-topped, steep sided, wind blown and eroded.
At a hamlet called Massadona I stopped at a tavern fro a bite to eat. It was like a little oasis as it was so unexpected. Massadona basically consists of the tavern. Refreshed, I did the last 20 miles to Dinosaur with relative ease. When I got a room there I found out there is nothing available at Vernal. There's an oil boom over there and all prices have doubled with all the contracters in town.
Dinosaur was originally called Artesia but its name was changed in 1965 in honour of Dinosaur National Park just north of here. Two streets in the town are called Tyranosauraus trail and Brontosaurus Boulevard. The national park is full of dinosaur fossils, rock art and eveidence of human habitation going back 12,000 yrs. There are many sacred indian sites in the park aswel. This region being the territory of the Ute tribe in times passed. Their territory spread across western colorado, Eastern Utah and Southern Wyoming. Butch Cassidy and The Wild Bunch also roamed these lands.
Days 61/62: Craig (25th/26th July)
Last night I went for a Chinese by way of celebration. I could only eat half the meal. The food was too rich and I'd dehydrated more than I'd realised. I felt sick after it. Also the mosquitoe bites itched like crazy through the night, about 11-12 of them. I couldn't sleep. I didn't do much at all this day, stayed indoors, updated the diary, sipped drinks and watched tv. I was supposed to head off on Saturday but before I went to sleep I started to get nervous. The bites went itchy again, and when I did get to sleep I had weird nightmares. I woke up at 4am with a start, really edgy and drained. I didn't feel good. I went back to sleep. No cycling today.
Later on in the morning I phoned home and got the result of the Leitrim match. Leitrim were playing Wicklow in the semifinal of the Tommy Murphy Cup. They lost in a closely fought battle. Thats it for Leitrim this year, it marks the end of Dessie Dolan's tenure as Leitrim manager. It was an exciting 4yrs, if somewhat bittersweet, with the team just falling short in some big matches. They came agonisingly close on a number of occasions to a major brakthrough on the big stage. Best of luck Dessie. I wonder what the squad will look like next January?
Later on in the morning I phoned home and got the result of the Leitrim match. Leitrim were playing Wicklow in the semifinal of the Tommy Murphy Cup. They lost in a closely fought battle. Thats it for Leitrim this year, it marks the end of Dessie Dolan's tenure as Leitrim manager. It was an exciting 4yrs, if somewhat bittersweet, with the team just falling short in some big matches. They came agonisingly close on a number of occasions to a major brakthrough on the big stage. Best of luck Dessie. I wonder what the squad will look like next January?
Day 60 Over the Rockies (Thurs 24th July)
Got out for 6.30. It was a nice morning but chilly. I already had on an extra layer but had to stick on a jacket for the first while. The sky was clear so at least it would warm up rlatively fast once the sun came up. I was heading south west for 35 miles to Rabbits ears pass where I'd cross the Rockies. Another 25 miles would bring me to Steamboat Springs.
It was another quiet road which ran parrallell to the mountains in the West. A couple of miles outside Walden I saw a moose, far off drinking from a pool of water. As the sun came up I stopped to get some photos as the area was gorgeous. But everytime I stopped mosquitoes would swarm out on to the road and take lumps out of my legs.
The first 30 miles were relatively easy as the road rose gently into the mountains and, aprt from the mosquitoes, it was a very pleasant route. About 5 miles from the summit the road met a junction and I turned on to route 40. It was like meeting an old friend as I had followed route 40 for a few hundred miles from Maryland over to Indianapolis. So route 40 would ferry me to the highest point I would achieve in America. Rabbit ears pass sits at an elevation of 9,400 ft, one of the lower passes in this section of the Rockies. It was a fairly stiff 6 mile climb to the pass but I was looking forward to what I thought was a 25 mile spin down to Steamboat. As I got to the summit I found that the summit plateaued. I would have another 8 miles of rolling mountain to reach the western summit before descending for only 7 miles where the road levelled off into Steamboat.
It was beautiful up here, not the dramatic, rocky cliffs that I'd expected. It was a rolling mountain with great views of far off peaks, with natual pine forests and streams. A lovely cool dry air carried a fresh pine scent. I saw an old guy fishing for trout in a clear shallow stream no more than 2-3 metres wide. Overhead the sky was a brilliant blue with a scattering of bright fluffy clouds and not the dark hail laden stormclouds I had feared yesterday evening It really was idyllic.
Earlier I had met a couple hiking down from the summit, heading for Walden 35 miles away. a long walk. Now I started meeting mountain bikers coming down from the top. There's an unspoken convention on the road that you acknowledge a fellow cyclist. I wave to most cyclists and a lot of bikers as well. Loads of the bikers, even the hard looking ones wave back, give the thumbs up and even shout encouragement. There's a certain camaraderie and it gives a feel-good factor when mutual respect is displayed. Today, however it was too much trouble for the mountain bikers to as much as nod an acknowledgement as they passed. If it was done it was cold and nonchalant. I suppose thats what you expect from the day trippers....... amatuers!!
At the western summit I met a group who turned out to be a support team for a group of about 140 cyclists doing a charity trek from Seattle to Jersey City. They had 3 support cars and two trucks, one of which had a kitchen facility, theother carried the luggage. They brought me over for drinks and we swapped experiences. The eldest of their cyclists was 72 but she had crashed and had to quit. They due to get an 80yr old in Denver. They advised me not to stop in Steamboat as it was very expensive and to head on an extra 42 miles to Craig which was quieter. It was 12.10 and I felt fresh so I felt I could do it.
I left the group just as the first of their cyclists crested the summit. The next 7 miles was a panoramic helter skelter of a downhill as I had to wave to 140 cyclists crawling up the mountain. Be careful what you wish for!!
I got to Steamboat for 12.50, had a break and some food. I hit the road again at 2.15 and really pushed those 42 miles. I had been told in Steamboat that I would drop over 1,500ft in the distance so in my mind I was flying downhill all the way. In fact I only dropped 500ft, just under 200 metres. Its funny how the road seems easy when you're mind thinks it is. I followed the Yampa river out of the mountains and onto the Colorado plateau to where the town of Craig sits at an altitude of 6,100 ft, nestled between some lowlying hills. I got a good cheap room into the bargain.
I'm out of the Rockies, they're behind me. The've been the landmark I've been building towards since I got out of Pennsylvania. In a sense they've loomed over this journey but, yet, went through them with relative ease. I didn't see the great dramatic peaks that I had imagined but I'm not disappointed. Today, in its own way was a watershed on the journey. I reached my highest elevation 9,400ft and I also achieved the longest stretch so far in mileage, 103 miles. It was like doing a wee league and cup double. It felt good.
It was another quiet road which ran parrallell to the mountains in the West. A couple of miles outside Walden I saw a moose, far off drinking from a pool of water. As the sun came up I stopped to get some photos as the area was gorgeous. But everytime I stopped mosquitoes would swarm out on to the road and take lumps out of my legs.
The first 30 miles were relatively easy as the road rose gently into the mountains and, aprt from the mosquitoes, it was a very pleasant route. About 5 miles from the summit the road met a junction and I turned on to route 40. It was like meeting an old friend as I had followed route 40 for a few hundred miles from Maryland over to Indianapolis. So route 40 would ferry me to the highest point I would achieve in America. Rabbit ears pass sits at an elevation of 9,400 ft, one of the lower passes in this section of the Rockies. It was a fairly stiff 6 mile climb to the pass but I was looking forward to what I thought was a 25 mile spin down to Steamboat. As I got to the summit I found that the summit plateaued. I would have another 8 miles of rolling mountain to reach the western summit before descending for only 7 miles where the road levelled off into Steamboat.
It was beautiful up here, not the dramatic, rocky cliffs that I'd expected. It was a rolling mountain with great views of far off peaks, with natual pine forests and streams. A lovely cool dry air carried a fresh pine scent. I saw an old guy fishing for trout in a clear shallow stream no more than 2-3 metres wide. Overhead the sky was a brilliant blue with a scattering of bright fluffy clouds and not the dark hail laden stormclouds I had feared yesterday evening It really was idyllic.
Earlier I had met a couple hiking down from the summit, heading for Walden 35 miles away. a long walk. Now I started meeting mountain bikers coming down from the top. There's an unspoken convention on the road that you acknowledge a fellow cyclist. I wave to most cyclists and a lot of bikers as well. Loads of the bikers, even the hard looking ones wave back, give the thumbs up and even shout encouragement. There's a certain camaraderie and it gives a feel-good factor when mutual respect is displayed. Today, however it was too much trouble for the mountain bikers to as much as nod an acknowledgement as they passed. If it was done it was cold and nonchalant. I suppose thats what you expect from the day trippers....... amatuers!!
At the western summit I met a group who turned out to be a support team for a group of about 140 cyclists doing a charity trek from Seattle to Jersey City. They had 3 support cars and two trucks, one of which had a kitchen facility, theother carried the luggage. They brought me over for drinks and we swapped experiences. The eldest of their cyclists was 72 but she had crashed and had to quit. They due to get an 80yr old in Denver. They advised me not to stop in Steamboat as it was very expensive and to head on an extra 42 miles to Craig which was quieter. It was 12.10 and I felt fresh so I felt I could do it.
I left the group just as the first of their cyclists crested the summit. The next 7 miles was a panoramic helter skelter of a downhill as I had to wave to 140 cyclists crawling up the mountain. Be careful what you wish for!!
I got to Steamboat for 12.50, had a break and some food. I hit the road again at 2.15 and really pushed those 42 miles. I had been told in Steamboat that I would drop over 1,500ft in the distance so in my mind I was flying downhill all the way. In fact I only dropped 500ft, just under 200 metres. Its funny how the road seems easy when you're mind thinks it is. I followed the Yampa river out of the mountains and onto the Colorado plateau to where the town of Craig sits at an altitude of 6,100 ft, nestled between some lowlying hills. I got a good cheap room into the bargain.
I'm out of the Rockies, they're behind me. The've been the landmark I've been building towards since I got out of Pennsylvania. In a sense they've loomed over this journey but, yet, went through them with relative ease. I didn't see the great dramatic peaks that I had imagined but I'm not disappointed. Today, in its own way was a watershed on the journey. I reached my highest elevation 9,400ft and I also achieved the longest stretch so far in mileage, 103 miles. It was like doing a wee league and cup double. It felt good.
Day 59: Back into Colorado (Wed 23rd July)
Woke up at 4am but didn't leave town until 9.30. I followed the road out of town across the plain slowly getting closer to the mountains.
As the road began to rise into the hills I stopped at a petrol station to get some extra drinks. I had nearly 3 litres with me and I didn't want to run short today. For the next 7 miles he road rose sharply. It was a fairly stiff climb but soon enough the road levelled off and for the next 10 miles the road wound through a rolling forested plateau.
The weather changed from a bright, hot day on the plains to a dark overcast afternoon in the mountains. I found myself looking at the skies a lot as the clouds turned dark and wondered if a storm would break. A short downpour failed to clear the sky and the dark clouds remained.
At one point a loud roar echoed out of the trees. I turned to look and see what had made that sound but I couldn't see anything. The pace, however, certainly increased. A minute or two later, through a gap in the trees I glimpsed a black animal far in amongst the trees which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I stopped and peered in and saw three black cow grazing in the forest. I thought 'Well done Fran, now you're running from cattle!!'. Laughing at myself I pushed on.
As I crossed the state line back in to Colorado the temperature began dropping until it was cold. Rain began to fall and thunder started rattling, then lightning started fizzing down. I came to an open clearing where there were some fields and I stopped. I watched as multiple lightning strikes came down on nearby hilltops. I remained for about 30 minutes watching at the edge of the storm, hoping it pass over but it remained stuck over the hills in front of me. I got cold and had to put on an extra layer under the rain jacket. As the rain continued I decided to push on through the storm. In the middlle of the storm the rain was pelting down causing water to stream across the road and creating a spray from the wheels that drenched me. I free-wheeled downhill through the rain with the clouds so low overhead I could literally feel the thunder as it rumbled.
By the time I got through the storm I was very cold. My fingers were numb, my legs stiff. When the road levelled for a bit it was good to get pedalling again just to warm up. Another two miles o so and the road pushed through the hills, turned 90 degrees and faced south into a wide plain bounded on three sides by low mountains. The road ran straight for four miles down to the village of Cowdrey and 9 miles beyond that to the town of Walden, my destination.
Two miles outside Cowdrey I could see white stuff in the fields either side. At first I thought it was snow but we were well below the snowline. It was hailstones from the recent storm. Further on piles of white hailstones lined either side of the road. When I got to Cowdrey I could see dark clouds approaching from the mountains in the west. With another 9 miles to go I pushed as hard as I could as I didn't want to get caught in a hailstorm. Thankfully the road was relatively flat and a certain amount of adrenalin kept me pushing hard on the pedals. A mile outside Walden the rain started but, luckily, no hailstones. Once in Walden I got lucky again getting the last available room in the town.
As the road began to rise into the hills I stopped at a petrol station to get some extra drinks. I had nearly 3 litres with me and I didn't want to run short today. For the next 7 miles he road rose sharply. It was a fairly stiff climb but soon enough the road levelled off and for the next 10 miles the road wound through a rolling forested plateau.
The weather changed from a bright, hot day on the plains to a dark overcast afternoon in the mountains. I found myself looking at the skies a lot as the clouds turned dark and wondered if a storm would break. A short downpour failed to clear the sky and the dark clouds remained.
At one point a loud roar echoed out of the trees. I turned to look and see what had made that sound but I couldn't see anything. The pace, however, certainly increased. A minute or two later, through a gap in the trees I glimpsed a black animal far in amongst the trees which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I stopped and peered in and saw three black cow grazing in the forest. I thought 'Well done Fran, now you're running from cattle!!'. Laughing at myself I pushed on.
As I crossed the state line back in to Colorado the temperature began dropping until it was cold. Rain began to fall and thunder started rattling, then lightning started fizzing down. I came to an open clearing where there were some fields and I stopped. I watched as multiple lightning strikes came down on nearby hilltops. I remained for about 30 minutes watching at the edge of the storm, hoping it pass over but it remained stuck over the hills in front of me. I got cold and had to put on an extra layer under the rain jacket. As the rain continued I decided to push on through the storm. In the middlle of the storm the rain was pelting down causing water to stream across the road and creating a spray from the wheels that drenched me. I free-wheeled downhill through the rain with the clouds so low overhead I could literally feel the thunder as it rumbled.
By the time I got through the storm I was very cold. My fingers were numb, my legs stiff. When the road levelled for a bit it was good to get pedalling again just to warm up. Another two miles o so and the road pushed through the hills, turned 90 degrees and faced south into a wide plain bounded on three sides by low mountains. The road ran straight for four miles down to the village of Cowdrey and 9 miles beyond that to the town of Walden, my destination.
Two miles outside Cowdrey I could see white stuff in the fields either side. At first I thought it was snow but we were well below the snowline. It was hailstones from the recent storm. Further on piles of white hailstones lined either side of the road. When I got to Cowdrey I could see dark clouds approaching from the mountains in the west. With another 9 miles to go I pushed as hard as I could as I didn't want to get caught in a hailstorm. Thankfully the road was relatively flat and a certain amount of adrenalin kept me pushing hard on the pedals. A mile outside Walden the rain started but, luckily, no hailstones. Once in Walden I got lucky again getting the last available room in the town.
Day 58: To Laramie (Tues 23rd July)
I left early for Laramie 50 miles away. I took route 210 west which is known locally as Happy Jack road. It was probably the quietest road I've been on so far. hardly any traffic. The first 20 miles consisted of rolling grasslands. The road then came to a line of hills and worked its way up through a gap. As I emerged at the top of the climb I found I had entered into a new country. I had left the plains behind and now began to move through an upland region. Pine trees began to appear and increase in number as the road climbed through the hill country. There was a light scent of pine in the air which was nice and cool. It was a very picturesque landscape of rolling hills dotted with great boulders, some perched at precarious angles on the hillsides. I entered Medicine Bow National Forest as the road climbed higher into the hills. As I climbed I began to feel a shortness of breath which I hadn't experienced previously. Also, my mouth was continuously dry. No matter how many times I took a drink my mouth was parched again within minutes. I had to be careful with the water as there was nothing between Cheyenne and Laramie.
For 20 miles I climbed through the hills. Soon I came to a junction with an interstate highway which I would take down to Laramie. Here there was a truck stop and information centre so I went over to see if I could some more water. There was a drinking fountain. I gulped down almost a litre before refilling a bottle. I found out it was 10 miles to Laramie, all downhill. I free-wheeled down through these hills, flying along. The road passed through a narrow gorge at the end of which the land opend out into a wide, flat plain with the town of Laramie nestled down below. Mountains bordered the western edge of the plain about 30 miles away. I got to Laramie about 1pm.
Laramie was one of the real cowboy towns of the west. Founded in 1868 as the Union Pacific railroad moved west. It was named after a French trapper called Jacques LaRamie who was killed by indians in the nearby hills. The location of the town was chosen because of a natural spring which provided a water supply and the proximity of timber in the hills for constructing the railroad. The proximity of Fort Sanders in the area which protected settlers and stagecoaches also encouraged the siting of the town.
The early years of the town were violent. The first settlers who rolled into town were met with 23 saloons, a hotel and no churches. Gamblers, prostitutes, ansd speculators joined the cowboys and settlers. Following them came the outlaws. Within three months the population balooned to 5,000 with many of the first businesses housed in tents. The outlaws began to run amok and local business suffered. The towns citizens responded by banding together. Local vigilante groups violently lynched suspected outlaws, sending out a clear message to any other would-be hoodlum. Butch Cassidy was one of the more celebrated gangsters to be imprisoned in the local jail in later years.
Life gradually settled down. In 1886 the university of Wyoming was established in the town but the mainstay of life in the town remained the railroad. The town prospered through the late 19th and early 20th centuries and earned the nickname 'the gem of the plains'. Today the railroad still rolls through the principal university town for the state of Wyoming.
For 20 miles I climbed through the hills. Soon I came to a junction with an interstate highway which I would take down to Laramie. Here there was a truck stop and information centre so I went over to see if I could some more water. There was a drinking fountain. I gulped down almost a litre before refilling a bottle. I found out it was 10 miles to Laramie, all downhill. I free-wheeled down through these hills, flying along. The road passed through a narrow gorge at the end of which the land opend out into a wide, flat plain with the town of Laramie nestled down below. Mountains bordered the western edge of the plain about 30 miles away. I got to Laramie about 1pm.
Laramie was one of the real cowboy towns of the west. Founded in 1868 as the Union Pacific railroad moved west. It was named after a French trapper called Jacques LaRamie who was killed by indians in the nearby hills. The location of the town was chosen because of a natural spring which provided a water supply and the proximity of timber in the hills for constructing the railroad. The proximity of Fort Sanders in the area which protected settlers and stagecoaches also encouraged the siting of the town.
The early years of the town were violent. The first settlers who rolled into town were met with 23 saloons, a hotel and no churches. Gamblers, prostitutes, ansd speculators joined the cowboys and settlers. Following them came the outlaws. Within three months the population balooned to 5,000 with many of the first businesses housed in tents. The outlaws began to run amok and local business suffered. The towns citizens responded by banding together. Local vigilante groups violently lynched suspected outlaws, sending out a clear message to any other would-be hoodlum. Butch Cassidy was one of the more celebrated gangsters to be imprisoned in the local jail in later years.
Life gradually settled down. In 1886 the university of Wyoming was established in the town but the mainstay of life in the town remained the railroad. The town prospered through the late 19th and early 20th centuries and earned the nickname 'the gem of the plains'. Today the railroad still rolls through the principal university town for the state of Wyoming.
25.7.08
Day 57: The "Daddy of 'em all" (Mon 22nd July)
Cheyenne sits at an elevat of 6,600ft. Its the capital of Wyoming, the 44th State and my 15th, Wyoming was the first state in the world to officially sanction equal rights for women. Even while it remained a frontier town the people were pushing back many frontiers. Another railway town, Cheyenne was founded in 1867. From an original population of 600 construction workers, entrepreneurs and camp followers of 'dubious character and rowdy habit. The town now has a population of about 53,000. Laid out on grid system it has a well defined, compact centre.
This week the town hosts the 112th Cheyenne Frontier Days, a week long rodeo and festival of the wild west that attracts attendances of over 400,000 to its events. The
"Daddy of 'em all" is the largest rodeo in the States. I got up early and strolled through the town to Frontier Park where all the events take place. The rodeo kicks off at 1pm. I was there for 11am to see an Indian village which had set up for the week. There were performances of traditional dance, music and storytelling, and stalls selling artwork, jewelry and leather work.
A dance troupe of, mostly, Arapahoe Indians performed, explaining the symbolism and context of each dance. It ws really good. It felt almost surreal sitting there listening to the songs and watching the dancers swirl in their traditional costumes. At one point one of the elders was introducing a dance when a jet flew by overhead drowning out what the man was saying. When the sound faded the indian jokingly referred to loud the plane was. A smart arse beside me shouted out "Thats the sound of freedom"! I rolled my eyes and shook my head and thought "Jaysus, here we go again". There's always one. The rest of the performance passed by without interruption.
Afterwards I had a quick look around at various stalls and displays before heading over to the stadium. It felt like going to a football match. Big crawds, big stadium, cars parked in all the streets leading to the ground. However, intead of football tops and scarves, the fans wore cowboy hats, long sleeve shirts, wrangler denims, large leather belts with big brass buckles and leather cowboy boots. Even the kids were decked out like this with their own miniature lassoos.
The events were really good. There was always something happening in the arena with two guys commentating on the action. Instead of running off one event after another, the organisers arranged that a portion of an event was followed by a portion of the next and so on. You could see each event a number of times without getting tired of it as the action was changing every 10-15 minutes. It felt like everything was moving fast. The pace was fast with bullriding and bronco riding only lasting a maximum of 8 seconds per competitor. The horsemanship was great as cowboys chased steers, jumping off the horse to grapple the steer to the ground. It was intense and highly dangerous. One lad got thrown off a horse and landed head first into the ground. He did not move and got stretchered off to hospital.
For four hours the events kept rolling. These were preliminary rounds. The serious stuff would take place later in the week. Throughout the afternoon I kept thinking Dad would have loved this. The horses, the skill of the riders, the bulls, the danger, the adrenaline buzz. It was a real highlight. I got some great shaots and footage but the security settings on this PC won't let me post them. I'll try the next time.
When it finished I strolled back through town for a look around. I had a meal and a pint of 90 shilling in the old refurbished train station. Two pints and I would have been out of it!! I can't drink at all these days. Back to the room. The "Daddy of 'em all" was great.
This week the town hosts the 112th Cheyenne Frontier Days, a week long rodeo and festival of the wild west that attracts attendances of over 400,000 to its events. The
"Daddy of 'em all" is the largest rodeo in the States. I got up early and strolled through the town to Frontier Park where all the events take place. The rodeo kicks off at 1pm. I was there for 11am to see an Indian village which had set up for the week. There were performances of traditional dance, music and storytelling, and stalls selling artwork, jewelry and leather work.
A dance troupe of, mostly, Arapahoe Indians performed, explaining the symbolism and context of each dance. It ws really good. It felt almost surreal sitting there listening to the songs and watching the dancers swirl in their traditional costumes. At one point one of the elders was introducing a dance when a jet flew by overhead drowning out what the man was saying. When the sound faded the indian jokingly referred to loud the plane was. A smart arse beside me shouted out "Thats the sound of freedom"! I rolled my eyes and shook my head and thought "Jaysus, here we go again". There's always one. The rest of the performance passed by without interruption.
Afterwards I had a quick look around at various stalls and displays before heading over to the stadium. It felt like going to a football match. Big crawds, big stadium, cars parked in all the streets leading to the ground. However, intead of football tops and scarves, the fans wore cowboy hats, long sleeve shirts, wrangler denims, large leather belts with big brass buckles and leather cowboy boots. Even the kids were decked out like this with their own miniature lassoos.
The events were really good. There was always something happening in the arena with two guys commentating on the action. Instead of running off one event after another, the organisers arranged that a portion of an event was followed by a portion of the next and so on. You could see each event a number of times without getting tired of it as the action was changing every 10-15 minutes. It felt like everything was moving fast. The pace was fast with bullriding and bronco riding only lasting a maximum of 8 seconds per competitor. The horsemanship was great as cowboys chased steers, jumping off the horse to grapple the steer to the ground. It was intense and highly dangerous. One lad got thrown off a horse and landed head first into the ground. He did not move and got stretchered off to hospital.
For four hours the events kept rolling. These were preliminary rounds. The serious stuff would take place later in the week. Throughout the afternoon I kept thinking Dad would have loved this. The horses, the skill of the riders, the bulls, the danger, the adrenaline buzz. It was a real highlight. I got some great shaots and footage but the security settings on this PC won't let me post them. I'll try the next time.
When it finished I strolled back through town for a look around. I had a meal and a pint of 90 shilling in the old refurbished train station. Two pints and I would have been out of it!! I can't drink at all these days. Back to the room. The "Daddy of 'em all" was great.
Day 56: High Plains to Cheyenne (Sun 21 July)
Was uo before dawn but took a while to get out of town. I had a choice of routes to Cheyenne. The more adventurous involved following a gravel track across the Pawnee National grasslands into Wyoming along the route of an old disused railway line between Sterling and Cheyenne. This was a remote trek through rough terrain so I was in two minds about it. I could also follow the highway 80 miles west to Auton then head 40 miles North to Cheyenne. As it turned out fate would decide which route I would follow.
Two miles outside Sterling the sun began to rise and I rushed to get to the top of a ridge to get a good shot of the sun as it came up. In my haste to get to the top of the ridge I clattered into something sharp which punctured the rear tyre. After getting a shot of the sunrise I set about fixing the flat tyre. While I was patching the tube a local farmer came over to see if I needed help and said I could use a pump of his to inflate the tyre. Minutes later I set off again but a couple of mles down the road the tyre was flat again. The patch hadn't stuck. I patched it a second time but again the tyre went flat. I was using to much solution on the tube which meant the patch wouldn't stick. While I was patching it for a third time an old guy in a pick up truck stopped and offered me a lift to the next town. I accepted as I was getting frustrated and eaten by flies.
Bob Holsten was the driver's name. He was a pastor from Georgia who was visiting family in Colorado. This morning he was heading over to Fort Collins in the foothills of the Rockies to attend the baptism of a grandchild. We ended up chatting the whole way to Auton. He was curious to find out about me and where I was from and he told me about his background. About 20 miles from Auton I got my first glimpse of the Rockies. I could just about see a hazy outline in the distance, snowcapped under banks of clouds that followed the line of mountains to the north and South.
We stopped at a petrol station in Auton. We swapped contact details and then, before departing, Pastor Bob said a prayer of blessing over me. At first I feared I might get a fit of the giggles like when we were young when the angelus was being said. One sideways glance from Padraig, Gabe or Marie was sure to send us all of into a fit. Even Dad, at times got caught by those giggles!! Thankfully I remained pristine and holy on this occasion. To be honest, I didn't mind at all. Bob had just brought me 80 miles down the road and if his blessing kept me safe on the road and eased my journey then I was thankful to recieve it.
I set off North from Auton immaculate with a sparkling new halo and an angelic smile. It was close to 10am by now and the heat was beginning to rise. I wanted to push hard over the 40 miles through high plains to get to Cheyenne by early afternoon. Two miles down the road the wheel went flat again. With the amount of curses I heaped upon that wheel my new halo changed, in double quick time, from a pristine sparkle to a distinct shade of grey. The smile was nowhere to be seen. This time I took out a spare tube and soon enough I was rolling once more towards Cheyenne.
The road I was on formed the western boundary of the Pawnee National Grasslands which, I think, was reservation lands. This was all High Plains territory. With hardly a tree to be seen the landscape felt dry and empty, just parched grasslands all around. At an elevation of over 6,000ft and rising to 7,000ft the air here was fresher than in Kansas and the central plains.
About halfway from Sterling to Auton we had crossed an old cattle trail which pushed north into Wyoming and Montana from Texas. After the Civil war in the mid-1860s demand for beef from the eastern states had risen sharply. Increasing slaughter of the great buffalo herds had depleted their numbers. Texas ranchers, seeing great profits to be made in the east moved herds of cattle to fatten on the rich grasslands to the north. In the process replacing the buffalo.
The cattle trail cut across the tribal lands of the Cheyenne, Arapahoe, Crow, Shoshone and Dakota nations and did little to assuage the fears of the Indians upon whose lands more and more settlers were encroaching. Diminishing herds of buffalo only heightened the difficulties of the tribes. Amidst misleading and empty treaties with the military and Government the Indians were forced to rise. It was against this background that the Indian Wars erupted in the 1860's and 70's.
I got to Cheyenne around 2pm. By the time I got showered, got to a supermarket and had some food the afternoon was pushing on. I decided to stay on for a day, rest up for the evening and get out early tomorrow to see the famous rodeo.
Two miles outside Sterling the sun began to rise and I rushed to get to the top of a ridge to get a good shot of the sun as it came up. In my haste to get to the top of the ridge I clattered into something sharp which punctured the rear tyre. After getting a shot of the sunrise I set about fixing the flat tyre. While I was patching the tube a local farmer came over to see if I needed help and said I could use a pump of his to inflate the tyre. Minutes later I set off again but a couple of mles down the road the tyre was flat again. The patch hadn't stuck. I patched it a second time but again the tyre went flat. I was using to much solution on the tube which meant the patch wouldn't stick. While I was patching it for a third time an old guy in a pick up truck stopped and offered me a lift to the next town. I accepted as I was getting frustrated and eaten by flies.
Bob Holsten was the driver's name. He was a pastor from Georgia who was visiting family in Colorado. This morning he was heading over to Fort Collins in the foothills of the Rockies to attend the baptism of a grandchild. We ended up chatting the whole way to Auton. He was curious to find out about me and where I was from and he told me about his background. About 20 miles from Auton I got my first glimpse of the Rockies. I could just about see a hazy outline in the distance, snowcapped under banks of clouds that followed the line of mountains to the north and South.
We stopped at a petrol station in Auton. We swapped contact details and then, before departing, Pastor Bob said a prayer of blessing over me. At first I feared I might get a fit of the giggles like when we were young when the angelus was being said. One sideways glance from Padraig, Gabe or Marie was sure to send us all of into a fit. Even Dad, at times got caught by those giggles!! Thankfully I remained pristine and holy on this occasion. To be honest, I didn't mind at all. Bob had just brought me 80 miles down the road and if his blessing kept me safe on the road and eased my journey then I was thankful to recieve it.
I set off North from Auton immaculate with a sparkling new halo and an angelic smile. It was close to 10am by now and the heat was beginning to rise. I wanted to push hard over the 40 miles through high plains to get to Cheyenne by early afternoon. Two miles down the road the wheel went flat again. With the amount of curses I heaped upon that wheel my new halo changed, in double quick time, from a pristine sparkle to a distinct shade of grey. The smile was nowhere to be seen. This time I took out a spare tube and soon enough I was rolling once more towards Cheyenne.
The road I was on formed the western boundary of the Pawnee National Grasslands which, I think, was reservation lands. This was all High Plains territory. With hardly a tree to be seen the landscape felt dry and empty, just parched grasslands all around. At an elevation of over 6,000ft and rising to 7,000ft the air here was fresher than in Kansas and the central plains.
About halfway from Sterling to Auton we had crossed an old cattle trail which pushed north into Wyoming and Montana from Texas. After the Civil war in the mid-1860s demand for beef from the eastern states had risen sharply. Increasing slaughter of the great buffalo herds had depleted their numbers. Texas ranchers, seeing great profits to be made in the east moved herds of cattle to fatten on the rich grasslands to the north. In the process replacing the buffalo.
The cattle trail cut across the tribal lands of the Cheyenne, Arapahoe, Crow, Shoshone and Dakota nations and did little to assuage the fears of the Indians upon whose lands more and more settlers were encroaching. Diminishing herds of buffalo only heightened the difficulties of the tribes. Amidst misleading and empty treaties with the military and Government the Indians were forced to rise. It was against this background that the Indian Wars erupted in the 1860's and 70's.
I got to Cheyenne around 2pm. By the time I got showered, got to a supermarket and had some food the afternoon was pushing on. I decided to stay on for a day, rest up for the evening and get out early tomorrow to see the famous rodeo.
19.7.08
Day 55: Sterling (Sat 19th July)
I stayed in Sterling today. I am tired but also there's a local museum that is to be highly recommended. I decided to stay and go along for a look. There was supposed stuff on the history and culture of the Indians as well as a history of the town. To be honest it was only ok. There were artifacts there but nothing to tell you about the history or way of life so I was just looking at 'things'. What I did find out about the locality was outside the museum!! Sterling is another town built by the railway. Originally a small township of 12 families was established in the 1870's about 4 miles away from the present town. In 1881 the railway induced these families to come down and settle in a new town built for them which would act as a stop for the railway. Its now a major junction town and the big processing plants are here too.
This region of Northeast Colorado became renowned for the Cheyenne dog soldiers, a military elite within the Cheyenne nation. It was they who stood in the vanguard of resistance to the new settlers and the U.S. cavalry as major fighting broke out in the 1860's.
In the 1830's during a period of hostilities with the Kiowa tribe. At a war gathering a drunken brawl broke out which resulted in a death at the hands of the leader of the Dog soldiers, Porcubine Bear. Under Cheyenne conventions the leader and his followers were expelled from the society. The dog soldiers were disgraced within their own society were made to camp apart and in effect formed their own tribe. Their feats in battle however restored their honour and by the 1850s were afforded their former respect.
Through the 1860's the Dog soldiers raided throughout northern Kansas, southern Nebaska and eastern Colorado. They struck fear into settlers refusing to sign treaties with the military. However by the late 1860's the cavalry began to exert pressure on the guerilla tactics of the Cheyenne. In response to a series of raids in to Kansas the 5th Cavalry under a General Carr along with Pawnee mercenaries acting as scouts located the village of Tall Bull, surrounded it and attacked, massacering many. While the Cheyenne continued to resist into the 1870's the power of the Dog Soldiers was smashed. Small bands roamed but eventually resistance petered out. I'll be thinking of those guys tomorrow as I make my way up to Cheyenne in Wyoming. There's a big rodeo and frontier show on all this week so I'm going up for a look.
This region of Northeast Colorado became renowned for the Cheyenne dog soldiers, a military elite within the Cheyenne nation. It was they who stood in the vanguard of resistance to the new settlers and the U.S. cavalry as major fighting broke out in the 1860's.
In the 1830's during a period of hostilities with the Kiowa tribe. At a war gathering a drunken brawl broke out which resulted in a death at the hands of the leader of the Dog soldiers, Porcubine Bear. Under Cheyenne conventions the leader and his followers were expelled from the society. The dog soldiers were disgraced within their own society were made to camp apart and in effect formed their own tribe. Their feats in battle however restored their honour and by the 1850s were afforded their former respect.
Through the 1860's the Dog soldiers raided throughout northern Kansas, southern Nebaska and eastern Colorado. They struck fear into settlers refusing to sign treaties with the military. However by the late 1860's the cavalry began to exert pressure on the guerilla tactics of the Cheyenne. In response to a series of raids in to Kansas the 5th Cavalry under a General Carr along with Pawnee mercenaries acting as scouts located the village of Tall Bull, surrounded it and attacked, massacering many. While the Cheyenne continued to resist into the 1870's the power of the Dog Soldiers was smashed. Small bands roamed but eventually resistance petered out. I'll be thinking of those guys tomorrow as I make my way up to Cheyenne in Wyoming. There's a big rodeo and frontier show on all this week so I'm going up for a look.
Day 54: To Sterling (Fri 18th July)
An easy day today, only 50 miles to Sterling. I can afford an extra hour lie in and still reach Sterling by 10.30. I was surprised yesterday to see that Holyoke sits at over 3,700ft. Thats over 700ft higher than the highest point I crossed in Pennsylvania. 17 miles down the road at Haxton the elevation is over 4,000ft.
This morning each of the towns I pass has its own processing plant. Land alternates between grassland and Crops. Gradually the crops petered out and then disapeared altogether. The landscape changed abruptly to grassy scrubland. It looked untouched, poor and barren. This must have been how it looked before the settlers came. That made me think wow I really am looking over a landscape as it was when the Plains indians roamed the land. From the tiny village of Fleming down to Sterling I spent the time looking around going Wow!! I got to Sterling just after 10.30.
This morning each of the towns I pass has its own processing plant. Land alternates between grassland and Crops. Gradually the crops petered out and then disapeared altogether. The landscape changed abruptly to grassy scrubland. It looked untouched, poor and barren. This must have been how it looked before the settlers came. That made me think wow I really am looking over a landscape as it was when the Plains indians roamed the land. From the tiny village of Fleming down to Sterling I spent the time looking around going Wow!! I got to Sterling just after 10.30.
Day 53: Mountain Time (Thurs 17th July)
On the road by 5.30. It wasn't dark for very long this morning due to the later start. The roads in this part of Nebraska are really quiet. Its a very isolated corner of the state but, as with many remote communities the people are very friendly. Everybody waves and says hello in these parts. When I stop to take a photo motorists stop to ask if I need assistance. The impression I get is of lovely, lovely people. I stop for a breakfast of pancakes in a small town called palisade. Every time the lady who runs the Diner comes over to ask if I need anything she thanks me before moving on.
From Palisade its 35 miles to Imperial. The road follows a shallow valley called Frenchmans valley along which flows frenchmans creek. The valley is bounded on either side by low hills that look very like grassy sand dunes. I follow this valley up to Imperial. After about 14 miles I reach a sign that says I'm entering the Mountain time zone. I'm now 7hrs behind home. Just one more time zone to go!! A mile or two before Imperial another trucker pulls a stunt on me. I'm beginning to hate truckers.
Imperial is a small town but by the looks of it is an important grain processing centre for the area. I sat down for 20 mins in a petrol station & chatted to four auld lads. They found the idea of the trip hilarious and when they found out where I was from the gave each other kowing looks. "Mmmm.. that explains it!!" I drank three bottles of water, milk and juice at that stop. I tend to drink 7-8 litres a day at the moment.
The last leg of the day was 37 miles to Holyoke in Colorado & I was expecting it to get hot. Thankfully it clouded over & kept the temperature in the mid-80's. There was nothing on this stretch of road except field after field of crops, nothing else. When I reached the state line I was delighted and the last 13 miles into Holyoke were a doddle. Today I topped 100 miles. It was a good day.
I'm now in the western High plains. On these plains the buffalo were hunted by the Cheyenne and Arapahoe who frequently united to fight against their enemies the Comanche, Kiowas and Apaches. When the western migration of pioneer settlers began in the 1830's the lands here were overlooked as they were considered too poor and barren. However by the 1870's when the railway passed through towns began to appear along its line. With the promise of free rail passage and cheap land settlers began to populate the region. Holyoke itself was established in the 1880's as the local headquarters of the railway. Today a large grain processing plant overlooks the town.
From Palisade its 35 miles to Imperial. The road follows a shallow valley called Frenchmans valley along which flows frenchmans creek. The valley is bounded on either side by low hills that look very like grassy sand dunes. I follow this valley up to Imperial. After about 14 miles I reach a sign that says I'm entering the Mountain time zone. I'm now 7hrs behind home. Just one more time zone to go!! A mile or two before Imperial another trucker pulls a stunt on me. I'm beginning to hate truckers.
Imperial is a small town but by the looks of it is an important grain processing centre for the area. I sat down for 20 mins in a petrol station & chatted to four auld lads. They found the idea of the trip hilarious and when they found out where I was from the gave each other kowing looks. "Mmmm.. that explains it!!" I drank three bottles of water, milk and juice at that stop. I tend to drink 7-8 litres a day at the moment.
The last leg of the day was 37 miles to Holyoke in Colorado & I was expecting it to get hot. Thankfully it clouded over & kept the temperature in the mid-80's. There was nothing on this stretch of road except field after field of crops, nothing else. When I reached the state line I was delighted and the last 13 miles into Holyoke were a doddle. Today I topped 100 miles. It was a good day.
I'm now in the western High plains. On these plains the buffalo were hunted by the Cheyenne and Arapahoe who frequently united to fight against their enemies the Comanche, Kiowas and Apaches. When the western migration of pioneer settlers began in the 1830's the lands here were overlooked as they were considered too poor and barren. However by the 1870's when the railway passed through towns began to appear along its line. With the promise of free rail passage and cheap land settlers began to populate the region. Holyoke itself was established in the 1880's as the local headquarters of the railway. Today a large grain processing plant overlooks the town.
Day 52: Goodbye to Kansas (Wed 16th July)
This is it down to business. Awake at 4am, on the road by 5.10. Its still dark, the sun won't be up for the best part of an hour. Fireflies light up here and there as I pass by as if in reponse to my own torch. There is no traffic on the road. As the light increases and dawn breaks it feels magical. I watch a great sunrise. With less weight its much easier on the road. I pass signposts for Stuttgart and then Dresden. It can be easy to get a bit disoriented on the roads out here. After 30 miles I arrive in Norton for a break. I'm making good time. 20 mins later I'm back on the road. There's definitely new resolve in the legs today.
The landscape has changed today. It doesn't feel as vast. It has closed in a bit and sometimes you feel as if you're high up until you crest the next ridge. I see a few animals I haven't encountered before. Not long after dawn a prarie dog saunters across the road in front of me. In places swarms of large grasshoppers sit on the road. A small deer thinks about crossing the road, sees me and then bounds back into some bushes. I see two trucks approaching and then one of them decides to pass out the other, swerves into my side of the road and absolutely blasts past closeby. You can think up your own worst insult for someone and you can be assured I was thinking something similar.
By 10.50 I was in Oberlin for a food stop. This is where I leave route 36 and turn North onto route 83 for the last 27 miles to McCook in Nebraska. I've been following route 36 since Indianapolis so Oberlin serves as a marker for another phase of the journey. After some food I take a quick look into Oberlin which brands itself as the site of the last Indian raid in Kansas in 1878. Curious to find out more I went to the local museum but it was closed. The town itself was another 'cowboy town' type with one long street of the Kansas shopfronts. The street was cobbled which was an unusual sight out here.
I didn't hang about to long as the temperatures were set to rise into the mid-nineties and I wanted to get to McCook before the real heat kicked in. I headed north with a 20mph southerly tailwind behind me. This was great. The temperature was hot but who cares. The sun was on my back and I was flying. Two hours later I was at McCook. With over 90 miles and a new state entered this new regime was starting well. Hopefully it continues. Tomorrow brings a long haul to Holyoke in Colorado.
The landscape has changed today. It doesn't feel as vast. It has closed in a bit and sometimes you feel as if you're high up until you crest the next ridge. I see a few animals I haven't encountered before. Not long after dawn a prarie dog saunters across the road in front of me. In places swarms of large grasshoppers sit on the road. A small deer thinks about crossing the road, sees me and then bounds back into some bushes. I see two trucks approaching and then one of them decides to pass out the other, swerves into my side of the road and absolutely blasts past closeby. You can think up your own worst insult for someone and you can be assured I was thinking something similar.
By 10.50 I was in Oberlin for a food stop. This is where I leave route 36 and turn North onto route 83 for the last 27 miles to McCook in Nebraska. I've been following route 36 since Indianapolis so Oberlin serves as a marker for another phase of the journey. After some food I take a quick look into Oberlin which brands itself as the site of the last Indian raid in Kansas in 1878. Curious to find out more I went to the local museum but it was closed. The town itself was another 'cowboy town' type with one long street of the Kansas shopfronts. The street was cobbled which was an unusual sight out here.
I didn't hang about to long as the temperatures were set to rise into the mid-nineties and I wanted to get to McCook before the real heat kicked in. I headed north with a 20mph southerly tailwind behind me. This was great. The temperature was hot but who cares. The sun was on my back and I was flying. Two hours later I was at McCook. With over 90 miles and a new state entered this new regime was starting well. Hopefully it continues. Tomorrow brings a long haul to Holyoke in Colorado.
18.7.08
Day 51: To Phillipsburg (Tues 15th July)
I wanted to get up early to get ahead of the heat but I slept in and didn't leave Smith Center until 9.40. It felt like late afternoon. Today I'm now making only a short hop of 30 miles to Phillipsburg. I'm making this a turning point. I'll get there early, sort my gear & send most of it to california. With a lighter load I should make better progress faster. This will hopefully bring about a better attitude, make it easier to hit 90 miles & in turn raise confidence & morale because I do feel I'm struggling.
As I leave Smith Center there's hardly a cloud in the sky. It feels like I'm going out in to a vast sea. The landscape just spreads away in all directions. I'm beginning to see just how large these plains really are. If I could describe how it looked. Imagine looking out over the ocean on a calm, still day. There are no waves, no ripples on the surface, just gentle swells undulating over the water as it stretches to a distant horizon. Now, transplant that image on to land, add light shades of green with mottled patches of yellow for the grasslands. Off in the distance add tracts of gold for stands of wheat and darkgreens hitting the horizon where sweetecorn is growing. There are very few buildings. Here or there an isolated homestead is seen occasionally or maybe on old abandoned farmhouse. Above is an empty sky blue. Its very warm and humid. The temperature is 35c . It is quiet. All you can hear is the breeze which rustles through the grass. Every so often a car or lorry races by breaking the peace. On the breeze you can smell the warm grasses, a bit like the smell of hayfields on a hot day at home. Occasionally you get the sweet scent of an unknown flower nearby. Picture a grey road that runs across these undulating plains straight into the distance. If you can hold that picture in your imagination for a moment or two then, in your own mind, you will be very close to this part of northern Kansas.
I got to Phillipsburg around 12.30. Got a box for my stuff, packed it up and posted it to California. The heat this afternoon became opressive, over 40c. I'm glad I stopped when I did. Walking through town & back to the room was enough for me. Phillipsburg is nice enough. A small town with a defined centre. A town square huddled around a courthouse. The shopfronts show a now familiar Kansas style.
As I leave Smith Center there's hardly a cloud in the sky. It feels like I'm going out in to a vast sea. The landscape just spreads away in all directions. I'm beginning to see just how large these plains really are. If I could describe how it looked. Imagine looking out over the ocean on a calm, still day. There are no waves, no ripples on the surface, just gentle swells undulating over the water as it stretches to a distant horizon. Now, transplant that image on to land, add light shades of green with mottled patches of yellow for the grasslands. Off in the distance add tracts of gold for stands of wheat and darkgreens hitting the horizon where sweetecorn is growing. There are very few buildings. Here or there an isolated homestead is seen occasionally or maybe on old abandoned farmhouse. Above is an empty sky blue. Its very warm and humid. The temperature is 35c . It is quiet. All you can hear is the breeze which rustles through the grass. Every so often a car or lorry races by breaking the peace. On the breeze you can smell the warm grasses, a bit like the smell of hayfields on a hot day at home. Occasionally you get the sweet scent of an unknown flower nearby. Picture a grey road that runs across these undulating plains straight into the distance. If you can hold that picture in your imagination for a moment or two then, in your own mind, you will be very close to this part of northern Kansas.
I got to Phillipsburg around 12.30. Got a box for my stuff, packed it up and posted it to California. The heat this afternoon became opressive, over 40c. I'm glad I stopped when I did. Walking through town & back to the room was enough for me. Phillipsburg is nice enough. A small town with a defined centre. A town square huddled around a courthouse. The shopfronts show a now familiar Kansas style.
Day 50: The Geographic centre (Mon 14th July)
On the road for 6.30am. An absolutely beautiful morning. Caught a gorgeous sunrise as I left town. The air was really cool this morning, almost chilly. I enjoyed it though, as the forecast was for mid-90's an 25mph winds. There wasn't a cloud in the sky so the day would heat up fast.
The first 31 miles to Mankato went by fine. The land looked vast in the early morning sun. At one point, while mulling over my top 7 greatest football matches, I was taken out of my daydream by the cry of an eagle. I looked around and saw an eagle flying parallel to me being chased by a small bird. The little fellah would land on the eagle's back and peck at his neck before breaking away. The eagle landed on a telegraph pole 50m ahead of me and watched as I cycled towards it. Just as I got close to the eagle it cried out again and flew off, back the way it came.
It was quiet on the road today, not much traffic. I stopped for 20 mins at Mankato, a small village and had some drinks before heading on. About 10.30 the winds rose and so did the heat. 20 miles down the road I stopped to read an information sign. It told me I was very close to the geographic centre of America. The actual point was about three miles away just outside the village of Lebanon. As the crow flies I am 1,603 miles from both Boston & San Francisco. To be honest I was gutted. I really thought I'd gone further than that. Fair Play Mike G you were spot on. If I hadn't stopped the extra days that I did last week I'd have passed that spot on Saturday. You were bang on.
12 miles down the road was Smith center. That last stretch was tough and by the time I rolled into town my energy was low. I stopped & ate in a small Diner where the lady who owned the place told me she was a McLoughlin. I didn't enquire any further!! I went ot to the road to continue on but I still felt very tired. The heat was strong by now as well. I think I was a bit deflated by that half-way sign I'd seen earlier. With the winds whipping up I took the easy option & stayed in Smith Center.
I'm disappointed I stopped but if I don't regulate my energy levels I'm in trouble. I've mucked up my schedule for the next few days so I 'm now checking the maps to reroute myself slightly to suit the daily mileages.
The first 31 miles to Mankato went by fine. The land looked vast in the early morning sun. At one point, while mulling over my top 7 greatest football matches, I was taken out of my daydream by the cry of an eagle. I looked around and saw an eagle flying parallel to me being chased by a small bird. The little fellah would land on the eagle's back and peck at his neck before breaking away. The eagle landed on a telegraph pole 50m ahead of me and watched as I cycled towards it. Just as I got close to the eagle it cried out again and flew off, back the way it came.
It was quiet on the road today, not much traffic. I stopped for 20 mins at Mankato, a small village and had some drinks before heading on. About 10.30 the winds rose and so did the heat. 20 miles down the road I stopped to read an information sign. It told me I was very close to the geographic centre of America. The actual point was about three miles away just outside the village of Lebanon. As the crow flies I am 1,603 miles from both Boston & San Francisco. To be honest I was gutted. I really thought I'd gone further than that. Fair Play Mike G you were spot on. If I hadn't stopped the extra days that I did last week I'd have passed that spot on Saturday. You were bang on.
12 miles down the road was Smith center. That last stretch was tough and by the time I rolled into town my energy was low. I stopped & ate in a small Diner where the lady who owned the place told me she was a McLoughlin. I didn't enquire any further!! I went ot to the road to continue on but I still felt very tired. The heat was strong by now as well. I think I was a bit deflated by that half-way sign I'd seen earlier. With the winds whipping up I took the easy option & stayed in Smith Center.
I'm disappointed I stopped but if I don't regulate my energy levels I'm in trouble. I've mucked up my schedule for the next few days so I 'm now checking the maps to reroute myself slightly to suit the daily mileages.
Day 49: Bellevue Sun 13th July
Woke up at 5am this morning very tired. Had breakfast but felt totally listless. Should have gone on the road and done at least 60 but simply went back to sleep. I feel bad about that but did feel tired all day. Ended up watching, of all films, the Good the Bad & the ugly. All in all it was a lazy day.
15.7.08
Day 48: To Bellevue (Sat 12th July)
I set off from Seneca at 6.45 am. This morning I have a stiff northeasterly breeze blowing over my right shoulder. THe temperature and humidity is down a lot from yesterday as a cold front moved in overnight. If these conditions last I'll fly today.
I spin along happily. The only thing to dampen my enthusiasm is a large bank of dark clouds that appear approaching from the north. Down the road a storm breaks out to the northast. I stop and watch lightning fizz down about 5 miles away. Then I see another set of lightning due north. I hesitate, waiting to see what happens, unsure if the clouds now over me are going to kick off with something. It became quite dark. I spent the next 45 mins stopping & starting watching the clouds, waiting for a storm that never came. I could see clearer skies a couple of mile away so I pushed down the road, getting caught in a brief cloudburst as I pushed through the front edge of the stormfront.
From here to Marysville, 20 miles down the road I had an easy, carefree ride, wathching the odd storm to the South and enjoying the breeze at my back. I stopped at an old 50's diner in Marysville for food & ended up stating for over an hour. I left under heavy rain as heavy, leadn skies closed in. For the next two hours to Washington the rain tipped down. To be honest it was fine. There was no wind, it was cool and the cycling was easy. I was in a comfort zone, it was like home. To be honest the whole day felt easy. It was an enjoyable day. I was able to do 90 miles without digging into reserves. In the cool temperatures my energy wasn't being drained.
The countryside was really nice. The plains really opened today. It was easy to imagine the vast herds of buffalo that used to roam these lands and the Pawnee, Cheyenne and Sioux tribes whose way of life depended upon them. In places there were no fields as such, just an expanse of grassland, interrupted here and there by isolated stands of trees. The lands just rolled away into a far horizon. In the afternoon the skies cleared and the sun came out. The air was still fresh after the earlier downpour. I was able to stop for a break on a side road without looking up at the sky and wondering what would happen (I seem to have done a lot of that on the trip). By late afternoon I rolled in to Bellevue. I got a cheap room, happy after a good day on the road.
I spin along happily. The only thing to dampen my enthusiasm is a large bank of dark clouds that appear approaching from the north. Down the road a storm breaks out to the northast. I stop and watch lightning fizz down about 5 miles away. Then I see another set of lightning due north. I hesitate, waiting to see what happens, unsure if the clouds now over me are going to kick off with something. It became quite dark. I spent the next 45 mins stopping & starting watching the clouds, waiting for a storm that never came. I could see clearer skies a couple of mile away so I pushed down the road, getting caught in a brief cloudburst as I pushed through the front edge of the stormfront.
From here to Marysville, 20 miles down the road I had an easy, carefree ride, wathching the odd storm to the South and enjoying the breeze at my back. I stopped at an old 50's diner in Marysville for food & ended up stating for over an hour. I left under heavy rain as heavy, leadn skies closed in. For the next two hours to Washington the rain tipped down. To be honest it was fine. There was no wind, it was cool and the cycling was easy. I was in a comfort zone, it was like home. To be honest the whole day felt easy. It was an enjoyable day. I was able to do 90 miles without digging into reserves. In the cool temperatures my energy wasn't being drained.
The countryside was really nice. The plains really opened today. It was easy to imagine the vast herds of buffalo that used to roam these lands and the Pawnee, Cheyenne and Sioux tribes whose way of life depended upon them. In places there were no fields as such, just an expanse of grassland, interrupted here and there by isolated stands of trees. The lands just rolled away into a far horizon. In the afternoon the skies cleared and the sun came out. The air was still fresh after the earlier downpour. I was able to stop for a break on a side road without looking up at the sky and wondering what would happen (I seem to have done a lot of that on the trip). By late afternoon I rolled in to Bellevue. I got a cheap room, happy after a good day on the road.
Day 47: Into the Wild West Fri 11th July
Got out early, just after 6. Had to cross from the northeast of St Joe to the southwest to pick up route 36 so it took a while to get out of town. I crossed the Missouri river & passed into Kansas. I'm now in the old Wild West. To the South is Kansas City, to the southwest is Dodge City of Wyatt Earp fame. I am following the northern branch of the Oregan Trail which brought new settlers and gold prospectors to California & the West Coast. The Mormons who settled in Salt Lake city followed a more northerly route as their was a lot of fear & hostility towards 'Gods chosen Ones' as they made for their earthly paradise in the desert. Incidentally, Salt Lake City is supposed to be the safest city in the States!!! I'll might find out for myself in a few weeks. I am also following the first 100 miles of the Pony express route as far as Marysville. So its a route full of historic echoes and, I think, a good route to follow.
A few miles down the road I passed through a small town called Wathena. It was named in honour of a local indian chief of the Kickapoo tribe. Shortly afterwards I passed through a town called Troy. On this occasion I can guarantee you it was no epic.
After 40 miles I stopped for a break at Hiawatha. To be Fair, who's making up the names of these places?? What must it be like for the locals of Hiawatha. What must it be like to follow their football team. Can you imagine the chants on the terraces at those matches! After a 20 min break at Hiawatha I set off again. The wind was blowing from the South veering Southwest and gusting up to 25mph which felt quite strong at times.
Today trucks were blasting past on the road and coming very close. Usually trucks move over into the other lane to pass me but, since I entered Missouri, a lot of trucks fly past just inches away and leave you struggling to control the bike. Just outside Hiawatha a truck blasted past so close I thought I was going to get sucked under the wheels. It was quite scary. Quite a few expletives wafted on the breeze in the wake of that particular fuc... I mean trucker. Many times today I got blasted by trucks but that was the scariest.
At this point the winds had veered and were blowing from the Southwest. At times it became a struggle to keep the bike upright. Sometimes you could feel an almost audible slap in the face as the wind suddenly gusted. All around the landscape was becoming recognisably that of the plains. More and more of the land was grazing land, open undulating grasslands, with few trees, a contrast to the vast feels of crops I'd seen in other states.
Along a stretch of road I met a cyclist heading East. We stopped and chatted for a few minutes. The lad was from Denver, heading for Illinois. I didn't catch his name but I presume it was John. He too was finding the wind tough and was getting buffetted by the trucks. The hardest thing he found was the humidity, not being used to it in the fresher mountain airs of Colorado. This was good to hear, the thought of cool clear air to the west will keep me going for a bit. We let each other know what the road ahead was like and then bade farewell.
I reached a town called Seneca just after 2pm. I'd done 70 miles but by now the temperature was into the mid-90's & coupled with the humidity and strong winds I decided to stop for the day in order to conserve some energy.
Seneca is a small town, its old town set back from the highway away from the commercial district where I was staying. It has that classic cowboy feel to it. An old western street with all the old buildings you'd see in the old westerns. In the evening I went up to to have a wee look but I forgot to bring the camera. A ruby red sun was dropping into the distant horizon as I rode slowly into town. The street was deserted, the locals quietly dispersed as this stranger, a man with no name moved menacingly down the centre of the road. A sign over the empty general store squeeked noisily in the breeze. I glanced to either side, my jawline set, hard as granite, a half-chewed cigar in the corner of my mouth, my two waterbottles ready, full to the brim. You could almost here faint echoes of the them tune to the Good, the Bad & the ugly drifting lightly on the wind. Hard as nails I made for the Saloon. Just then a big f####n dog ran out after me. It spoiled the whole thing, ruined it. I dropped the bike & ran.
A few miles down the road I passed through a small town called Wathena. It was named in honour of a local indian chief of the Kickapoo tribe. Shortly afterwards I passed through a town called Troy. On this occasion I can guarantee you it was no epic.
After 40 miles I stopped for a break at Hiawatha. To be Fair, who's making up the names of these places?? What must it be like for the locals of Hiawatha. What must it be like to follow their football team. Can you imagine the chants on the terraces at those matches! After a 20 min break at Hiawatha I set off again. The wind was blowing from the South veering Southwest and gusting up to 25mph which felt quite strong at times.
Today trucks were blasting past on the road and coming very close. Usually trucks move over into the other lane to pass me but, since I entered Missouri, a lot of trucks fly past just inches away and leave you struggling to control the bike. Just outside Hiawatha a truck blasted past so close I thought I was going to get sucked under the wheels. It was quite scary. Quite a few expletives wafted on the breeze in the wake of that particular fuc... I mean trucker. Many times today I got blasted by trucks but that was the scariest.
At this point the winds had veered and were blowing from the Southwest. At times it became a struggle to keep the bike upright. Sometimes you could feel an almost audible slap in the face as the wind suddenly gusted. All around the landscape was becoming recognisably that of the plains. More and more of the land was grazing land, open undulating grasslands, with few trees, a contrast to the vast feels of crops I'd seen in other states.
Along a stretch of road I met a cyclist heading East. We stopped and chatted for a few minutes. The lad was from Denver, heading for Illinois. I didn't catch his name but I presume it was John. He too was finding the wind tough and was getting buffetted by the trucks. The hardest thing he found was the humidity, not being used to it in the fresher mountain airs of Colorado. This was good to hear, the thought of cool clear air to the west will keep me going for a bit. We let each other know what the road ahead was like and then bade farewell.
I reached a town called Seneca just after 2pm. I'd done 70 miles but by now the temperature was into the mid-90's & coupled with the humidity and strong winds I decided to stop for the day in order to conserve some energy.
Seneca is a small town, its old town set back from the highway away from the commercial district where I was staying. It has that classic cowboy feel to it. An old western street with all the old buildings you'd see in the old westerns. In the evening I went up to to have a wee look but I forgot to bring the camera. A ruby red sun was dropping into the distant horizon as I rode slowly into town. The street was deserted, the locals quietly dispersed as this stranger, a man with no name moved menacingly down the centre of the road. A sign over the empty general store squeeked noisily in the breeze. I glanced to either side, my jawline set, hard as granite, a half-chewed cigar in the corner of my mouth, my two waterbottles ready, full to the brim. You could almost here faint echoes of the them tune to the Good, the Bad & the ugly drifting lightly on the wind. Hard as nails I made for the Saloon. Just then a big f####n dog ran out after me. It spoiled the whole thing, ruined it. I dropped the bike & ran.
Projected route
Hi, Thomas. Great to hear from you. A few people have asked about what route I will follow. This is what I plan to do (although it seems anytime I tell somebody what the plan is for the next few days it invariably changes. I don't think this will change too much.) I'm currently in Phillipsburg, Kansas. (I know Padraig, I said I'd be in Mt Cook by now). I hope to get to Oberlin & then turn North for Mt Cook in Nebraska. From there to Holyoke, Colorado, to Stirling & Fort Collins, also Colorado. Then North to Laramie in Southern Wyoming & back in to Colorado at Walden. From Walden I cross the Rockies to Steamboat Springs & pick up Route 40 West & hit Dinosaur on the Utah border. In to Utah I follow Ely, & Vernal towards Salt Lake City. Into Nevada I head for Reno then Sacramento, California and then straight for the coast north of San Francisco, afterwards stopping off in Calistoga for the sky blues first game of the season with Damian Gilheany. That route is from memory so I'm a bit hazy on some of the locations, I hope thats ok.
9.7.08
Update on the Amish
The Amish fascinated me back in Pennsylvania but I soon discovered they have competition....... The Menonites!!! One day I pulled in to a farm that was selling fresh fruit & veg and home cooking etc. When I went in to the little shed where the farmer's wife had set up a stall I thought by her costume & looks that she was Amish. So after picking out and paying for what I wanted, I decided to see if I could find out some more about this little fascination of mine.
I asked the lady if this was an Amish farm?? My God!! the woman looked disgusted. No, she pursed her lips and shook her head. She fixed me with a cold eye. 'We're not Amish, we're Menonites!!!. Jaysus, this sounded dangerous. It appeared I had offended her. I asked her what the difference between the two was? She shrugged "There are certain doctrinal differences!!"..... 'O.K.??' ..... "The Amish drive wagons but we drive cars." Sure enough, there was a cadillac and a chevy in the driveway, an S.U.V. round the side. Ahh!! mysterious but....., I think I get it. The Menonites are Amish but with Bling, Bling!! The Amish live quite simple austere lives, but the Menonites are high rollers. Cars, gold chains etc.........Doctrinal differences!. While the Amish till the soil, the Menonites do cribs & pimp my ride. I should have known. The signs on the road that pointed the way to the farm were all bright blinking neon. It was easy to spot Menonite farmers for the next few days. They were the ones with gold teeth and medallions, waving to me and shouting "Yo man, keep it real!!" Apparently MC Hammer is big with the Menonites. Give me the Amish any day.
I asked the lady if this was an Amish farm?? My God!! the woman looked disgusted. No, she pursed her lips and shook her head. She fixed me with a cold eye. 'We're not Amish, we're Menonites!!!. Jaysus, this sounded dangerous. It appeared I had offended her. I asked her what the difference between the two was? She shrugged "There are certain doctrinal differences!!"..... 'O.K.??' ..... "The Amish drive wagons but we drive cars." Sure enough, there was a cadillac and a chevy in the driveway, an S.U.V. round the side. Ahh!! mysterious but....., I think I get it. The Menonites are Amish but with Bling, Bling!! The Amish live quite simple austere lives, but the Menonites are high rollers. Cars, gold chains etc.........Doctrinal differences!. While the Amish till the soil, the Menonites do cribs & pimp my ride. I should have known. The signs on the road that pointed the way to the farm were all bright blinking neon. It was easy to spot Menonite farmers for the next few days. They were the ones with gold teeth and medallions, waving to me and shouting "Yo man, keep it real!!" Apparently MC Hammer is big with the Menonites. Give me the Amish any day.
10 Things about america
The following are little quirks I've noticed about the U.S. which I haven't seen at home.
1: People don't walk much over here. Everybody seems to drive and so, a lot of things are geared towards car usage. I'm used to walking or cycling through a town and hardly meeting anybody walking on the streets.
2: Drive through Banks, pharmacies, off-licences & grocery stores. WE're familiar with drive-thru takeaways but I think the drive through banks are gas. Very handy when you're in a car. I went to one with Rich.
3: Yard Sales. I saw loads of these in the east, not so many since I entered Illinois but the settlements are so scattered here. We used to have jumble sales when we were young but its ange since I last saw one.
4: RV's: Recreational vehicles. These are amazing. Normally at home we use the car to tow the caravan. Here, the caravan, which can be the size of a coach tows the S.U.V. These things are enormous. I'd love to see the inside of some of them.
5: Prices. Prices are advertised but the Govt tax isn't included. When you go to pay its added on so you pay more than the advertised price. That annoyed me in the first weeks. It felt like Ryanair on a grand scale.
6: Dead animals. The amount of dead animals on the road is unreal. & the size of some of them!! To smell them is a common daily occurrence. I can now smell the difference between rotten racoon and rotten deer now. One sight was very sad. Last Sunday I rode past a mother racoon and three dead cubs laid out around her. It looked deliberate & I actually got angry when I saw it. I gave up counting all the different kinds of dead animals. So far I've only seen one dead dog!!
7: Grave yards. Most of the grave yards here are by the roadside so I've seen a lot by now. The cemetries here actually feel very dignified. They are very simple engraved headstones that mark the graves. Thats all the decoration. The rest is all very neatly cropped grass which makes the, mostly, non-denominational cemeteries very quiet & dignified. A contrast to the way we view the ging-hoAmerican lifestyle! Its also a contrast to our own graveyards at home which can often have loud, gaudy grave sites, and, if there are a few traveller graves in the place make feel almost like Las Vegas!!
8:The weather. Since I got here the weather has all been about extremes. Heatwaves at first in the East. Tornados and flooding in the mid-West. Now heatwaves and bushfires in the West. Hurricanes in the South. Different world. Did I mention the humidity??
9: Directions. I have begun to wonder if people in America know much about the region in which they live? because the amount of times I've asked directions and the people either don't know what to say or the directions are completely out. 'How far is it to such-and-such?'. "About 25 mins" 'What?? no, how far is it miles??' "oh I don't know" That is the most common form of directions I've been getting. One girl told me it was about 15 mins to a place......It was 50 miles. I tend to have on overall idea on a daily basis but on the road I keep every thing packed away.
Until Missouri I found road signs almost useless. They were so infrequent, didn't display mileage, often they displayed the same mileage as one I'd passed a couple miles back. Jaysus... You'd want to have seen the temper on that stretch of road. Some road signs just didn't know what hit them!! There's quite a lot of road signs now lying down between Massachusetts and West Virginia!!
10: The Politics. Its funny to see the local sentiments towards Iraq etc. I know people are generally against the war here but there's a lot of people for it. There's so many slogans of "support the troops" etc. It all feels gung-ho in that respect. The soldiers are fighting for American freedom and Liberty..... etc. What??? Lads, thats not what Europe & the rest of the world are thinking!! One politician is calling for Iraq to pay for its freedom in petrol..... cheap petrol for America!! Freedom & Liberty how are ya!! Petrol here ranges from about $3.95 to $4.20 per gallon on average. The equivalent at home, per gallon I'm told is $6, higher in the UK and higher again in many parts of Europe. Freedom & Liberty??? There's plenty more but We'll leave it at that.
1: People don't walk much over here. Everybody seems to drive and so, a lot of things are geared towards car usage. I'm used to walking or cycling through a town and hardly meeting anybody walking on the streets.
2: Drive through Banks, pharmacies, off-licences & grocery stores. WE're familiar with drive-thru takeaways but I think the drive through banks are gas. Very handy when you're in a car. I went to one with Rich.
3: Yard Sales. I saw loads of these in the east, not so many since I entered Illinois but the settlements are so scattered here. We used to have jumble sales when we were young but its ange since I last saw one.
4: RV's: Recreational vehicles. These are amazing. Normally at home we use the car to tow the caravan. Here, the caravan, which can be the size of a coach tows the S.U.V. These things are enormous. I'd love to see the inside of some of them.
5: Prices. Prices are advertised but the Govt tax isn't included. When you go to pay its added on so you pay more than the advertised price. That annoyed me in the first weeks. It felt like Ryanair on a grand scale.
6: Dead animals. The amount of dead animals on the road is unreal. & the size of some of them!! To smell them is a common daily occurrence. I can now smell the difference between rotten racoon and rotten deer now. One sight was very sad. Last Sunday I rode past a mother racoon and three dead cubs laid out around her. It looked deliberate & I actually got angry when I saw it. I gave up counting all the different kinds of dead animals. So far I've only seen one dead dog!!
7: Grave yards. Most of the grave yards here are by the roadside so I've seen a lot by now. The cemetries here actually feel very dignified. They are very simple engraved headstones that mark the graves. Thats all the decoration. The rest is all very neatly cropped grass which makes the, mostly, non-denominational cemeteries very quiet & dignified. A contrast to the way we view the ging-hoAmerican lifestyle! Its also a contrast to our own graveyards at home which can often have loud, gaudy grave sites, and, if there are a few traveller graves in the place make feel almost like Las Vegas!!
8:The weather. Since I got here the weather has all been about extremes. Heatwaves at first in the East. Tornados and flooding in the mid-West. Now heatwaves and bushfires in the West. Hurricanes in the South. Different world. Did I mention the humidity??
9: Directions. I have begun to wonder if people in America know much about the region in which they live? because the amount of times I've asked directions and the people either don't know what to say or the directions are completely out. 'How far is it to such-and-such?'. "About 25 mins" 'What?? no, how far is it miles??' "oh I don't know" That is the most common form of directions I've been getting. One girl told me it was about 15 mins to a place......It was 50 miles. I tend to have on overall idea on a daily basis but on the road I keep every thing packed away.
Until Missouri I found road signs almost useless. They were so infrequent, didn't display mileage, often they displayed the same mileage as one I'd passed a couple miles back. Jaysus... You'd want to have seen the temper on that stretch of road. Some road signs just didn't know what hit them!! There's quite a lot of road signs now lying down between Massachusetts and West Virginia!!
10: The Politics. Its funny to see the local sentiments towards Iraq etc. I know people are generally against the war here but there's a lot of people for it. There's so many slogans of "support the troops" etc. It all feels gung-ho in that respect. The soldiers are fighting for American freedom and Liberty..... etc. What??? Lads, thats not what Europe & the rest of the world are thinking!! One politician is calling for Iraq to pay for its freedom in petrol..... cheap petrol for America!! Freedom & Liberty how are ya!! Petrol here ranges from about $3.95 to $4.20 per gallon on average. The equivalent at home, per gallon I'm told is $6, higher in the UK and higher again in many parts of Europe. Freedom & Liberty??? There's plenty more but We'll leave it at that.
Days 46/47: St Joe (8th/9th July)
Decided to stay on for two days in St. Joe. Both to rest & also to see the various museums that have caught ny eye. I haven't really done the real cultural sites much so far so but there were places here that I think are worth staying for. I didn't do much on Tuesday. I spent nearly 3hrs typing the blog, got a bite to eat & then it poured rain so I happily confined myself to barracks for the rest of the day.
Today I went in to town to see the Pony express museum which was good. This is a real icon of the wild west, and yet, it only functioned for 18 months. I'll follow the pony express route for its first 100 miles along the Oregan trail to Maryville and then pick it up again at Salt Lake City & follow it to its terminus at sacramento. To qualify to be a rider you had to be an expert horse rider of wiry build, preferably an orphan, not afraid of hardship indians or death and accept a wage of $25 a week. I reckoned I fulfilled some of the requirements so I asked one of the guides would I have made the grade? 'Nah, sweetie, more like the donkey express for you, honey!!'
I went up to the Jesse James home which still stands in the town, though not in its original location. The house has actually been moved 2-3 times over the years. Jesse bought the house in 1881 and, during April 1882 while planning a bank robbery with 2 others was shot in the back of the head by Bob Ford who reckoned the $10,000 bounty on Jesse's head was easier got. Instead of the bounty Ford & the other lad were arrested & sentanced to hang, but the judge pardoned them 2hrs later?? The bullet hole is still visible in the house where it passed through a wall after exiting James' skull.
I had a look at one or two other places in town but they weren't as interesting. In the afternoon I got Sancho (the bike) sorted for the next phase of the trip. I got a new rear tyre as the old one was now bald. The amount of wear on that tyre in the last week was unreal. Anyway the bike is now sorted again. I also got oil for the chain as it was starting to squeek a bit. So sancho's purring now. 'Isn't that right? Bud.' 'Yeah, deadly buzz man, deadly...'
I've been unable to post pics or video the last few times. Earlier today I got on a PC in the city centre & started posting stuff. I tried putting up a video clip but the PC was slow & ended up timing out. The PC's in this library have security settings that don't allow me to attach external devices so it will be another week or so before I get stuff up. Sorry about that.
Today I went in to town to see the Pony express museum which was good. This is a real icon of the wild west, and yet, it only functioned for 18 months. I'll follow the pony express route for its first 100 miles along the Oregan trail to Maryville and then pick it up again at Salt Lake City & follow it to its terminus at sacramento. To qualify to be a rider you had to be an expert horse rider of wiry build, preferably an orphan, not afraid of hardship indians or death and accept a wage of $25 a week. I reckoned I fulfilled some of the requirements so I asked one of the guides would I have made the grade? 'Nah, sweetie, more like the donkey express for you, honey!!'
I went up to the Jesse James home which still stands in the town, though not in its original location. The house has actually been moved 2-3 times over the years. Jesse bought the house in 1881 and, during April 1882 while planning a bank robbery with 2 others was shot in the back of the head by Bob Ford who reckoned the $10,000 bounty on Jesse's head was easier got. Instead of the bounty Ford & the other lad were arrested & sentanced to hang, but the judge pardoned them 2hrs later?? The bullet hole is still visible in the house where it passed through a wall after exiting James' skull.
I had a look at one or two other places in town but they weren't as interesting. In the afternoon I got Sancho (the bike) sorted for the next phase of the trip. I got a new rear tyre as the old one was now bald. The amount of wear on that tyre in the last week was unreal. Anyway the bike is now sorted again. I also got oil for the chain as it was starting to squeek a bit. So sancho's purring now. 'Isn't that right? Bud.' 'Yeah, deadly buzz man, deadly...'
I've been unable to post pics or video the last few times. Earlier today I got on a PC in the city centre & started posting stuff. I tried putting up a video clip but the PC was slow & ended up timing out. The PC's in this library have security settings that don't allow me to attach external devices so it will be another week or so before I get stuff up. Sorry about that.
8.7.08
Day 45: To St Joseph (Mon 7th July)
Hit the road by 7am to do the 75 miles which would bring me to St Joseph & the Kansas border. As soon as I hit the road I felt sluggish and heavy in the legs. The morning was warm & humid. That was about as good as it got. It was a tough day today.
There were a lot of big rollers to slide up and down. I made sure to stop for proper breaks today, stopping at Hamilton after 25 miles, and then again at Cameron 15miles down the road. It was noticeable I was going slower than normal. My legs felt too sluggish. I seemed to be climbing an awful lot. In the afternoon the temperature pushed up over the 90's again. I stopped at Stewartsville to cool down. The lady in the diner immediately got me a large glass of iced water and told me to sit down and rest so I must have been a bit of a sight. From Stewartsville I pushed on for St Joseph, stopping once more for drinks. All in all I drank over 6 litres on the road today.
I decided to Stop in St Joe for a day. There's a lot of history to the place so it should make a good stop. Also I feel wrecked. The famous Pony express operated out of St Joseph. The famous James gang operated around here in the Missouri/Kansas region. Indeed Jesse James lived in St Joe & was shot dead in the town. During the Californian gold rush thousands passed through the town heading West.
All in all it made for an interesting stop but first impressions of the town were poor. It seems to have all the charm of an industrial estate. At 6pm in 94f I was cycling through featureless deserted streets debating whether or not I should stop aftera all. It was here that I saw my first proper live snake. A black one coiled around himself on the edge of the road by a footpath. Earlier in the day I'd nearly jumped off the bike in fright when I cycled over a strip of rubber, thinking it was a snake. But now I was tempted to get a stick and start poking the snake just to see what he'd do. But I didn't bother. I got to my room 15 mins later. Very tired and relieved to have got through the day.
There were a lot of big rollers to slide up and down. I made sure to stop for proper breaks today, stopping at Hamilton after 25 miles, and then again at Cameron 15miles down the road. It was noticeable I was going slower than normal. My legs felt too sluggish. I seemed to be climbing an awful lot. In the afternoon the temperature pushed up over the 90's again. I stopped at Stewartsville to cool down. The lady in the diner immediately got me a large glass of iced water and told me to sit down and rest so I must have been a bit of a sight. From Stewartsville I pushed on for St Joseph, stopping once more for drinks. All in all I drank over 6 litres on the road today.
I decided to Stop in St Joe for a day. There's a lot of history to the place so it should make a good stop. Also I feel wrecked. The famous Pony express operated out of St Joseph. The famous James gang operated around here in the Missouri/Kansas region. Indeed Jesse James lived in St Joe & was shot dead in the town. During the Californian gold rush thousands passed through the town heading West.
All in all it made for an interesting stop but first impressions of the town were poor. It seems to have all the charm of an industrial estate. At 6pm in 94f I was cycling through featureless deserted streets debating whether or not I should stop aftera all. It was here that I saw my first proper live snake. A black one coiled around himself on the edge of the road by a footpath. Earlier in the day I'd nearly jumped off the bike in fright when I cycled over a strip of rubber, thinking it was a snake. But now I was tempted to get a stick and start poking the snake just to see what he'd do. But I didn't bother. I got to my room 15 mins later. Very tired and relieved to have got through the day.
Day 42: The Road to Chillicothe (Sun 6th July)
I woke up determined to put in the extra miles I'd lost yesterday. So I'd be doing over 80 miles to Chillicothe. Was up for breakfast at 6am & on the road by 6.50.
It was a nice cool morning but heavy storms were forecast for later on so I wasn't hanging about today. Last night I was talking to the owener of the motel and she told me to be very careful with the weather out here. It appears I'm now in part of the area known as Tornado alley. I thought I'd enter that when I'd get to Kansas but it seems I'm already in it. The lady told me how she almost got caught in a tornado 2 weeks ago. She was in Chillicothe and a tornado siren went off which means you find shelter immediately. She saw a Macdonalds and made for it but it had been locked and shuttered by the staff providing a shelter for the people inside. At first the staff wouldn't open the door (she had two kids with her) but she kept knocking and did get in. Its funny, I heard two sirens go off in Illinois but I thought they were for a train or, perhaps for a factory. No wonder it was so windy!!
The road to Chillicothe was gently undulating as far as Macon but shortly afterwards the lanscape began to roll a lot more. It was like surfing up and down over large waves as they gently rolled in to shore. This rolling landscape marked the start of Praris land. The large flat fields began to fade away and in their place pastureland, meadows and scattered herds of black cattle began to appear.
I barely stopped during the course of the 80 miles which was silly. I just drained myself but I just wanted to make up for yesterday & get in ahead of these storms. After 12 the temperature rose into the 90's. The breeze felt really warm even my drinking water started making me feel sick with its taste of plastic. The last 10 miles became a bit of a slog.
Physically I tired a lot towards the end. I felt parched, all I wanted was a cold drink. I began to think of that black and white ad for Carlsberg/Heineken. The one the has 3 -4 people leaning on a bar counter, obviously parched, and looking longingly at a cold glass of beer with a cool dew dribbling down the side of the glass. In my mind, however, there was only myself at that counter, and in front of me there wasn't a glass of beer but a large, plastic carton of ice cold milk! At that moment that is all I wanted.
Soon enough I reached Chillicothe. I saw a petrol station and made a bee-line for it. I went in and straight for the dairy section, pulling out a carton of milk, then marched purposefully to the counter. I slapped down a handful of coins to pay for the milk. I then had to slap down a 2nd handful as I din't have enough the first time. Then, I leaned on the counter and gazed at the gallon of milk, as dew dribbled deliciously down the outside of the plastic carton. I unscrewed the cap and guzzled down the milk. It was ice cold in..... Chillicothe!!
It was a nice cool morning but heavy storms were forecast for later on so I wasn't hanging about today. Last night I was talking to the owener of the motel and she told me to be very careful with the weather out here. It appears I'm now in part of the area known as Tornado alley. I thought I'd enter that when I'd get to Kansas but it seems I'm already in it. The lady told me how she almost got caught in a tornado 2 weeks ago. She was in Chillicothe and a tornado siren went off which means you find shelter immediately. She saw a Macdonalds and made for it but it had been locked and shuttered by the staff providing a shelter for the people inside. At first the staff wouldn't open the door (she had two kids with her) but she kept knocking and did get in. Its funny, I heard two sirens go off in Illinois but I thought they were for a train or, perhaps for a factory. No wonder it was so windy!!
The road to Chillicothe was gently undulating as far as Macon but shortly afterwards the lanscape began to roll a lot more. It was like surfing up and down over large waves as they gently rolled in to shore. This rolling landscape marked the start of Praris land. The large flat fields began to fade away and in their place pastureland, meadows and scattered herds of black cattle began to appear.
I barely stopped during the course of the 80 miles which was silly. I just drained myself but I just wanted to make up for yesterday & get in ahead of these storms. After 12 the temperature rose into the 90's. The breeze felt really warm even my drinking water started making me feel sick with its taste of plastic. The last 10 miles became a bit of a slog.
Physically I tired a lot towards the end. I felt parched, all I wanted was a cold drink. I began to think of that black and white ad for Carlsberg/Heineken. The one the has 3 -4 people leaning on a bar counter, obviously parched, and looking longingly at a cold glass of beer with a cool dew dribbling down the side of the glass. In my mind, however, there was only myself at that counter, and in front of me there wasn't a glass of beer but a large, plastic carton of ice cold milk! At that moment that is all I wanted.
Soon enough I reached Chillicothe. I saw a petrol station and made a bee-line for it. I went in and straight for the dairy section, pulling out a carton of milk, then marched purposefully to the counter. I slapped down a handful of coins to pay for the milk. I then had to slap down a 2nd handful as I din't have enough the first time. Then, I leaned on the counter and gazed at the gallon of milk, as dew dribbled deliciously down the outside of the plastic carton. I unscrewed the cap and guzzled down the milk. It was ice cold in..... Chillicothe!!
Day 41: Into Missouri (Sat 5th July)
Woke up with no energy. Thought about staying in bed but forced myself up and was on the road by 10am. On the far side of Hannibal the countryside reverted to the flat landscape of Illinois and stayed like that for the rest of the day. For 20 miles I was able to cycle along a road lane close to traffic which was great. A big, wide stretch of road, and only me on it. A little green cricket hitched a lift on one of my front panniers & stayed with me for about 7-8miles. We didn't talk much, though. But he was sound, a clicky kind of sound. He jumped off at a town called Shelbina, and straight under the wheels of a passingS.U.V. That was the end of little Jimmy!!
At Shelbina I had no energy. I'd gone fine for 40 miles but now all I wanted to do was lie down. I thought it might pass but 30 mins later I was feeling the same. The thought of another 24 miles to Macon just seemed too much. There was a small motel nearby so I stayed there. I got food & drinks in a supermarket and just rested for the rest of the day.
At Shelbina I had no energy. I'd gone fine for 40 miles but now all I wanted to do was lie down. I thought it might pass but 30 mins later I was feeling the same. The thought of another 24 miles to Macon just seemed too much. There was a small motel nearby so I stayed there. I got food & drinks in a supermarket and just rested for the rest of the day.
Day 40: Hannibal (Fri 4th July)
The days festivities kicked off with the big 4th July parade at 10am. The route was lind with hundresd of people. The parade consisted of the usual fare. To be honest change the flags for tricolours and it could have passed for a St Paddy's day parade....... except that there was no catholocism present. There were Baptists, Lutherans, United Methodists, Charismatic Christians, 7th Day adventists etc, ...but no Papists. And with all the red, white and blue Dr Chuckles himself, Ian Paisley, would have loved it. Amen to that, brother. Ay-men!! There were loads of winners of the local "lovely girl" contests. Indeed, there was even one winner of a lovely boy contest!1 Thankfully he was only 18 months old. There were various floats, and, of course, the local politicians.
Later on there were various street competitions, a fence painting competition being the most colourful of those!! The culmination of the day was very definitely the fireworks display at dusk. From early evening thousands of people streamed into town from the locality and took up their favourite vantage points around town. It reminded me of New Year's eve in Sydney, with families coming out with blankets & picnics & fold up chairs to wait for the event to unfold.
As the sun went down fireworks started going off around town, but nothing spectacular and, after a while, I was thinking "Is this it??" But soon enough the main display kicked off and it was spectacular. There were some great fireworks. The show lasted about an hour. 30 mins later the town was empty. So I went to Bed.
Later on there were various street competitions, a fence painting competition being the most colourful of those!! The culmination of the day was very definitely the fireworks display at dusk. From early evening thousands of people streamed into town from the locality and took up their favourite vantage points around town. It reminded me of New Year's eve in Sydney, with families coming out with blankets & picnics & fold up chairs to wait for the event to unfold.
As the sun went down fireworks started going off around town, but nothing spectacular and, after a while, I was thinking "Is this it??" But soon enough the main display kicked off and it was spectacular. There were some great fireworks. The show lasted about an hour. 30 mins later the town was empty. So I went to Bed.
Day 39: To the Mississippi (Thurs 3rd July)
I slept in this morning. I'd gotten 2 insect bites in Carlinsville which had swelled out by yesterday evening. I put on ant-hystamine cream and took a double dose of tablets which seemed to knock me out. As a result I wasn't on the road until 10am.
Today I was only doing 36 miles in to Hannibal on the mississippi where I would stay for July 4th. I left in a heavy drizzle on a very gloomy, overcast morning. The countryside became very undul;ating, a contrast to what I'd become used to in Illinois. Still, I was able to tip away easily enough. I got as far as Hull, a small village 9 miles from Hannibal where I road closure caused me to detour about 6 miles.
At this point the drizzle turned to heavy rain, and, for the first time since Poughkeepsie I had to wear full rain gear. By 2pm I was crossing the Mississippi. This was a huge landmark on the journey. It also marked the border with Missouri, my 11th state. I had imagined crossing the Mississippi a few times but eventhough the river was in flood, it wasn't as big as I had imagined. Still, it was a big mane to cross on this journey.
Hannibal turned into an interesting stop. The town itself was ok. It was the childhood home of the author Mark Twain and provided the inspiration & characters for the adventures of Tom Sawyer & Huckleberry Finn. A fairly vibrant tourist industry has grown around this theme and the 4th of July here isn't Independence day but National Tom Sawyer Day!
The town itself normally fronts onto the Mississippi but, with all the recent flooding, the lower portion of the town. is boarded up with large hoarding and earthen levees to keep the river at bay. A four day festival of activities themed on the Tom Sawyer stories was taking place and the town had the typical air of a country town during a summer festival. There was street music, amusements, aromas from the various food vendors and a tented fair selling knick-knacks & souvenirs in one square. Families strolled along, pulling at pink cotton candy, while excited kids asked their parents for more money to go on another amusement ride. People lounged outside bars sipping on sodas. I didn't see any beer or anybody drunk. Tomorow, However was the big day with a full programme of events.
Today I was only doing 36 miles in to Hannibal on the mississippi where I would stay for July 4th. I left in a heavy drizzle on a very gloomy, overcast morning. The countryside became very undul;ating, a contrast to what I'd become used to in Illinois. Still, I was able to tip away easily enough. I got as far as Hull, a small village 9 miles from Hannibal where I road closure caused me to detour about 6 miles.
At this point the drizzle turned to heavy rain, and, for the first time since Poughkeepsie I had to wear full rain gear. By 2pm I was crossing the Mississippi. This was a huge landmark on the journey. It also marked the border with Missouri, my 11th state. I had imagined crossing the Mississippi a few times but eventhough the river was in flood, it wasn't as big as I had imagined. Still, it was a big mane to cross on this journey.
Hannibal turned into an interesting stop. The town itself was ok. It was the childhood home of the author Mark Twain and provided the inspiration & characters for the adventures of Tom Sawyer & Huckleberry Finn. A fairly vibrant tourist industry has grown around this theme and the 4th of July here isn't Independence day but National Tom Sawyer Day!
The town itself normally fronts onto the Mississippi but, with all the recent flooding, the lower portion of the town. is boarded up with large hoarding and earthen levees to keep the river at bay. A four day festival of activities themed on the Tom Sawyer stories was taking place and the town had the typical air of a country town during a summer festival. There was street music, amusements, aromas from the various food vendors and a tented fair selling knick-knacks & souvenirs in one square. Families strolled along, pulling at pink cotton candy, while excited kids asked their parents for more money to go on another amusement ride. People lounged outside bars sipping on sodas. I didn't see any beer or anybody drunk. Tomorow, However was the big day with a full programme of events.
Day 38: To Pittsfield (Wed 2nd July)
Was up early and on the road by 7am. Rich & myself bade farewell. The chances are that will be my only trip to Carlinsville in this lifetime and, I can be sure, long after my memories of the Illinois landscape begins to dime and fade My memories of the 42hrs in Carlinsville burn brightly & long bring a smile.
The plan for the day was to try to get to Hannibal just over 100 miles away. It was a nic morning. A mile or so beyond Carlinnsville I returned to the familiar landscape I had been following as far as Decatur. After about 18 miles I came to a junction with route 265 which ran 30 miles northward to Jacksonville where I'd hoped to rejoin route 36.
There was a light SW breeze through the morning which meant that when I turned north I had a tail wind for the first time on the trip. I was able to push through the miles with unaccustomed ease which made it a joy to be on the road. I completed the near 50 miles to Jacksonville in 3hre 20. At Jacksonville I asked locals in a petrol station if I could get to Hannibal or if I would have to go north to Quincy to cross the Mississippi. What entailed was a discussion at the counter involving about 8 people as to what route was best for me. A couple of phonecalls later I was told the way was clear for me on route 106 which would bring me to Hannibal. It turned out that on bridge had opened just that morning due to the recent flooding. I was very grateful to those people who wished me a safe journey on the road.
Before hitting 106 I decided to get some lunch in a diner. When the owner heard my story she didn't charge me for the food. Another example of the kindness & friendliness I've met along the way.
I left the Diner around 12 & hit the hardest headwind I've encounetered so far. The 20 mile stretch to Winchester was tough. I did it in 2hrs but had to stop in a petrol station to cool off. Again, at this place people were asking me where I was from, shaking my hand & wishing me luck. The best, though, were 4 young lads about 7-8yrs who came in while I was sitting at a table sipping my drink. They came over & sat at the table with me & asked if it was my bike that was outside. When I said 'Yes' they said 'Cool!'. So next came the inevitable question about what I was doing. Their reaction to my reply was priceless. The sense of wonderment in their wide-eyed 'Wow' made me smile. They just turned to each other & said 'He's going from Boston to San Francisco!!' I just started to laugh. Then they asked me where I was from. When I said Ireland the youngest lad asked "is that, like, another country??" Again I just started to laugh. The other lads had heard of Ireland.
The next 23 miles to Pittsfield were straightforward enough. The wind lessened & made it a lot easier. I had decided to stay here tonight as I'd lost time in the wind & it looked as if there was going to be a storm. I crossed the Illinois river which was in flood out as far as the flood levees which had been erected to protect the farmland beyond. THe last few miles of undulating countryside developed into a small race against some very dark clouds which resulted in a downpour just after I got into town. That night a major storm erupted giving a big light show with lightning blinking every few seconds. At one point the electricity was knocked out for a few seconds. I was asleep before the storm moved on.
The plan for the day was to try to get to Hannibal just over 100 miles away. It was a nic morning. A mile or so beyond Carlinnsville I returned to the familiar landscape I had been following as far as Decatur. After about 18 miles I came to a junction with route 265 which ran 30 miles northward to Jacksonville where I'd hoped to rejoin route 36.
There was a light SW breeze through the morning which meant that when I turned north I had a tail wind for the first time on the trip. I was able to push through the miles with unaccustomed ease which made it a joy to be on the road. I completed the near 50 miles to Jacksonville in 3hre 20. At Jacksonville I asked locals in a petrol station if I could get to Hannibal or if I would have to go north to Quincy to cross the Mississippi. What entailed was a discussion at the counter involving about 8 people as to what route was best for me. A couple of phonecalls later I was told the way was clear for me on route 106 which would bring me to Hannibal. It turned out that on bridge had opened just that morning due to the recent flooding. I was very grateful to those people who wished me a safe journey on the road.
Before hitting 106 I decided to get some lunch in a diner. When the owner heard my story she didn't charge me for the food. Another example of the kindness & friendliness I've met along the way.
I left the Diner around 12 & hit the hardest headwind I've encounetered so far. The 20 mile stretch to Winchester was tough. I did it in 2hrs but had to stop in a petrol station to cool off. Again, at this place people were asking me where I was from, shaking my hand & wishing me luck. The best, though, were 4 young lads about 7-8yrs who came in while I was sitting at a table sipping my drink. They came over & sat at the table with me & asked if it was my bike that was outside. When I said 'Yes' they said 'Cool!'. So next came the inevitable question about what I was doing. Their reaction to my reply was priceless. The sense of wonderment in their wide-eyed 'Wow' made me smile. They just turned to each other & said 'He's going from Boston to San Francisco!!' I just started to laugh. Then they asked me where I was from. When I said Ireland the youngest lad asked "is that, like, another country??" Again I just started to laugh. The other lads had heard of Ireland.
The next 23 miles to Pittsfield were straightforward enough. The wind lessened & made it a lot easier. I had decided to stay here tonight as I'd lost time in the wind & it looked as if there was going to be a storm. I crossed the Illinois river which was in flood out as far as the flood levees which had been erected to protect the farmland beyond. THe last few miles of undulating countryside developed into a small race against some very dark clouds which resulted in a downpour just after I got into town. That night a major storm erupted giving a big light show with lightning blinking every few seconds. At one point the electricity was knocked out for a few seconds. I was asleep before the storm moved on.
Day 37: Carlinnsville (Tues 1st July)
Rich showed me around Carlinville and its locality throughout Tuesday. He has had 2 marriages, his first wife died, the 2nd ended in divorce after 7yrs. It was genuinely touching to listen to him recount his experiences. He is a very colourful character, a historian, talented musician....... raconteur?? among others. He served in the U.S. navy during the Korean War (Del Boy's Uncle Albert couldn't help springing to mind at this point!!) Rich is now dating his first love, Minnie. They were together when they were young but split when Rich entered the Navy. Minnie is a lovely lady and it is great to see both of them still able to see romance in life after all that life has thrown at both of them.
Carlinsville itself is a lovely town. The town centre forms a plaza which is unusual in the towns I've seen so far. The courthouse is one of the most beautiful buildings I've seen outside Boston. The biulding of it almost bankrupt the town when it was built back in the 1860'2/70's. 500 cases were due to be heard in the courthouse the day I left.
We met some of Rich's relatives, one of whom owned a garage. He showed me something which, he said himself, I wouldn't see in Ireland. He opened a walk-in safe and revealed what amounted to a cache of arms which would have kitted out a small army. I counted 20 handguns & at least 20 rifles, pump action shotgun, two M16's, an AK-47 etc. The back wall of the safe had boxes of ammunition piled up for all the different weapons. It was both an impressive & unsettling sight.
In the afternoon on Tuesday I was interviewed by the local press (at Richard's instigation). To be fair, why there was any need to do a feature on me and the trip to Carlinsville at this stage was beyond me. Just about everybody in the locality knew the story by now!!
Carlinsville itself is a lovely town. The town centre forms a plaza which is unusual in the towns I've seen so far. The courthouse is one of the most beautiful buildings I've seen outside Boston. The biulding of it almost bankrupt the town when it was built back in the 1860'2/70's. 500 cases were due to be heard in the courthouse the day I left.
We met some of Rich's relatives, one of whom owned a garage. He showed me something which, he said himself, I wouldn't see in Ireland. He opened a walk-in safe and revealed what amounted to a cache of arms which would have kitted out a small army. I counted 20 handguns & at least 20 rifles, pump action shotgun, two M16's, an AK-47 etc. The back wall of the safe had boxes of ammunition piled up for all the different weapons. It was both an impressive & unsettling sight.
In the afternoon on Tuesday I was interviewed by the local press (at Richard's instigation). To be fair, why there was any need to do a feature on me and the trip to Carlinsville at this stage was beyond me. Just about everybody in the locality knew the story by now!!
3.7.08
Day 36/37: Carlinsville (June 30-July 1)
I tried Richard again this morning and got through to him this time. He said he'd come up & bring me down to Carlinsville. He arrive around 1pm after what seemed an age waiting for him. He had got lost & the directions he'd been given only confused him more. Any way off we went for Carlinsville & two days that should have come with a health warning. It was a case of "and now for something completely different"!!
Rich, as he likes to be called, was a gent, a very genial host. He sure knows how to talk, to be honest I hardly got a word in edgeways during the two days I was there. He is an elderly gentleman, living alone and, I suppose with an unexpected visitor was delighted to have somebody to show around. Rich is extremely proud of his Irish roots & heritage though some of it is a bit twee for my liking. To have an Irish relative to show around, however distant, was like have a seal of authenticity stamped on to his own sense of Irishness.
And by Jaysus Rich didn't hang back in showing me around. Carlinsville has a population of about about 5,700. I was introduced, I reckon, to about 4,500 of its good citizens. Our story was repeated & repeated, and repeated. I had cycled down to New York and back to Boston, I cycled up and down & in and out. I had cycled to places even I didn't know I'd been to. I was like a wee toy brought out to show to the locals who gazed at me curiously. A token Paddy paraded for the locals. I now know what it feels like for the Sam Maguire on All-Ireland Day. I was passed around from one to the next and on and on, the excitement was unreal. Rich was hollerin, the crowds were hollerin. God-darn it even I started a-hollerin. The commotion attracted more onlookers as word got round that a real, live leprechaun was in town. Soon we moseyed on into town. With all that hollerin we just had to wet our whistles with frosted mugs of the old black stuff from the auld sod. We went into Ryans Irish bar saloon where some were shouting at the bar ma... err, bar tender to pull out the black stuff.
'Well, actually, lads, I don't drink Guinness!'. 'Might I perchance try a tipple of your finest root Beer..... please?
Quiet descends on the bar.
Rich shuffles nervously and the orders himself a bottle of Bud. Everybody else murmers with a certain relief and order their Bud lites & sodas. The bar tender was disgusted. Nobody really wanted to drink that warm oily muck that passes for Guinness in these parts.
To be cont............
Rich, as he likes to be called, was a gent, a very genial host. He sure knows how to talk, to be honest I hardly got a word in edgeways during the two days I was there. He is an elderly gentleman, living alone and, I suppose with an unexpected visitor was delighted to have somebody to show around. Rich is extremely proud of his Irish roots & heritage though some of it is a bit twee for my liking. To have an Irish relative to show around, however distant, was like have a seal of authenticity stamped on to his own sense of Irishness.
And by Jaysus Rich didn't hang back in showing me around. Carlinsville has a population of about about 5,700. I was introduced, I reckon, to about 4,500 of its good citizens. Our story was repeated & repeated, and repeated. I had cycled down to New York and back to Boston, I cycled up and down & in and out. I had cycled to places even I didn't know I'd been to. I was like a wee toy brought out to show to the locals who gazed at me curiously. A token Paddy paraded for the locals. I now know what it feels like for the Sam Maguire on All-Ireland Day. I was passed around from one to the next and on and on, the excitement was unreal. Rich was hollerin, the crowds were hollerin. God-darn it even I started a-hollerin. The commotion attracted more onlookers as word got round that a real, live leprechaun was in town. Soon we moseyed on into town. With all that hollerin we just had to wet our whistles with frosted mugs of the old black stuff from the auld sod. We went into Ryans Irish bar saloon where some were shouting at the bar ma... err, bar tender to pull out the black stuff.
'Well, actually, lads, I don't drink Guinness!'. 'Might I perchance try a tipple of your finest root Beer..... please?
Quiet descends on the bar.
Rich shuffles nervously and the orders himself a bottle of Bud. Everybody else murmers with a certain relief and order their Bud lites & sodas. The bar tender was disgusted. Nobody really wanted to drink that warm oily muck that passes for Guinness in these parts.
To be cont............
Day 35: Viva Espana (Sun 29th June)
One month on the road today. I've decided to keep my clock on eastern time which will give me an hour extra daylight in the morning (If I can get up). I decided to head to head to Dectur a short 36 mile hop up the road in order to be able to see the Euro 2008 final. (Note Padraig, I didn't "phone in sick" today!!). This also gave a bit of a lie in which was great.
I left at 8.30, local time. As soon as I turned on the the road it was straight into the headwind. The landscape looked exactly as it had done yesterday except that the clouds were very heavy overhead and lay low in the sky. It was tougher than I expected. In the weird little mind games that you play to keep yourself strong the 36 mile hop equated to an 'easy day' & so I was switched off looking more forward to the game than actually staying focused & getting the job done. So it became more difficult, in my mind, than it should have done and with that came an element of frustration.
At some point I was in a day dream (which happens every day on the bike, you can't help it). I was brought out of me reverie by the sound of the patter of small feet. I looked around and saw a large dog charging at me from the other side of the road. This dog came charging right out of the fears that lingered at the back of my imagination. He had a large pitbull type head but his body was much larger than one. This is the kind of dog I've feared would attack me. A jolt of adrenalin shot right through my body. I jumped off the bike so fast I nearly lost control of the handlebars. Thankfully, as soon as I got off the bike the dog turned on his heels and scampered back the way he had come. Talk about relief.
The rest of the journey to Decatur passed without mishap. Just about the biggest event that occurred was coming across a bend in the road. It wasn't just one but two, together. Wild Times in Illinois!!
I got to Decatur in plenty of time for the match. In fact my idea of not changing my clock to central time had back fired on me half way up the road. I checked the time forgetting it was an hour ahead of local time & then calculated how long it would take me to finish the rest of the journey. To be honest I'd thought I was going to miss the match, maybe catch some of the 2nd half if I was lucky. I was delighted then to find out at the motel that I was 45 mins early for kick off. A quick shower, some food & I was sorted! Go on Fernando Torres!! (and Mike Griffin was off to pick up his winnings. mmmm... and he says he doesn't follow football)
Decatur was only 50-60 miles from a tenuously distant relation of ours in a town called Carlinsville. Mum gave me his number so I gave him a call but only left a message. Now I wasn't sure what to do tomorrow, whether to head 60 miles to Jacksonville via Springfield (my third), or to try Richard again in the morning.
In the evening I got an overpriced pizza which was garbage & left my stomach rumbling all night.
I left at 8.30, local time. As soon as I turned on the the road it was straight into the headwind. The landscape looked exactly as it had done yesterday except that the clouds were very heavy overhead and lay low in the sky. It was tougher than I expected. In the weird little mind games that you play to keep yourself strong the 36 mile hop equated to an 'easy day' & so I was switched off looking more forward to the game than actually staying focused & getting the job done. So it became more difficult, in my mind, than it should have done and with that came an element of frustration.
At some point I was in a day dream (which happens every day on the bike, you can't help it). I was brought out of me reverie by the sound of the patter of small feet. I looked around and saw a large dog charging at me from the other side of the road. This dog came charging right out of the fears that lingered at the back of my imagination. He had a large pitbull type head but his body was much larger than one. This is the kind of dog I've feared would attack me. A jolt of adrenalin shot right through my body. I jumped off the bike so fast I nearly lost control of the handlebars. Thankfully, as soon as I got off the bike the dog turned on his heels and scampered back the way he had come. Talk about relief.
The rest of the journey to Decatur passed without mishap. Just about the biggest event that occurred was coming across a bend in the road. It wasn't just one but two, together. Wild Times in Illinois!!
I got to Decatur in plenty of time for the match. In fact my idea of not changing my clock to central time had back fired on me half way up the road. I checked the time forgetting it was an hour ahead of local time & then calculated how long it would take me to finish the rest of the journey. To be honest I'd thought I was going to miss the match, maybe catch some of the 2nd half if I was lucky. I was delighted then to find out at the motel that I was 45 mins early for kick off. A quick shower, some food & I was sorted! Go on Fernando Torres!! (and Mike Griffin was off to pick up his winnings. mmmm... and he says he doesn't follow football)
Decatur was only 50-60 miles from a tenuously distant relation of ours in a town called Carlinsville. Mum gave me his number so I gave him a call but only left a message. Now I wasn't sure what to do tomorrow, whether to head 60 miles to Jacksonville via Springfield (my third), or to try Richard again in the morning.
In the evening I got an overpriced pizza which was garbage & left my stomach rumbling all night.
2.7.08
Day 34: Hello Illinois (Sat 28th June)
Was out at 6.30am on a dark gloomy misty morning. There was no breeze so I made good time, initially. I hoped to do about 96 miles this day as far as Decatur but, as it turned out, I would do 60, arriving at Tuscola.
The first village I passed through had the colourful name of Montezuma, at a crossing of the river Wasbah river. Now there's a couple of mouthfuls for ye. Hope they go down ok! Not long after I crossed into Illinois & changed time zones into Central time. (A wee sign of progress). The road I was following became dead straight & flat, and, as it turned out, there would not be a single turn or bend in the road for the next 60 miles.
After 20 miles or so I got breakfast at a crossroads Diner. The humidity up to now had been very high & as I walked into that Diner I was soaked in sweat from head to foot. It was here that I found out I'd changed timezones. When I got back on the 40 mins later the wind had picked up and for the next 35 miles into Tuscola I would face 25-30mph head winds. With the strong breeze the humidity lessened.
The landscape became very flat & open with huge fields either side of the road with crops of sweetcorn, wheat & occasionally cattle, which you could smell from a distance. I passed through an occassional small village but otherwise it was almost endless fields with the road stretching away to a distant horizon.
In the afternoon the skies cleared up, the heat rose & the winds got stronger. Eventually I stopped to eat & have a rest I didn't know how far I was from Tuscola. I stopped under a tree on the front lawn of some business centre & became a spectacle of interest for almost every driver who passed along the road. After a short snooze I was back on the bike. It turned out I was only a mile and a half from Tuscola. Had I looked up the road I would hace caught a glimpse of the town in the distance.
On the edge of town a car pulled in to the side in front of me. The driver got out & waved at me to stop. He came up to me & started asking what I was doing etc. But he was standing too close to me for comfort & I felt edgy. Then he said 'so you're travelling alone?' & little alarm bells started going off in my mind. He asked me where I was staying that night & I pointed to a motel in the distance & said 'there' . It turned out he had done long distance cycling himself in the past & just wanted to 'hear my story'. He was genuine enough, his wife was in the car so perhaps I needn't have been so jittery but he was almost too friendly...... & much too close.
About a minute after yer man left, wishing me safe travels, two lads came along. They had been hitching lifts on freight trains for the past four nights. They had left Houston & were heading for Baltimore. When they heard what I was doing they shouted 'Wow, that's awesome, man!' I thought their adventure was pretty out there aswell.
10 mins later I was in my room, a cheap $30. I took a stroll to see what the town looked like but it was nothing, another administrative centre. On the way back I had a good dinner with the nicest bread I've tasted for a long while.
The first village I passed through had the colourful name of Montezuma, at a crossing of the river Wasbah river. Now there's a couple of mouthfuls for ye. Hope they go down ok! Not long after I crossed into Illinois & changed time zones into Central time. (A wee sign of progress). The road I was following became dead straight & flat, and, as it turned out, there would not be a single turn or bend in the road for the next 60 miles.
After 20 miles or so I got breakfast at a crossroads Diner. The humidity up to now had been very high & as I walked into that Diner I was soaked in sweat from head to foot. It was here that I found out I'd changed timezones. When I got back on the 40 mins later the wind had picked up and for the next 35 miles into Tuscola I would face 25-30mph head winds. With the strong breeze the humidity lessened.
The landscape became very flat & open with huge fields either side of the road with crops of sweetcorn, wheat & occasionally cattle, which you could smell from a distance. I passed through an occassional small village but otherwise it was almost endless fields with the road stretching away to a distant horizon.
In the afternoon the skies cleared up, the heat rose & the winds got stronger. Eventually I stopped to eat & have a rest I didn't know how far I was from Tuscola. I stopped under a tree on the front lawn of some business centre & became a spectacle of interest for almost every driver who passed along the road. After a short snooze I was back on the bike. It turned out I was only a mile and a half from Tuscola. Had I looked up the road I would hace caught a glimpse of the town in the distance.
On the edge of town a car pulled in to the side in front of me. The driver got out & waved at me to stop. He came up to me & started asking what I was doing etc. But he was standing too close to me for comfort & I felt edgy. Then he said 'so you're travelling alone?' & little alarm bells started going off in my mind. He asked me where I was staying that night & I pointed to a motel in the distance & said 'there' . It turned out he had done long distance cycling himself in the past & just wanted to 'hear my story'. He was genuine enough, his wife was in the car so perhaps I needn't have been so jittery but he was almost too friendly...... & much too close.
About a minute after yer man left, wishing me safe travels, two lads came along. They had been hitching lifts on freight trains for the past four nights. They had left Houston & were heading for Baltimore. When they heard what I was doing they shouted 'Wow, that's awesome, man!' I thought their adventure was pretty out there aswell.
10 mins later I was in my room, a cheap $30. I took a stroll to see what the town looked like but it was nothing, another administrative centre. On the way back I had a good dinner with the nicest bread I've tasted for a long while.
Day 33: Goodbye to Route 40 (Fri June 27th)
Hit the road about 7am for Rockville, 60 miles away in Western Indiana. It was a nice cool morning. Took a good while to get across town where I left route 40 and joined route 36 which would take me West for the next while across Illinois & Missouri. The day became overcast. When I stopped for a bite to eat at a Hamlet called Graveland the girls who served me said there was no accomodation at Rockville & that I was in for a soaking. Luckily I asked some guys sitting outside & they said there were Motels in that town. Turned out there were three. It didn't rain either.
It started to get hot in the afternoon. On the outskirts of Rockville there was a historic village with original buildings from around the area relocated within this village. I had a look around, It was ok but I've seen better. Rockville had a nice enough wee centre. Some of the towns are starting to have that cowboy western look about their buildings. That evening a storm broke with torrential rain coming down........ but I was inside lookin out!!
It started to get hot in the afternoon. On the outskirts of Rockville there was a historic village with original buildings from around the area relocated within this village. I had a look around, It was ok but I've seen better. Rockville had a nice enough wee centre. Some of the towns are starting to have that cowboy western look about their buildings. That evening a storm broke with torrential rain coming down........ but I was inside lookin out!!
Day 32 Indianapolis (Thurs 26th)
Didn't feel good when the alarm went off at 5.30 & after a while I thought it would be better to stay in Indianapolis for the Day. Spain v Russia later in the Day might have had something to do with it. Watched Don Quioxte with Peter O'Toole & Sophia Loren. I couldn't help thinking that film was so appropriate for me. Fran Quioxte and his Faithful side-kick Sancho Panza. So from now on the bike has its very own name!!!.......... Sancho. It turns out he's from Dublin's good old Northside. "How's it goin Bud?. Whats da story Sancho? ". "Deadly buzz man, ...... Deadly!!
Went into the city for a quick look around before heading back out to watch the match. Got some decent food, mooched around and got ready for Tomorrow. Watched some of the NBA draft (its like the Eurovision but for basketball players.... odd I know). Some of the rookies signed on by clubs are getting up to 60 million, over 2-3yrs with half guaranteed. Unbelieveable.
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