SUMMER BIKES

DAY 01…

75 miles. Myself (fixed), Mr. P (single speed), Mr. T (geared), Ukrainian A (single speed) and Ms. K (fixed) left downtown Saint Louis to head across the state line Northbound. A generous mile outside of the city, the day’s flats began as the sun crept above the horizon line showing itself like the demon it would soon prove to be.

The first flat was followed by another three and a half before we could get 35 or so miles under our belts. Luckily these were the only flats to be had. Now I say half because my actual tire blew out…luckily a Mr. J lived within 5 miles of where it happened, so making due with what we had and a little logic from Mr. P, I changed the tube, covered the tire hole with cardboard and wrapped everything in medical tape and headed for a new tire…knowing it wouldn’t hold (so half). This held for a mile. Needless to say, a new tire was trucked in straight from Mr J’s garage o’ bikes, because I would be going nowhere without it.

With all of the flats behind us and spirits high, we rode on. By noon, the earth might as well have been on fire. A well placed random hose, kind townsfolk, grey food, a townie bar and the false promise of water towers in the distance kept us rolling on. By sun down we had hit our small town destination for the day. Girard. 75 miles from home, we immediately sought refreshment.

As we sat in the town bar nursing our day’s exhaustion and numb hands, the sun finally went down. The town cops stopped by to not so politely illegally profile us…I blame the gypsy looking bikes and the Ukrainian. Any way, the sun was down, it was still 100 degrees out (down from the earlier 103) so we did what any dirty humans camping in the town square would do. Upon our fill at the bar, we bathed in a water spigot outside of the worst public restroom in Illinois and drank our to-go beers shirtless in the grass.

As we were getting tents up and beginning to wind down…the cheers in the distance indicated high school kids would soon begin cruising endlessly around the square in their shitty trucks and loud mufflers once the football game was over. They didn’t disappoint. Nor did the trains. Every half hour (actually every half hour, this is not an exaggeration) horns blew letting us know a train was about to safely pass through this terrible town.

DAY 02…

65 miles. Myself, Mr. P, Ukrainian A and Ms. K continued North after a grey breakfast at a fine local diner. Note that Mr. T was removed from the list of adventurers…the previous day’s heat had claimed his wandering spirit. After breakfast and much needed coffee, he handed out the usable contents of his packs like we were starving AIDS children. We continued on our way regretfully without him as he waited for a newborn filled rescue vehicle.

Visibility was about 50 yards out and we were starting our miles on the highway…no matter at all when the air is cool and moist. Fog is the best thing in this world after a prior day in the heat. Well the later stranger that gave us muffins was a close second. Turns out the holiday weekend and lack of townsfolk in general means no food on the open road, less it be from a kind lady. Most the towns we hit were well-groomed old western ghost towns. No people. No cars on the road.

Hitting Lincoln by mid afternoon left plenty of time for local food and gin refreshments. Cash only of course…I’m not sure what a town’s population has to hit before they admit to themselves that debit cards do indeed exist in the world. Once the sun lowered, we finished our drinks and made our way to a gas station for the evening’s supplies then rode out a few miles to our campsite.

At the campsite a smiling old man and his wife welcomed us, kindly took our camping dollars and exchanged our bills for quarters because this joint had a pay shower…complete with hot water and gross floors. We drank our supplies dry…shirts on cause thems the rules…debated Lenin vs. Stalin and who knows what else and finally laid our weary heads. The temperature dropped below 50 that night. It was a terrible and delightful sleep all at the same time. Regardless of the temperature, it was quiet.

DAY 03…

45 miles. We were up and beginning to tear down camp by 5:30am. Once packed we continued North fueled on what trail mix and snacks we had left, a trainless-night’s sleep and a previous night’s shower. Miles later at some point, a kind man directed us to coffee.  Dogs ran free in the midst of us. Up until this point, everything had been for the most part flat. Hills. Wind. Windmills. Hills. Headwind. This basically sums up the days ride until reaching my folks. We were literally riding through a wind farm. Hills or not though, this proved to be the most scenic of riding days.

We hit my parents right around noon. Approaching the much-anticipated Midwestern oasis, the roads seemed to stretch on. But upon arrival, we were instantaneously and graciously filled up on food, beverage and hospitality.  The pool was soiled with sweat and filthy bodies by 1:30 and continued to be filth injected well into the evening.

DAY 04…

00 miles. Breakfast. Pool. Beer. Food. Non-disgusting bathrooms whenever you needed. Chickens. Turkeys. Hot tub. After a home cooked breakfast, we were in the water with beers in hand by 10:30 that morning and I’m pretty sure we didn’t get out until about 7:00ish that night. At some point it was necessary for my dad to interrupt and clarify “for the record, Michael Jackson was a pedophile.” So who knows how we got on what topic. Around 7 or so, we had another home cooked dinner and went straight on to the hot tub for stargazing. We took full advantage of the opportunity to relax…I can’t thank my folks enough for everything. A truly abundance of hospitality was consumed.

DAY 05…

185 (driven) miles. Come morning we packed up our sweat smelling gear into a borrowed truck and headed back to reality in Saint Louis. Quietly we counted the miles as we passed the exits of towns we had been through only days before. Another truly great trip behind us and merely reduced to a single blog entry.

Many thanks to everyone we met along the way. A many thanks to my parents. A many special thanks to those who rode the ride. And mostly, thanks for keeping the ship afloat.

DON’T GIVE UP THE SHIP.