May 26, 2015
Day 21: Cave-in-Rock to Carbondale, IL; Anything is Possible, Who Am I to Doubt Myself?
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(Note to readers regarding the elevation profiles; the profile is calculated from Point "A" on the map to Point "B" on the map. Since I am traveling east to west on the first half of this transcontinental journey, my route of travel is usually shown on the map as being from right to left. However, the elevation profile is shown from left to right, so it must be "reversed" in your head to understand it.)
Climbing Today; 4,164 ft -- Total So Far; 59,940 ft
I was up till 11:00 last night due to my tire issue, so I set the alarm for 6:00am to give me a bit more sleep – this is late for me as I have been rising at 5:00 most morns and I recently “gained” an hour with the jump in time zones. It didn’t matter, cause I woke at 5:00 anyway, only to discover that Harvey’s rear tire was flat again! This wasn’t what I needed on what was going to be my most challenging day so far, but it’s the hand I was dealt so I had to play it. When I got the tube out, the problem became clear; I hadn’t done a very good patch job. There was very little good lighting in this motel room, and none on the counter top I had used to patch the tube last night, so I had used my camping light (the kind that straps to your head) for illumination and I just didn’t do a great job on the patch. I had the other tube I had also patched, and it looked much better so I inflated it a bit and tested it under water in the bathroom sink and it held fine. So I reinstalled the tire using that tube and reflated it to 90psi. It takes a bit of effort to inflate a tire using the small pumps we carry on bicycles, and I was sweating by the time I was done. Then I set about fixing the tube I had patched poorly last night, because otherwise I would be on the road with no spare. This time I found a better spot to work; the only flat surface in a well-lit area in this dump of a motel room was the toilet seat lid, so that became my work bench. I carefully removed the old patch and replaced it with a bigger patch. Testing it underwater showed the patch to be good, so finally I was able to commence my usual morning routine and got ready to roll.
Breakfast consisted of my only remaining instant oatmeal and a packet of instant coffee, with boiling water being provided by using my JetBoil stove. I think I have probably used the JetBoil as often in cheap motel rooms as I have used it camping on this journey. But only in really cheap motels, the kind most of us would usually NOT stay in. The kind that don’t have microwaves, frigs, or even a coffee maker. The kind that don’t even have soap or shampoo or other amenities that we assume are “normal.” The kind of motel where I sleep in my sleeping bag on top of the bed blankets, because - well, just because. The kind you sometimes find in very small towns in backwoods America, if the town even has a motel. I was tired and wasn’t even very hungry, but I had to eat because I was asking a lot of myself today. I packed up and rolled out right at 7:00am.
I have ridden many century rides over the years (a century ride means 100 miles in a day), and every one of them has left me quite exhausted. The effort is probably similar to running a half-marathon; bicycling is so efficient that the “equivalent” factor to running is something on the order of 6 – 10 times. But the effort involved in piloting a loaded touring bike is something altogether different, especially when hills are involved. From my experience to date, I’d say that 60 miles on a loaded touring bike at least equals the effort required for 100 miles on a road bike, and exceeds it if lots of hills are involved or if there are even a few steep hills. Any day of 80+ miles on a loaded touring bike in hills is an extreme effort. I did 84 such miles yesterday and ended the day feeling elated to have made it, but quite exhausted. This morning I was wiped out from the effort and the short night of sleep, my muscles were fatigued, and I was planning to do 88 miles with hills to reach Carbondale. I had no backup plan if I couldn’t make it. Today was special.
And so I rolled out of Cave-in-Rock and headed west. As if to emphasize the magnitude of today’s challenge, there were several ridiculously steep climbs on secondary roads immediately as I left. I kept telling myself to focus only on the immediate goal of Elizabethtown (one bite of the elephant at a time), but it was hard to not think about the overall day’s goal. Long distance loaded cycling is 95% mental, and the rest is in your head – I know this to be true, but it’s hard to realize this when your quadriceps are screaming at you; “What’s the matter with you!? I’m in pain, I gave you everything I had yesterday, you can’t possibly ask even more today. You’re going to kill us both you #@^% idiot!” And I was only 2 miles into today’s journey. So it was really special to crest a hill and find this rest stop constructed by a homeowner for cyclists.
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Sadly, I understand that Mr. Jenkins passed away just recently. It seemed like a tremendous effort just to reach Elizabethtown, and I was now only 7 miles into today’s travels. The sky was foreboding of storms as I took a couple of shots of the Ohio River.
I was pleasantly surprised to find a café open and serving breakfast. My meager instant oatmeal breakfast had already been used just getting to Elizabethtown, so I was happy to go in and scarf down a “real” breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast and a pancake. You never know when you may get to eat real food again, so it’s very hard to cycle past a restaurant. As I was heading in, I met Peter and his wife from Switzerland.
His wife told me her name, but I’m afraid I didn’t understand what she said. She spoke English well enough, I just couldn’t quite decipher her name. Blame it on my unsophisticated backwoods hearing, I’m just not tuned into foreign accents well enough; so “Mrs. Peter” please forgive me for not knowing your name. We may very well meet again on the trail and perhaps then I will understand when you say your name.
I struggled on toward Eddyville. But that’s too big of a bite, so I had lots of intermediate goals; every new road, every identifiable intersection on the ACA map, whatever was the next thing ahead of me became my goal. I focused on that small goal, and only that. I told myself, “All that matters in life right now is that you cycle to the intersection with the Eddyville Road. It’s only 2 miles ahead. If you can do that, then you will eventually win the day.” And that became my sole focus until I reached that point, and then I repeated it for the next identifiable landmark. That’s how I usually roll, but today was different, today I HAD to work on staying focused or things could turn out badly.
It was tough going. Not only were there some steep hills during the first 60 miles of today’s ride, but a weather front had strong winds from the west impeding my progress. Today I had to ride down in the drops most of the time (for my non-cycling friends, this means I am leaning forward with my hands down on the lower portion of the handlebars) to be more aerodynamic. The wind even impedes my downhill runs a bit, and I have to pedal harder than normal on the flats. I’m riding in the low ring a lot, traveling slow. “Spin till you win,” I remind myself. I met Jarod along the road today, as we passed each other going opposite directions.
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He has sold his residence and placed his stuff in storage, and has taken a year off to cycle around the country. Wow! He’s on his way to an ACA leader training (I forget where – Atlanta?), and will then visit friends and family up and down the eastern coast and points beyond. Talk about an adventure, that’s pretty gutsy.
Back at my labor, I’m toiling away. My muscles are spent from yesterday’s hard effort, and I’m spinning the granny gear up the slightest incline. But I’m moving. I remember another saying I sometimes use:
“Maintain an Even Strain.” Orion Fleming, 1978
Orion Fleming was an engineering technician with the Corps of Engineers in the 1970’s, and worked as a drilling “inspector” to record things like sample depths, groundwater depth, and numerous details associated with the drilling of geotechnical borings. He was a crusty old fart at best, and a cantankerous and argumentative sort was his usual demeanor. His smart mouth got him into more than one bar fight, which he always lost because he was a small and wiry type of fellow. Whenever I gave him instructions for our goals for a set of borings, he would argue with me, question my intelligence and family lineage, and end with cussing me out and displaying his middle finger and telling me that the entire office staff were all a bunch of ^%&$# morons. Orion was given the nickname of “Poontang” by the drillers, and that’s really how we addressed him. I don’t think folks today will recognize it, but back then it had some vulgar connotation, or at least it did with the drilling crowd.
But I digress. The point of Orion’s saying “Maintain an Even Strain” is to pace yourself and not burn out – just keep a steady pace. He was actually confusing the engineering term “stress” with “strain,” but it doesn’t matter and anyway “strain” rhymes with “maintain.” And so I pushed ahead steadily trying to “maintain an even strain.” But the hills require an anaerobic burst of energy to ascend, so an even output of energy just isn’t feasible. I was breathing heavily after each uphill, and I was becoming quite fatigued. When I reached Eddyville I was only about 30 miles into an 88 mile day and I was very tired. I thought Illinois consisted of flat cornfields. Who put these hills here?
I felt like I needed to eat in Eddyville, but the restaurant was ½ mile off my route, and even that 1 extra mile might be significant before this day was over. Besides, I needed to conquer more of the day’s journey before I fueled up with real food, else I may not make it. So I loaded up with fluids to get me to Goreville. I had rolled into Eddyville with near-empty tanks; I was drinking heavily today. So I filled up the water bottles and bought a sweet tea to strap to the rear rack. I assessed my fuel situation; I had about half of a Snickers bar, one cheese cracker, and four peanut butter crackers. Goreville was about 28 miles away, with some decent hills ahead. I could make it, and the ACA map showed a restaurant symbol there. You never know what sort of restaurant it may be, or even if it is still in business, but it gives you some hope anyway. If the restaurant wasn’t opened, the ACA map also indicated a grocery store symbol, so I should be able to get food there somehow. I would HAVE to get food in Goreville, or else the day’s journey was over.
I rolled on, taking little bites of the elephant at a time, and rewarding myself as I reached each small goal by having a bite of the Snickers bar or a drink of the sweet tea or one of the crackers. I portioned them out evenly to give me little bits of energy spaced out along the way. I was really hungry and wanted to scarf them all down at once, but food has a very different meaning when you are using it as fuel to move down the road, so I consumed only my meager little reward at each intermediate goal. It seemed as though Illinois was also welcoming me as I came upon this sign;
And so I eventually reached Goreville. I was about 60 miles into what I had estimated was an 88 mile day, and I was truly exhausted and desperately in need of some real food. I stopped at a convenience store and loaded the water tanks again, and this time I added a large Gatorade to the rear rack. I also bought another Snickers bar for auxiliary fuel if needed. I needed to eat, but I needed to do so quickly and resume my journey, so the Subway restaurant was a perfect choice. A 6-inch sub, chips, and cookie washed down with 32 ounces of sweet tea did the trick without being too heavy, and I quickly rolled on. “Quickly” is a relative term; the wind and hills had impeded my progress on my already-tired legs, and it had taken me 9 hard hours to cover the 60 miles to Goreville. That time included my rest stops and the breakfast stop I had made at Elizabethtown, but the point is that my overall average speed today was working out to be less than 7 mph. I had about 28 miles to go. I could make it (barely) before dark at 7 mph, but I couldn’t afford any mistakes, flat tires, or other such bad luck.
And so I rolled on. I kept telling myself that the wind would die down as the afternoon sun grew low on the horizon, but it did not. However, the wind had shifted to being from the south, and my route to Carbondale involved several stretches of northerly travel, so I had a tailwind along parts of the way. The terrain mercifully started to change to be more of what I thought Illinois consisted of; gentle rolling hills. The real-food fuel was kicking in as I encountered a 5-mile northerly section of the route, and with the tailwind I was flying along at 15+ mph. My spirits lifted and I gave Harvey his head and let him run. And run he did, as we flew down roller coaster hills at 25-30 mph and attacked the uphills and usually made it over in the big ring. Harvey was smelling the barn and so was I. But the barn was still 25 miles away when I came upon this sign.
“They Used to Hang Horse Thieves”
I know why they used to hang horse thieves. A cowboy or traveler’s entire existence was carried by the horse. Everything needed for survival; water, food, bedroll, warm clothes, rifle for shooting food and defending oneself. Stealing a horse could mean condemning the owner to die. Shooting a horse thief caught in the act was a matter of self-survival. A cowboy cared for his horse and kept him alive by providing food and water and protecting his feet with horseshoes. This symbiotic relationship resulted in real friendship between man and horse. Long lonely days in the saddle found many a cowboy talking to his horse. Not that the horse could understand, but sometimes it helps to talk things out.
It’s almost the same with me and Harvey. Harvey carries the water I need in his tanks, and there’s always some emergency food in the panniers or handlebar bag. In today’s world, one needs a wallet with credit cards and a cellphone for survival. Mine are carried in the handlebar bag. I maintain Harvey and he returns the favor by carrying me down the road. I’m not going to tell you whether or not I talk to my bike during the long hours of cycling; if you've read this far you already know. But I will tell you that if you try to steal my bike, you better hope I don’t catch you. I have 30 feet of nylon cord in my panniers for campground use. They hang horse thieves you know…
And so I rolled on. The ACA map cue sheet told me to turn left at 8.0 miles on Tacoma Lake Road. There was no such road. Instead, at 9.0 miles I came upon Grassy Road. The cue sheet mentioned that Tacoma Lake Road would intersect with Grassy Road, so I headed down Grassy Road expecting to find that intersection. I didn’t. I came to an intersection that was a bit confusing to me. I guessed I should go right, but I wasn’t certain. I knew about where I was, but the truth is that I was lost. I would eventually figure it out, but a fatigued cycle tourist really can’t afford to make wrong guesses and have to backtrack. I waved at the next driver approaching the stop sign at the intersection, and the lady inside graciously rolled her window down and pointed me in the right direction to intersect with Giant City Road. I had guessed wrong and I would have went the wrong way without her directions, but now I was back on the right track. People are often fearful of stopping for what appears to be a stranded motorist, but no one is afraid of a bicyclist. We’re just too vulnerable to be a threat to a motorist. Here's a nice pastoral scene approaching Carbondale;
The route into Carbondale contained a few more steep hills that required hard effort in the granny gear. But I knew I was going to make it now, so the effort was bearable. One small bite at a time is how I started the day, and that’s how I finished it too. I passed a Mexican take-out place on my way and doubled back and ordered a to-go dinner, and cycled the last couple of miles to the Super 8. Now Super 8 hotels aren’t exactly in the 5-star class of hotels, but when compared to the place I stayed last night this Super 8 feels like a luxury castle. I cycled 89 miles today with some tough hills and lots of moderate hills and headwind, and did so while being fatigued from the previous day’s 84 miles and the last 8 days of continuous cycling. I consumed 220 ounces of fluid today while cycling. I’m tired and will take the day off tomorrow. I chose to get to Carbondale for a rest day because there is a Best Buy store here, and my cell phone won’t charge. I have had it set on “ultra low power consumption” mode and it has lasted for a week in this mode, but it totally died today. This little bicycle adventure would just be peachy with a working cell phone, so tomorrow means a visit to Best Buy, plus a visit to a nearby bike shop for a new tube and patch kit, plus time to do some laundry. Then Harvey and I are Missouri bound cause the “Show Me” state is beckoning us to come ride the hills of the Ozarks. I've earned my rest tonight, good night all...
Today's ride: 89 miles (143 km)
Total: 1,192 miles (1,918 km)
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