Day 21: Lincoln Birthplace to Rough River Dam State Park: Three Weeks!

May 31, 2006

My morning didn't start so great. A couple of days ago I did something to my toe/toenail and ripped it in the middle. I trimmed it as best I could, but sometime in the pre-dawn hours at the Cruise Inn motel, I snagged that jagged edge and ripped that puppy right off. Not all the way off, though. I was left to do the painful last pull to finish the job.

Then it was time to pack everything I'd left strewn around the room the night before and go pay the perpetually squinting proprietor on my way out to the Lincoln Birthplace historical thingy.

Through the gates right after they opened, but I hadn't yet made it to the monument before a ranger gave me a giant warm turtle cheesecake brownie to get my day going. If you've had my brownies, you know I'm proud of them, but this was even better.

Went up to the monument built for the cabin they though was the real Lincoln cabin (but now they know it isn't) and descended the dank steps to the very spring where baby Abe had his first water from. Went back to the visitor center to chat with bike supporter Mr. Brownie before heading on down the road.

NOTE: They are planning a Lincoln history bike trip of some sort from KY to IL in 2008 for Abe's 200th birthday, so watch for that if you're interested in historical tours.

My next turn off was McDowell road where I stopped to take pictures of Farmer McDowell's baby calves. Both he and his equipment looked kind of run down and worn out, so I started chatting with him a bit, and pretty soon he just started on a resigned litany of frustrations he probably hadn't let out for a long, long time. About how he'd been sick and how they poked and prodded but never found anything and how his stubborn lady doctor wanted to keep doing tests even though he felt just fine for a guy who'll be 83 on Sunday. About his brother's "old timer's" disease and how it might be better if he got up and worked some instead of sittin' there watching TV all day. About how he just kept a workin' (unspoken but evident fears of getting the old timer's if he quit). Disagreements he'd had with his wife about whether to move to town. How hard it was to find hard-working help. How his wife has the "sugars" and will have to go for insulin shots now instead of pills because it's getting worse, but how he's doctored enough calves that he thinks he can help with the shots. Like I said, I think he just needed somebody to listen to him--he went away to feed calves sounding a bit more hopeful and just as determined to keep on working as he ever was.

Contrast that with the old guy who started heckling me later that day with "You done pedal like you 'bout give up on that thing." I don't know what he expected, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't for me to pull in to his driveway, right up to the edge of the open garage he was sitting in, seeing how far he could flick his cigarette butts as I set him straight and told him I was peddlin' that thing like I was goin' up a hill, not like I was givin' up. He ended up asking me a few questions about all these crazy bikers he sees go by all summer ("I'm shur 'nug there was fity o mowa yesterday go by"). Even though I'm sure there weren't that many, I said, "Well, I better go catch them" and headed out as he told me to be careful and went back to sitting in the shade flicking cigarette butts.

Well, that's one use for an old satellite dish

Lunch was at a Subway/Truck stop just before I-65. I think part of the reason I stopped here for so long was that I had to think about crossing the interstate...I live just a tank of gas North from this point and felt like crossing the interstate was an act of determination to stay on the trail and not give up despite the rain and sore butt.

Steve, the first real Eastbound rider--left Astoria April 5 (or 6--can't remember now)

Alea, my helper at a friendly country store. She went out of her way to make sure I had enough liquids and told me I could camp at the store. And since I was a girl, maybe I could stay in their house (but they don't let boys stay there!)

Nearing late afternoon, I stopped for a little longer break to get out of the sun and cool down. A lot of the convenience stores here have a seating area, so I took my munchies back there and met Rick, a retiree who didn't look quite that old who started off by telling me he believed what that old Indian said when he first saw a bicycle (don't know which Indian...)--"some machine...work off your legs to give your a$$ a rest." I sort of laughed, but didn't tell him my a$$ hurt worse than my legs anyway. At least he figured out I wouldn't take him too seriously, so that opened some conversation, too. He's a bee-keeper now--25 hives and 5-6 million bees (told you I was getting an education on this trip). He had some dark locust honey there and had me taste it and it WAS really good honey. When I told him I'd been looking for some beeswax for my saddle, he got really excited and offered to go home and get some and meet me at another store just up the road, but not before handing me the giant jar of honey to take with me. Not that I needed more weight, but he wouldn't take no for an answer once I told him PB and honey was one of my favorie biking snacks.

I also told him how it always bothered me that at the bee displays at the state fair, some bees must get left behind when the people take the displays home since there's a little tube where they come and go as they visit the fair. No one has ever really sympathized with me on this, but Rick did--and he confirmed my suspicions that the ones left behind would die without their hive. Sorry little bees.

After meeting Rick for the beeswax (which hasn't been processed and won't really work for what I want it for), it was a warm evening ride into Rough River Dam State Park, destination for me and the Duke boys I'd met up with again earlier in the day. It took me a while to decide on a spot, and the guys picked one more suitable for their group on the other side of the campground down by the spillway. I wanted to do some writing and head to bed at a reasonable time, so I was fine off on my own as I left off the tent fly for ventilation and prayed it wouldn't rain. A raccoon or something came snuffling by, digging through the remnants of garbage left in the fire ring by previous occupants (don't do this people--go find a garbage can), but it eventually left me in peace, too, after much shining of my flashlight and some snuffling of my own.

Today's ride: 58 miles (93 km)
Total: 973 miles (1,566 km)

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