Well ... you just can't get there from here!

April 19, 2006

Brown County State Park to somewhere near Medora, Indiana

What a day . . . I must have had my head under the covers because it was almost 8 before I woke up. Little wonder-lightening started in the distance just after 2 a.m. I jumped out of the tent to cover my new Brooks and the armpads on my aero bars . . . and the pannier I'd left empty on the bike. Lesson learned. The storm got to me sometime after that and drenched everything for quite some time.

They *told* me to hang the camping permit from my rearview mirror!

In the morning, I putzed around camp making tea and oatmeal and waiting for the sun to help me dry my tent. Brown County State Park is really beautiful, so I stopped a lot taking pictures on the way out. I knew I had all day to make about 40 miles, so I wasn't in a hurry. Oh, if I'd only known. . .

Hey big vulture, that was a big hill yesterday but I'm not dead yet!

See!!! I told you the hills were bad around here!

Today was all my pace. Stop when I want, go slow, go fast, whatever (ok, go slow way more than go fast). And I loved it. I stopped at Story Inn, a great little town where every building has been turned into part of the inn. I got some lovin' (and a LOT of hair) from Summer, the resident cat who just jumped right into my lap at the first opportunity. Actually, that's one of the worst parts about this trip-leaving my kitty behind. I feel like a bad pet parent. Anyway. . . A lady visiting the Inn from Chicago asked if the hose on my shirt was for extra oxygen. I wish, but it was just my camelbak for water.

Story Inn--an old general store hosts the restaurant, a tavern, and some of the rooms

Lots of horseback riding trails in the area

Down the road a ways, I met Roy Day. He was busy weed whacking when I went by, but I stopped at a nearby bridge to put on some sunscreen. He stopped working, heading to a shady spot to rest. I decided to go back and talk to him a minute and take advantage of his shady spot.

Roy seemed like he was pretty happy to have someone to talk to there in his little copse of trees. He told me about how he'd done a whole bunch of different jobs, including being a prison guard and how he'd control inmates by trying to understand them. He said he never knew how smart blacks were-he spoke highly of 'them' in a way my generation would be uncomfortable with. But for an old guy, he felt pretty enlightened. As he kept smoking, I offered him some of my fig newtons, but he told me how he eats a bowl of cereal in the morning and nothing more until evening because he doesn't want to be fat like his brother, who apparently can't get around much. He said his sister in law is twice as big as his brother, but she works a lot. I guess his brother is a lazy bum.

He told me of the loss of two wives, both to cancer, and struggled to make sense of why they got it and he didn't. He said, 'We lived the same, ate the same, drank the . . . well, drank about the same, so why them and not me?' He talked about how good treatment is so inaccessible to some and how doctors should study people like him-people with the same lives as people who died, so they could figure it out.

I soon stood up to leave him to his weed whacking. Chain smoking all the way, he recommended I get a snub nose .38 for my trip and offered his shaded, sheltered grove for camping if I should ever get back his way. He pointed me to a storm shelter he'd built out back if I should ever need that, either. I thanked him for letting me rest in his shady chair and pedaled on my way.

Lunch stop providing sunny grass for laying out the tent to dry

Putz, putz, putz for the next however many miles on my oh so well designed route using Gazetteer maps and g-maps pedometer for mileage. Stop at a church for a shade break and end up almost wetting myself when this fighter jet fires up his engines from out of nowhere and not too high up, blasts straight into the sky, and flips over on his back. He was gone before I could get out my camera, but it sure looked like a Blue Angel plane to me. A guy I met later in the day said there was a show coming up over the weekend and that they sometimes practiced for it over the fields of southern Indiana.

State road 135 got progressively busier as I neared US 50, a road I was supposed to cross on my way to Medora. It would have been shorter to take 50, but I assumed it would be a busy road with a less than adequate shoulder. When I got there, it was worse than I thought-so much traffic I had to wait a while to cross it and zero shoulder except on a nearby bridge. This road would have been borderline suicidal. Satisfied with myself for anticipating this, I sprinted across the highway only to find an even bigger problem. I knew the road I'd chosen might be gravel, so I was prepared for a mile or two of that. Gravel I can handle. A road that completely disappears underwater, not so much.

Well, this is problematic...the amazing disappearing road!

Really hoping this road isn't flooded later on

So 400 W was flooded. No big deal, just backtrack a little and take the next little county road. The next road back that would have routed me neatly into Brownstown via Ewing-closed. East of 135 was 500W, not flooded, but flooded two miles later at the intersection of 100S. Not just a little bit. Flooded in all directions. People in the area were getting around by boat. Joy is not amused.

Backtrack north three miles to the next available route. Yeah! 200N to 600W is open, hop over to 650, cross 50, head onto 235 to go through Medora and enter Starve Hollow from the West, no problem. Well, yes, problem. Granted, there is a sign that says the road closes at a certain street in town, but it also says local traffic only, so I think/hope I can get through and guess that the closure is for construction or something. Three miles later, I get to Medora and it's totally not the town I thought it was. I thought it was a quaint touristy town I'd driven through once before, but it was a dying little place with fat chain-smoking women running the gas station and talking about Powerball while selling food of questionable quality. I got a Gatorade and a Schwann's sundae bar, but it wasn't the malt I'd hoped for. I eat while I ride, hit the road closed sign, and see that 'local traffic only' may not be entirely accurate. I thread my bike through the signs nearly spanning the road, dreading the worst while finishing my ice cream. Yup. It's closed. Really, really closed. Like Jesus or somebody in a canoe were the only ones getting through.

Last option that doesn't require 10 extra miles ... You've got to be kidding me!

Now what? There's nothing to do but throw my ice cream stick to the ground in frustration among the other flood-spawned garbage and go back through the hold in the sign. I find a shady spot along the main drag in town, try to look lost, and hope someone will take me where I want to go. Doesn't work. There's plenty of trucks, but no one I want to ask for a ride back on killer 50. By this time, although I haven't done a huge number of miles, I've putzed around all day and need to find somewhere to camp relatively soon.

I scope out a couple of church lawns, but the whole town just seems kind of creepy and ingrown. My best plan seemed to be to backtrack 4 miles to a country church, hope the neighbor is still mowing the lawn or just sneak around back and set up camp there, but the library was open, so I thought I might get info on a re-route there. Nope. The lady oh so helpfully told me that the river and most creeks in the area were flooded (Really?!?) and that I probably couldn't get there from here. But if I went back to 50 (No-I'm not stupid-I don't want to die today (although I later found out that bikers do actually ride that road occasionally))

[we interrupt this story for a small breakdown in the library bathroom where it is then decided to go back to the country church after filling up with Medora water, which we hope isn't tainted by the flood]

Four-ish miles back to said church over a couple of little hills. No lawn mower anymore, but as I'm passing the house, I see the guy by his shed. I make a quick turn into their driveway. The elderly guy and his wife are both outside, and wasting no time I announce, 'I'm in a bit of a pickle . . . can't seem to get there from here . . . do you think I could put up a tent behind that church?' They thought that would be ok and assured me that nobody buried in the graveyard had ever bothered anybody. We chatted for a bit and they offered to let me in the church to use the restroom, which led to discussion of whether I shouldn't just stay in the church. One phone call later and I was being escorted to the front door and was handed a church key and an invitation to join them for a chat after I got settled in. They hollered at me to just take my bike inside, and I settled into my little Sunday school room in Mt. Zion UMC.

Almost as soon as I walked into their house, Ralph and Inez treated me like family. Ralph told me some of the truly tragic times they'd had with losing two of their children. Inez took a picture of me right away so they'd remember the strange biker who'd pulled into their drive one April day.

I had to earn my keep, so I helped them feed the fish in their little pond. We went inside, Inez got me a glass of tea, and they decided to take me on a grand tour of the area. They showed me an old fort, a lake, a hatchery, a couple of forestry nurseries, and their local nursing and funeral homes, all the while pointing out relatives in what seemed to be every third house we passed. They took me up an incredibly steep road called Skyline Drive near Brownstown. Lance Armstrong, if you ever get this way, this road is your challenge. I wouldn't have biked up OR down it, and even driving it would have been disconcerting. It was like being on an old mountain backroad right there in Indiana.

Our tour complete, we headed home for the night, and I headed to the church for dinner and bed. I wasn't hungry, but I made myself eat. While I was putting a donation in the offering plate, Fred and Susan, the couple who'd given permission for me to stay there sight unseen stopped by to welcome me to the neighborhood. So many kind strangers! And a wonderful end to what had been (at times) a frustrating day. Today was the day I felt like a real bike tourer-I was loving every minute of my time with Ralph and Inez, my first real trail angels.

46.23 miles, 10.6 avg, 4:21:14 ride time

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