June 26, 2013
"You Look Terrible!"
Day 3: Onawa, Iowa to Humphrey, Nebraska
The second half of today was so horrible that it's painful to document it here. Only once before have I felt so sick riding a bike, and that time I had to call my mother to come rescue me and drive me home. (Embarrassingly, this "help me mommy" incident occurred not when I was a small child, but when I was 41 years old.)
The day started off promising enough. At the motel's continental breakfast I met middle-aged couple who were doing the Adventure Cycling Lewis and Clark route on a recumbent tandem. They complained bitterly of the heavy traffic they had encountered - in Iowa, of all places, which is full of empty roads. What's up with that, Adventure Cycling Association?!
The six or so miles to the Nebraska state line were nice enough, and Iowa drivers continued to impress. I crossed the narrow metal-surfaced bridge over the Missouri River with ease. All I was carrying to guide me through the state was a Nebraska highway map on which I had marked my route with a highlighter. I was planning to "play it by ear" or, as we often say, less politely, in Kentucky, "half-ass it" the first day or so, and adjust my route based on traffic conditions. The map doesn't show the unpaved farm roads, so I was a little apprehensive.
In a few miles I reached a busy, shoulder-less state highway, and after a mile or so abandoned it for what Nebraska calls a "local road." Smooth pavement, and virtually traffic-free. Hopefully it would actually rejoin my route at some point.
After several pleasant miles, my rear tire went soft, the first of my many trials today. There was no shade tree anywhere, so I pumped it up and kept going. A few miles later it was soft again, but this time it happened near a tractor repair shop, and the guys there told me it was fine to work on it under their shade tree. They men were friendly and had the Usual Questions about what I was doing. I went over the tire and wheel carefully, but still could not find the source of what was now the third flat in three days.
Several miles later was the small town of Lyons, which had a well equipped small supermarket. I had been dreaming of a juicy turkey and ham sandwich for some reason, so I was disappointed when the lady at the meat section said they didn't make sandwiches. Where I'm from, and in the South in general, virtually every country store or supermarket will make a sandwich to order, even to my own ridiculously exacting specifications. Oh well. I would just get one later in the day.
I followed the road out of town, and after several miles it came to a "T." Each direction was gravel. Because the wind was out of the north, I went south. The gravel surface was mostly good, almost in the Iowa class of gravel roads. I eventually ran low on water and asked some farmers if they had any, and they obliged with some out of a garden hose, which they assured me was "delicious." It was, and I continued on.
Finally I reached busy highway 32. I rode on it for a few miles, but grew weary of all the trucks passing me, and took a gravel road south. My assumption, which my inadequately detailed map didn't actually support, was that I could eventually reach my destination, Highway 91, this way.
After a few miles I saw a family in their front yard, and the man gave me directions that would get me back to pavement, and eventually hook up to my route. The directions actually worked, and after several miles of riding on the wide shoulder of a busy road, I finally reached the road I would be riding on for a few days, State Highway 91.
This is when things started going wrong. The highway was much, much busier than I had expected, and there was no shoulder. My "research" had not revealed that the route consisted of many, many steep rollers, perhaps 60 miles of them. Towns on the highway were often actually a mile up (or down) a hill from the highway. So I didn't want to take the time to get off the highway. Also, it had gotten increasingly hot and humid, which apparently affected my mental processes.
Because of this, I allowed myself to get dehydrated, or suffer some related malady. I was drinking water, but no Gatorade. The rest of the day was a nightmare. I stopped in one town and drank almost half a gallon of chocolate milk. That didn't seem to fix things. Later I stopped in another town and walked into the supermarket to learn that they "don't make sandwiches." In my addled state, all I could think was:
WHY WON'T YOU MAKE ME A SANDWICH, NEBRASKA, WHY!?
As I approached Humphrey, my destination for the day, I started getting leg cramps. The last ten miles went by agonizingly slowly. Finally, I reached the tiny Midway Motel. When I walked in, the perceptive lady looked at me and exclaimed "You look terrible!"
After showering, I wobbled across the road to the truck stop restaurant, where I was unable to eat more than a fraction of the breakfast (the only thing on the menu not deep fried) that I ordered. My teeth were chattering, and my hands were shaking badly. What had I done to myself?
Back in my room, I forced myself to drink several cups of water from the tap, and then fell into a deep, deep sleep for ten hours.
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Today's ride: 96 miles (154 km)
Total: 259 miles (417 km)
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