Dog Daze After Goons

Day 57

Farmington, MO to Carbondale, IL

Distance: 97 miles

Distance I thought it would be: 74 miles

Dogs outfoxed: enough for a pretty decent dog sled team

Flies attaching themselves to me during ride: waaaaaaaay too many

The ground was wet outside when I woke this morning.  But as I sat and blinked at the TV and contemplated a rainy ride, I was lucky enough to spot that the Doppler Radar showed a storm coming through Farmington between 8.30 and 9.30 am and then clearing for the day.

And so my plan for the day was hatched… start my ride at 10am and all will be fine and dandy (thanks Al Roker and friends).

It seemed like an excellent plan, with only 74 miles to complete. And it also allowed for a quick trip to the bike shop in town to breathe a bit of air in Steed’s tyres for the first time in a while (Newton, KS in fact).

I wasn’t in the best frame of mind, though, as I set off for the day. I’d had a great weekend again meeting some lovely new friends, but part of me couldn’t help but yearn to see just one person more than once on this trip. To have some ongoing in-person conversations with somebody who I’d met before.

So far this trip, I have seen Matthew four times (Saratoga, Kremmling, Breckenridge and Pueblo). Other than that, the only people I have seen more than once are Phyllis (stayed two days in McCall), Chelsea and Jerry (twice in Pueblo) and Nick and Cyle (twice in Chanute).  There’s something in the human psyche that just makes this tough after a while. And after eight weeks on the road, I am feeling it.

And so, as I set off for the day, and rolled Steed through hotel reception, I wasn’t sure how to answer the lovely hotel manager Cheyenne, who started chatting to me about my trip. We talked about my route and, as it turns out that Cheyenne is a serious cyclist herself, we ended up discussing various cycling things too.

Then she asked me what it was like being on the road on my own, and I had to admit for the first time that I was actually feeling quite lonely. She understood completely, and we had a nice chat about things until I was ready to hit the road.

At which point Cheyenne did two things: first, she went off and got a pack of Clif strawberry energy blocks, which she swears by and wanted me to try (they seem pretty good); second, she told me that I would not be paying anything for my stay at the hotel. I was staggered.

“You’re a cyclist hon and I like what you’re doing,” she said. “It’s on us.”

I couldn’t believe her kindness, and it spread itself through me as I set off for the day and made me feel yet again that the people of this country are amazing.

Stopping off at the bike shop in town, I chatted to Laura and the guy who was running the store (I didn’t catch his name…oops) as I pumped up the tyres (the back one was half the pressure it should have been).

I also gave the Ickle Bitty dogs in there a scratch under the chin, and Laura mentioned that I should be prepared for more loose dogs for the next few days of riding. I told her about the Bark Genie, which she hadn’t heard of before.

“Go on,” she said. “Give it a test.”

And so I pressed it with the little dogs there and they did not like it one bit. The little black teddy bear dog didn’t really move but just stared at me questioningly, but the Jack Russell stepped back a couple of paces and gave me a look that made me think of a small child with pigtails and a pink dress with her hands over her ears and a pained look on her face. 

Apologising profusely to the dogs as I left (Laura thought it was quite funny) I pedalled out of town, realising that it was already almost 11am.

Now, none of this would have been an issue were it not for the fact that I messed up again on the distance calculation. Last time it was the ride into Virginia City, MT, where I was out by ten miles. This time I had actually missed out a whole map panel… that’ll do it!

I didn’t realise that of course until I stopped for a late lunch around 3pm in Chester, IL. Yes, I am now in Illinois, having spent a fun week in MO… and I should also mention that Chester’s claim to fame is that it is the home of Popeye.

But before then, I had already been dealing with two types of pest.

The first were, predictably, the loose dogs.  But for some reason today, blissfully, something always happened to meddle with the plans of the pesky mutts. And the Genie remained happily inside the handlebar bag for the whole time.

The first couple of dogs I went past, I was going downhill and so they made a kind of yelp but, since my pedals weren’t even moving and I was at full pelt, I was there and gone in a split second, their yelps disappearing into the air.

The second lot were a pair of border collies on the other side of the road who were desperate to come and chase me down properly but, as luck would have it, a whole load of Harleys were coming past me at the same time. I could see the collies standing there, itching to leg it across and get one of my gnarly cycling calves between their teeth but knew they’d be splatted if they did. They tried to give chase once the Harleys had gone and I did have to pedal like crazy to get away, but I left them in my wake…ha!

The third set really couldn’t be bothered – I saw a few of those in fact - but these two were funny. The big dog sat with his back to the road very publically licking his b*lls as the little dog looked from me to the big dog and back, willing his friend to stop but… well, what dog in its right mind would I guess, right?

So those were the first, and harmless, pests.

The second were the truck drivers. For the first time on the trip, I really felt scared of them today. Chloe had already given me the heads up from a few days ago when she said they’d had a hard time around Farmington, and so I knew I might have to deal with it at some point But, even though you know it’s coming, it still doesn’t really help when it happens for real.

I noticed the difference as soon as I crossed the main highway just around ten to fifteen miles before reaching Illinois. The road was narrow with no shoulder most of the way, and the trucks were impatient. I had a few come a little too close as they came past me, and some pick ups who just sat behind me revving their engines as I tried desperately to get to the top of a climb so we could all see if it was safe to overtake.

I’d also seen a couple of truckers give me the one finger salute, and one doing some kind of fist motion, which didn’t seem too complimentary. Half of me wondered whether they’d been thinking about this when they’d sat in church the day before as, given that something like 90% of the people in the area are Christians, I suspected they were too.

But the worst section was after Chester, IL, where I decided in my infinite wisdom to do the Mississippi Levee Alternate route rather than the main one. Well, it was the same length as the main route, pretty much flat, had no traffic, and was next to the powerful Mississippi, which I had just crossed to get into the state. What was not to like, I thought?

Getting to it. That was what not to like.

It was a stretch of only around eight miles, but it was hell. The supposedly “wide” road did not have shoulders, and the “moderate to heavy traffic including trucks hauling coal” was the understatement of the century… or perhaps I didn’t read between the lines.   

I was doing OK, pulling over where needed to give space, until I got to a section where I was already going uphill by the time I could see the trucks in my mirror, and there was traffic coming the other way. There was not only no shoulder but, on that section of road, nowhere on the side to go at all. But the trucks didn’t slow down. Two of them went past me at full pelt so close that I felt the first one pull me in towards it, and then just as I was getting buffeted back and trying to keep straight, the second one came past.

I carried on cycling, breathing heavily, until I saw a pull-in on the side, and went for it. I stopped and cried for a good few minutes with the shock. Yes, I know, teeny tiny tears again. I guess it’s just my reaction to shock, but really it was horrible.

I managed the rest of the road OK, finding places to pull in and erring on the side of doing that whenever I felt unsure so that, even though it took longer, I didn’t feel so anxious. A couple of the trucks even tooted then to thank me, and it was a weird feeling given the idiots who had scared me to death before.   

And then I almost cried again with relief as I turned off to the flood plains roads, which, as promised, had no traffic. Yes, another section of road gets a rosette slapped on its arse for being the most fantastic cycling of the trip. Only this time I also felt like I wanted to stick a cherry on top of it and call it a cupcake as well.

This section of around 25 miles was just heavenly, with waterfowl, white-tailed deer, butterflies galore and… many, many tiny flies. But also, only one guy in a golf buggy and two farm trucks for the whole time.

Stork, Marge Reen plays musical statues with the kids

By the time I was cycling into Murphysboro, the town before Carbondale, it was already starting to get dark. I’d had my back light on all day but, at this point, I also pulled a front light out of my bag, and attached a couple of rather attractive fluorescent bands to my left wrist and ankle.

Winging it, and with the wind behind me, I took a short cut from Murphysboro to Carbondale, ending up on the main highway, but with a decent shoulder and moderate traffic, figuring it couldn’t be worse than what I’d already endured for the day.

And as I arrived safely at my motel just off the highway, I was grateful. To have made it in one piece, to have avoided the rain, for the lovely start to the day with Cheyenne and her kindness, to have pumped up my tyres at the bike shop, and to have had the pleasure of that magical bit of cycling on the flood plains of the Mississippi. 

Me x