Crossing States: It's a Sign

Day 53

Marshfield, MO to Houston, MO

Distance: 67 miles

Max speed: 43.7 mph

Time spent chatting: considerable

The day started with a moment’s silence to remember the victims of 9/11, which seems like an appropriate place to start this blog. And with the flags in the area all flying at half-mast, I was grateful to have some quiet time to pay my respects as I cycled out into a misty morning.

I stopped at the Post Office in town to send a few things back to Valerie. Now I have my new fancy schmantsy cycling tops, the old ones have had to be jettisoned. No matter they are looking a little worse for wear. A quick run through the machine with a Dylon dye will sort all that. Failing which, I will try soaking them in a bowl sun-cream and fluorescent orange Gatorade to even out the stains.

My first stop for the day was in the small town of Hartville where I shamelessly headed for the Subway and a 6” Spicy Sub with a cup of coffee. I know, I like to support the independent cafes, but something in me was craving the predictable, and so it came to pass.

And I use those last few words advisedly. I am definitely passing through what might be described as a Bible Belt at this point. My hunch was confirmed as such by Ben in the gas station and store in the tiny village of Bendavis (which might well be named after Ben for all I know).

I had already spent quite some time earlier in the day talking with Roman, from Austria, who I met on the road out of Hartville, who was great to chat with and share stories and tips. And so I was really letting my Chatty Cathy nature run wild when I found myself whiling away a cool hour chatting about nothing in particular with Ben.

Ben’s store was the first place I have come across where he gets the cyclists to sign a calendar for the date on which they pass through. I have signed a few cyclists logs/notebooks in cafes and gas stations, which is always a nice touch, but never a calendar.

He had a good memory for the others who had passed through this year and we spent a bit of time looking at their blogs on his computer. For each person he always knows (1) where they are from; (2) what they do for a living… if anything – ha! (3) how much rent costs in the place they come from… I think he uses (3) to make himself feel smug about only paying $800 a month for a huge house with a fantastic view and 40 acres… and who can blame him?

Anyhow, meeting Ben and Roman was just the boost I needed being back on the road again, and I finished my ride in good spirits. And talking of spirits, I managed to find my way to some tonight.

The lady at my motel had suggested a place called Miller’s Grill for dinner… until we worked out it was over a mile and a half down the highway.

Having identified a closer alternative, I should have been content. But looking at the restaurant reviews, and the words “salmon” and “steamed broccoli”, I found myself breaking my rule of not getting back on the bike of an evening. Yep, me, Steed, my sundress with knee length leggings and some blindingly bright lights made the trek down the highway and all the way to Miller’s.

I couldn’t see anyone drinking when I arrived and my head was full of discussions about “dry counties” and so tentatively I asked my waiter, Chip, whether they served alcohol.

“Oh yes hon,” he laughed, “We have a full bar – this is Missouri.”

God bless Missouri I say.

So, I treated myself to a Lemon Drop Martini, and then a glass of wine with my salmon, rice and broccoli.

Oh, I also ordered myself some fried onion rings in solidarity with Hugh and Chloe who are ahead of me on the trip and are suffering not only a dry county but a lack of anything other than fried food to eat (roll on Kentucky, hmm).

But before I leave the blog for the day, I need to share a few signs from my day…