Day 55: Rogersville to Corbin

April 24, 2004 Kentucky

A bright, sunny and warm morning greeted us, although the western sky was black with clouds. We set off at 8:00 am and continued southwest along the 11W. The traffic was surprisingly heavy for a Saturday morning, but the sky was clearing and this was a gorgeous morning to be out. The road was mostly downhill and we passed by several of the long arms of Cherokee Lake Reservoir. Fishermen were out on the lake in their bass boats. The land was extremely green and beautiful, and we enjoyed the ride.

At Bean Station we turned right onto highway 25E, which took us in a northwesterly direction. It also led up into the Cumberland Mountains quite suddenly. Fortunately this part of 25E had a very wide and mostly clean shoulder, so we hunkered down and ground our way slowly up toward the first summit, Clinch Mountain. The grade was very steady, long and unrelenting. The morning had warmed even more, and the humidity was reported to be in the 90s. Sweat dripped into our eyes, making them sting with salt. We made several stops along the way to cool down, to drink water, and to eat oranges and bananas.

Amazingly, at the top of the climb, the air temperature suddenly dropped, and the sky went from sunny to cloudy. But we welcomed the relief from the heat. As we zipped down the north side of this mountain the air warmed again, and all too soon we were down in the Clinch River valley. The rest of the way to Cumberland Gap was a roller coaster ride: chugging up one long climb, zipping down the far side, crossing another river, then grinding up yet another grade. In these higher elevations the forests were absolutely gorgeous.

A couple of large highway signs had warned of a tunnel ahead, and when we finally reached the Cumberland Gap Tunnel, we were dismayed to see a No Bicycles sign. We didn't know the alternatives, so proceeded to a stop signal near the entrance to the tunnel where a couple of Tunnel Security officers watched us approach. They told us bicycles are not permitted in the tunnel except by special permit, but that an officer would escort us through. The fellows were very cordial and wanted to know about our trip. While waiting for the truck we learned a bit about this tunnel. Building it was a 23 year project, completed in 1996. The tunnel is just over a mile long, and it is actually inside the Cumberland Gap National Historical Park. We asked about the tri-state boundary, and one of the fellows pointed to a certain place on the hillside above and told it is the western corner of Virginia and the boundary between Tennessee and Kentucky.

When the escort truck arrived, we learned that we were not to ride the bike through the tunnel, but have it transported. The fellows helped us load it, and we were directed to sit in the cab. The driver was very friendly, and helped us unload at the far side of the mile-long tunnel, adjacent a Welcome to Kentucky sign.

We continued on our way, still on highway 25E, still climbing and descending. The traffic was becoming heavy and extremely aggressive, and we had a couple of close encounters with rude drivers. These sometimes appeared when, as here, we lost our good shoulder and the road narrowed to two lanes. We could see where the road was going to be widened, but it looked like another 23 year project.

For relief from the traffic we turned left onto road 930. This was a narrow two lane road that followed the railroad grade and generally paralleled the Pound River. The cars here were very few, and the road easy going save for one exceptionally steep hill. But how we reveled in the quiet! We peddled through Barboursville, a very pretty college town, and stopped to ask directions from a couple working on their roadside landscaping, and soon were back on the 25E.

We cycled on toward Corbin in heavy, unrelenting traffic, and finally at 5:15 stopped for the day.

Day's mileage: 101

Day 56: Corbin to Russell Springs

April 25, 2004 Kentucky

At one point yesterday morning we had stopped for a rest, and while inspecting the bike I noticed that the rear brake disk was not centered between its calipers. It was more over to one side. This could have been because the mechanic had rebuilt the hub and had thus changed the position of the disk slightly. This misalignment was on a very small scale because the gap is only about a tenth of a millimeter. But before the start of the trip I had read the instruction booklet that had come with this disk brake, so at least knew how to center the disk. Unfortunately these instructions for the brake were the only ones that had come with the bike, nothing for the rest of the bike. In retrospect, were I looking for a new bike I would strongly base my decision on what kind of instruction book came with it. At any rate, after we had centered the disk, the bike seemed to roll much more freely.

We were a bit wary about setting out this morning because the weather forecast was for rain. In fact, the evening previously there had been storm warnings issued for the area just to the west. But even though the sky was totally cloudy, rain did not look imminent, so we set off at 7:45 am. We passed under Interstate75, then turned onto road 312. All was well until road 312 began to meander through an outlying settlement. Our map showed that the road led fairly straight northwest, but instead it went every which way. The Sunday morning traffic was very light. But this neighborhood was full of dogs, and many were not contained. For several miles we managed to rouse just about every dog in this part of Kentucky. Fortunately all the loose dogs were medium to small, and not well practiced at attacking cyclists.

We reached the next road junction, Road 192, and turned west onto it, and from there the going was much more serene and pleasant. We entered Daniel Boone National Forest, and we were surprised at its resplendent beauty. The recent rains had brought out the rich, woodsy aroma of cedar, pine and hardwoods, mixed with aromatic flowers and pungent humus. We had the two lane road practically to our selves, so could relax and enjoy the scenic wonder here. And how magnificent it was. The road tended to stay high on the ridges, although it did plunge steeply a few times in order to cross rivers, only to climb out the far side. Small wildflowers were starting to bloom. In some areas there were large patches of delicate little purple violets. The squirrels were very active and numerous, as were small birds. A couple times we saw what looked like tanagers - bright yellow with red, white and black markings.

For much of the day we peddled on very wet pavement, where rain had fallen heavily before we had arrived. Dark clouds were moiling, and once or twice we caught a bit of drizzle, but were fortunate that the bulk of rain was missing us.

One area we peddled past harbored sandstone grottos hidden in the thick foliage, very beautiful with ferns, mosses and other delicate plants, with water dripping down the faces of the stone. Also we peddled through various karst areas indicated by limestone outcrops. When in high school I was an avid spelunker but my particular region was quite short on caves. I had always dreamed of visiting Kentucky and exploring some of these rich karst areas.

Eventually we dropped down the west side of this forest and reached the outskirts of Somerset. We had planned on peddling west along the Cumberland Parkway, so followed road 80 bypassing Somerset and leading onto the Parkway. This had a wide shoulder, but was old and full of cracks and potholes and debris of all sorts. Nevertheless it took us directly west. The traffic was very high speed, but not too heavy or frenetic, and for the first time in about 150 miles the drivers tended to be considerate. Huge, dark rain clouds boiled overhead but somehow we managed to slip between showers. At one point the sky looked particularly ominous so we stopped under an overpass. But the clouds hung onto their load of rain for the moment, so we carried on. The light headwinds in the morning had gradually built stronger as the day has wore on, and now peddling into the wind was taxing. Farther along we biked past a county line that also demarcated a change in time zone, so we gained an hour.

At the Russell Springs exit, we decided we had pushed our luck with the clouds as far as we dared. We had just gotten off the bike in front of a restaurant when the rains let loose. Even though the afternoon was early, it was very dark, and we were also rather tired from yesterday's exertions. So we decided to stop for the day. After riding wet pavement much of the day, we needed to clean the chains, chain rings, sprockets, and dérailleur. They were exceptionally gritty, with a thick, black, greasy grunge coating everything.

A few more thoughts about the bike rebuild several days ago. Part of a rubber seal is now protruding from one side of the rear hub. And the hub has developed some play, as has the chain ring. We phoned the bike shop back in Virginia and the mechanic gave us what now seems like an extremely unlikely excuse. In reality his work has not held up, and this has been a good lesson for us once again, not to walk into a shop and turn the job over to some expert, while we remain ignorant, and let the mechanic or salesperson sell us a bill of goods. Most vividly I remember learning this lesson the hard way when preparing for our first PCT hike and walking out of a backpacking store with 8 lb packs, a 4 lb tent, and so forth. The convincing salesperson and slick magazine hype had convinced us, but ultimately nature showed us a much better way. Another example was when preparing for our first Arctic sea-kayaking journey, what seemed like the best kayak manufacturing company tried to sell us a boat that weighed 125 lbs.

I now suspect that the original play in the rear hub had not meant it was worn out, as the mechanic had claimed, and made such an issue of, but only that the adjustment nuts had loosened. Also, while riding along we have needed to adjust the tension of the forward and rear dérailleur. This is normal, and easily done except that the mechanic's new ferrules are crimped not round, so they do not allow the adjustment barrels to be turned.

In all our experience with dozens of bike shops the past two years during some 5,500 miles of riding, we are becoming disillusioned with them. We are now determined to do any further work on the bike ourselves, even though it means we will have to mail-order the necessary components and tools. All this fuss about the bike, but it is like shoes to the long-distance hiker, kayak or canoe to the expedition paddler, or boat to the ocean rower - it is the modus operandi on which the journey depends, and during the journey itself we have neither a shop with its tools, nor the desire and the time to lie idle. All this points to the need for better preparation and knowledge, rather than relying on the so-called experts and their gear or repair work.

Early evening, the clouds built to tornado-looking status. Black and thick, low-lying with ragged bottoms, they were moving swiftly from the southwest. We watched them in awe of their power.

Day's mileage: 70

Day 57: Russell Springs to Bowling Green

April 26, 2004 Kentucky

How glad we were to awake to a mostly clear and sunny sky. Some clouds still hung low on the horizons, but overhead was all blue. Most noticeable this morning was the air temperature. It had plummeted with the passing of the front, and was now in the high 40s. We cycled along with numb fingers, watering eyes and dripping noses. It brought back fond memories of cycling the Outer Banks, 11 days ago. Today's humidity stayed low and the air temperature remained in the low 50s, which to us felt quite . The only time we sweated was while peddling up a steep hill.

The second noticeable thing this morning was that the landscape seemed to be flattening somewhat. Behind us were the mountainous regions of the Appalachians. Ahead to the west, the terrain was still rolling hills, but we could see no distant mountain ranges.

Once again we followed the Cumberland Parkway, and peddled 14 miles to the Columbia exit. The shoulder of the parkway was incredibly rough and strewn with debris, so at Columbia we exited and decided to try highway 80 instead, which generally paralleled the parkway. Highway 80 was a two-lane road that connected the small, scattered towns, so it bore a fair amount of local traffic. But all the drivers were courteous, or at least tolerant. This road climbed and descended a great deal more, so we got good workouts.

But after a dozen miles we began to tire of the meandering, so where our road converged on the parkway and crossed it via an overpass, we lifted the bike over a wire fence, walked it down a steep, 40-foot grassy slope, then hopped back on our seats and commenced our parkway peddling. This proved much more expedient, if slightly illegal, and the miles sailed easily by.

At the next parkway exit, Edmonton, we exited in order to enjoy a rest stop in a more peaceful location, away from the din and rush of traffic. Here Jenny noticed that the rear tire had lost some air, so we pulled the tire off, inspected the tube, and sure enough found a puncture. Inspecting the tire we found a small chunk of glass embedded in the tire. This was bad news for the new tire because the glass left a hole. Nevertheless I patched the tube, and while reinstalling it we thought back at our last flat. It certainly had been a while.

Eventually we reached Glasgow, a hilly town so busy with cars and trucks that we were relieved when we finally left it behind. Beyond, highway 80 was now much quieter. This took us fairly directly toward Bowling Green. The land here was more agricultural, and we were beginning to see Amish farms, of which there are many in western Kentucky. We passed by several roadkill possum and a few horned toads, and Jenny commented that we had not seen a roadkill woodchuck. But within a quarter mile there one was. Another sad fatality was a large turtle that we tried to rescue but in vain. The squirrels and chipmunks and birds seemed to fare much better with the traffic than these slower moving animals.

We phoned the bike manufacturer about the rear hub, and the rep said that of the thousands of their bikes out there, not one has ever needed a rear hub rebuild. They declined when we asked how we could repair ours.

The afternoon was wearing on, and we hit Bowling Green at what Jenny referred to as the 3:00 pm witching hour. This is when the traffic typically starts to become unruly. We cycled past a large high school that had just let out, and this added another element to the melee. But with determination we managed to forge our way through town, and on its outskirts stopped to rest at 5:15 pm.

Day's mileage: 97

Day 58: Bowling Green to Hopkinsville

April 27, 2004 Kentucky

We set out at 7:15 am, looking forward to an interesting and productive day of cycling. The sky was clear although the air temperature was chilly. We retraced our tracks north to highway 68/80, then turned west and cycled through the remaining suburbs of Bowling Green - its main claim to fame being home to the Corvette sports car manufacturing plant.

We moved well despite a light headwind. But within the first hour the wind built and continued to grow ever more strongly from the northwest. Strong headwinds for us today.

The west Kentucky forests were largely hacked down into farmlands, but even these were incredibly green and lush. Large farms abutted the road, and almost all had livestock in pasture. When we peddled past a sign depicting a horse and buggy, we realized that most of these were Shaker farms. One thing we found odd about this stretch of road west of Bowling Green was that the highway had been built so that it skirted the towns, and that there were absolutely no amenities along the highway.

After 30 miles of dogging in to stiff headwinds, we reached Russellville and stopped for breakfast at a small café. The locals here were friendly, and while puffing away on their cigarettes they asked us the usual questions: where d'ya start from? How far ya goin? It is getting more complicated for us to explain that we started in Arizona and are now headed west, so we tend to give an abbreviated reply that we are coming from the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Even this draws blank stares sometimes.

Determined not to let the headwinds thwart progress, we buckled down for the next 36 mile stretch to Hopkinsville. Suspecting there would be nothing available along this stretch either, this time we carried plenty of water and a few snacks. The scenery was very pretty, but the ambiance was somewhat unwelcoming. The only pullouts were private driveways or narrow roads leading north and south to farms. There were no stores, no gas stations, rest areas, picnic areas, in fact no amenities for the traveler of any sort. The locals obviously did not want outsiders stopping in this area.

Amusingly, though, at one of the turnoffs to the town of Elkton there was a highway sign that read: Tourist Attraction - Eleanor's Antiques and Nursery - 1 mile south. At the next turnoff to Elkton was another Tourist Attraction sign: Dairy Queen - 1.7 miles south. We didn't turn off to visit Elkton and its tourist attractions.

Instead we kept our wheels rolling slowly west. The wind was so strong that I turned and joked with Jenny that I was checking to see that she was still on the bike behind me - that the wind had not blown her off.

After a couple hours' toil we took what we call a guardrail break. We find a guardrail where the road is somewhat wider than normal. There we lean the bike against the rail, step over the rail and sit on the rough gravel facing away from the traffic. This is not particularly sublime, but it does get us off the bicycle seats for a while, and allows us a chance to chug some water and nibble a few snacks. At this place was a concrete bridge abutment that offered sort of an airy bench on which we could recline.

The highway had an excellent shoulder, seven feet wide and as smooth as the highway itself. On this shoulder were well worn tracks of tractors and horse-drawn buggies and the attendant horse manure. Also the creeks draining these Amish farmlands were very polluted. We were surprised to learn later that, besides wheat, soybeans and corn, these Shaker farmers were growing tobacco. The land appeared very fertile and productive, and the fields of grain waved gracefully in the wind. There was very little sign of wildlife, except for the red-winged blackbirds. These perky little birds seemed to delight in the wind as it stirred up the small insects in the fields. We watched as the birds flitted from their momentary perch on a fence line, flashing their bright wing patches, then wheeled back into the wind to alight again on the fence wire.

At one point we saw a three bicycles ahead, and wondered who could be out peddling in such wind. In a few minutes we saw they were young women riding sleek, modern road bikes in their mother Hubbard outfits replete with bonnets. They were not riding far, only to a craft center of some sort. As we passed by they averted their eyes and completely ignored us.

The miles reeled slowly past, and we were beginning to reel in the cold wind thrashing our wind jackets, lashing us in the face and stinging our eyes. The wind was blowing a good 25 mph, but it wasn't just the wind that was hurting our eyes. it was also the dust, pollen, grit and bugs being whipped through the air, both from the traffic on the road and from the crops and farm equipment. The inside of our eyelids felt like sandpaper.

Reaching the outskirts of Hopkinsville at long last, we stopped at a small produce stand and bought a bag of oranges and small bin of strawberries. But even here was no place to rest, and the proprietor seemed eager to be rid of us. So we carried on into town. Like yesterday's town, this ones motels were at the far southern side, so again we had to peddle a few miles out of our way. The parts of this town that we saw were populated mostly with blacks. But they seemed quite different in personality than those we had seen in the Deep South. Just as friendly and courteous on an individual basis, but a bit more integrated it seemed. By that I mean that when they spoke with you, you could sense that they felt more like they were talking with a person, rather than with a white person. As for myself, about all I could think of when talking with just about anyone was that I was talking with a motorist. :) Maybe this is how the Shakers look at the world.

Day's mileage: 70

Day 59: Hopkinsville to Mayfield

April 28, 2004 Kentucky

The new day was bright and sunny, and we were glad to find the wind was light and out of the southeast. The air temperature was only slightly warmer than the previous mornings, so the initial hour of biking was very brisk. Dodging the morning's traffic we cycled back through the western side of Hopkinsville in order to intersect road 272. Once away from Hopkinsville the traffic was only sporadic, the terrain gently rolling, and the going was very pleasant. This road was a rather wide two-lanes but with almost no shoulder.

Making good time, we were soon crossing a bridge over the long and narrow Barkley Lake, actually a reservoir. Next came a section known as the Land Between the Lakes, actually a National Recreation Area, with Barkley Lake on its east side and Kentucky Lake on its west. This area, sandwiched between the two, is a beautifully forested strip of land about 10 miles wide, and supposedly with lots of hiking trails, campgrounds, inlets, boat ramps, picnic areas, nature trails, bird viewing areas, and so on. We cycled westward through the forest of hardwoods, climbing gently to a ridge running north-south between the lakes, then descending to cross the bridge over Kentucky Lake. We enjoyed this natural area, all except for the heavy traffic. Although the speed limit was posted at 45 mph, most of the cars and heavy trucks whizzed by at about 60.

Along most of our route today we found several small towns with stores. The store owners and customers were very friendly and often curious about our trip. This dog, "Rufus" we named him, dearly wanted to go with us. He ran with us for a couple of miles.

Throughout the morning and early afternoon the wind slowly swung from southeast to west. And it intensified. So by 1:00 pm we were back to another round of slogging into stiff headwinds, and in the process were blasted with more dust, bugs and mega-sized pollen that once again had our eyelids feeling like sandpaper. We both agreed that goggles might have worked well. The landscape was lush with flowering trees, fields ripe with grain, and fallow fields brimming with golden wildflowers. The bright yellow fields were set against a verdant backdrop of maples in new leaf, beneath a dazzling blue sky. As Jenny quipped, it was beautiful for the eyes to see but not to feel.

At a small store near Brewers we stopped for a rest. Buying sandwiches and cold juice, we walked back outside to sit at a picnic table in front of the store. On the ground near the chair I was about to sit down on, was a large, ceramic chicken. Wait a minute, it was real - just holding very still. The chicken looked up at me, took a couple steps back as if to say, ok, you may sit down, then hopped up onto a nearby flower box. Turns out it was his flower box, filled with straw rather than flowers, with a water dish and bowl of corn nearby. His plumage was very pretty, and he was quite tame. Jenny started talking to the bird and scratching his head, and he seemed to appreciate the attention. I went inside and asked about the chicken, and the owners said it was a Dominick, and went by the name of Rojo. They added that he was rather famous in these parts, having been in the newspaper and so forth. He spent his days out front, enjoying the company of the customers and eating whatever they would feed him, then at day's end he would walk, by himself, through the store to the back room, and jump up onto its night perch.

Cycling on, we reached Mayfield, but were tiring of the windward grind so once again called it quits earlier in the day than usual. In fact it was only 2:15 pm, but we had come 75 miles and in such wind that seemed sufficient.

Day's mileage: 75, Trip mileage to date: 4,000

Day 60: Mayfield to Dexter

April 29, 2004 Missouri

We set off at 7:30 am; the sky was overcast and the morning much less chilly than usual. Road 121 leading northwest toward Wickcliffe was surprisingly busy with local traffic including a lot of truck traffic. We didn't have much shoulder, so kept a careful eye on the vehicles approaching from behind. Everyone showed us consideration and gave ample room. We gradually descended into the immense basins of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, and the adjacent agricultural areas. Along the way were the usual road kill raccoons, skunks, and opossums.

We crossed the Ohio River on a narrow 2 lane bridge. So narrow that the traffic coming behind us could not get around. In the lead was a large semi with a very understanding and patient driver. As he finally pulled around us on the far side of the bridge, he returned my hearty wave of thanks.

Here we cycled for only a few minutes on Illinois soil, at the very southern tip of the state. This was a thin tongue of land between the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, and we could see the great confluence nearby, with dozens of river barges moored in the expanse of water.

Next was an equally narrow bridge over the Mississippi River, same story here with a semi behind us much of the way, then passing with a friendly wave.

So in the space of 10 minutes we went from Kentucky to Illinois to Missouri.

Now in strong headwinds we plodded along road 62 to Charleston. This eastern Missouri landscape was flat, and cleared for mega-agriculture. These were not just family farms on a few acres. These were miles and miles of corn and sorghum and soybeans and wheat. And the wind blasted us from the south, with very few trees to break the gusts. We did not suffer from the pollen in the air today, however at one point we cycled through a swarm of honey bees. We peddled faster to get through them, as Jenny ducked low behind me to keep them out of her face. We had seen another small swarm of bees clustered on a tree trunk several miles earlier.

Through Sikeston the road was 4-lane with no shoulder and lots of traffic. We were on the north side of the road, and for some reason the dozens of gas stations, stores, and restaurants were on the south side. But the traffic was so heavy and incessant that we could not cross. Finally we had to dismount and wait for a break, then quickly run across, pushing the bike.

Gas stations and their mini-marts have gained importance for us, as they are among the best places that we can find to rest. Sometimes we go in and buy a fruit juice, fruit if they have it, or whatever. And sometimes we do not. But each time we sit on the concrete outside and rest. It is a place where we can sit on the ground and everyone thinks nothing of it. And more often than not, people will stop and talk with us, asking about our trip. The trip interests them, not for what we are doing, but for what we represent in them that they could be doing. The potential for adventure is in many people, certainly not all, but we see it in the distant gleam of so many people's eyes.

Eventually we reached the southwest end of town and steered onto highway 60, which is like an interstate but technically not. The shoulder was smooth and wide, with a rumble strip. This was a cyclists dream, notwithstanding the roar of traffic.

The sky was clouding over and the wind now positively howling. Fortunately here it was beam-on, coming from the side and slightly ahead, so was not slowing our progress below about 12 mph. But each time a car or truck whizzed past, the wind suddenly stopped then started again, and the net effect was that we wobbled all over the place, despite my concerted efforts at steering a straight course.

Reaching Dexter we stopped for the day at 3:30 pm. Here we found a motel adjacent the highway, and after showers we walked half a mile to a grocery store. We were famished, and bought several grocery sacks of fruits and salads. A light rain had begun, and as we were walking away from the store an elderly woman driving a station wagon stopped and offered us a ride. She was on her way home, our motel was on her way as it happened, so we very gratefully accepted. We thanked her many times for her kindness - it certainly made an impression.

For some reason, here in Missouri, I began to understand some of the meaning behind this bicycle journey, our Hello America trip. It had something to do with ridding ourselves of a lifetime of accrued misconceptions, and seeing this part of the world and its inhabitants - and people in general - for what they really were. Perhaps it has taken these 4,000 miles to see this; perhaps it is the nearly two months on the road, visiting so many beautiful places, interacting with people in their home towns by the hundreds, and clearing old cobwebs from the soul.

The drivers I began to see as people rather than motorists. Each one a good person - whether they gave us plenty of room - as the vast majority did - or very little, I began to realize they were not trying to cause us distress. One or two, perhaps, but what did that matter in the overall picture?

I thought of this great country we were cycling through. We were learning first-hand that America is not a land of evil as the TV programs and news reports would have us think. Jenny and I have met so many good people in every state, and we know there are millions more we will miss. This land, our homeland, is beautiful, from its wide open spaces, to its beaches, to its pine and hardwood forests and fields of grain. It is not cramped and crowded, depleted and dirty. It is gorgeous, spacious, healthy, and alive.

When a person begins to see the goodness and beauty around him rather than gloom and fear, good things may happen unexpectedly. In Sikeston a fellow slowed his truck to our peddling speed, and ignoring the traffic behind him rolled down his passenger window and asked about our trip. What struck me about this encounter was the urgency and innocence in his expression. Nearing Dexter another fellow in a shiny new truck did the same on the high-speed highway. I joked with him that I wanted to grab onto his truck for a tow, he said sure, hang on, and we both laughed.

Day's mileage: 90

Day 61: Dexter to Van Buren

April 30, 2004 Missouri

With rain in the forecast - as it had been for days - we set off with some hesitancy at 7:45 am. We thought we could at least reach the next town, Poplar Bluff, 25 miles ahead. The sky was overcast and gray, but not terribly dark. And thankfully, the wind was light and blowing from the southeast.

We continued westward along the wide and smooth shoulder of highway 60. Again, the terrain was flat and on both sides of the road were endless fields of grain. Ahead stood some low hills, and as we approached Poplar Bluff the highway started a gradual climb. The locals had been warning us of the hills ahead, but so far we are finding them to be gentle, rolling and easy, at least compared to those of the Blue Ridge and a few in NM and AZ.

Highway 60 bypassed Poplar Bluff, then turned northwest and entered the Mark Twain National Forest. The road was under construction, where the old, narrow two lane road was being revamped into a divided four-lane with mega shoulders. Where the expansion was finished we whizzed along gleefully. Where the work was still in progress, we hugged the side of the shoulder and kept a close watch on the oncoming traffic roaring by. On one occasion a pickup truck towing a farm disking implement turned suddenly off the highway, and a speeding van nearly plowed straight into it. Anti-skid brakes saved the day for these two drivers - it was that close. Another time a van whizzed closely past us, then crossed in front of us and nearly smashed into the guardrail. What drivers need is not better handling vehicles, but better skills of handling them.

The region was heavily forested and extremely pretty, and we wished we had more time to explore some of it. Represented here were mostly pine and oak, along with a wide variety of broadleaf trees of various descriptions. We crossed small creeks with clear water flowing. We saw bluebirds and robins and could hear the chirping and singing of many other types. Surprisingly, we saw several roadkill armadillos. We also passed by a couple of roadkill fox, a turtle and few frogs, and of course the ubiquitous flattened opossums.

Ellsinore, like Poplar Bluff, sat on a ridge. These two ridges were like ripples on an otherwise flat landscape. At a gas station here we stopped for a rest. Of all luxuries, here was a picnic table, along with a small Amish bakery where Jenny bought a few muffins and cookies. As we sat outside, Jenny remarked, "this is my kind of rest stop.

We set off again, still following highway 60 in its various stages of improvement. Huge machines were digging fill dirt from the high places, hauling to the low places and smoothing it out flat for the roadbed. This type of road construction is a massive undertaking.

Meanwhile, the sky ahead was growing extremely dark. Although we had seen gas stations and small stores every 6 or 8 miles where we might have taken shelter, there were none when we needed one most. The black clouds directly ahead reached right down to the ground. And we were headed right for this wall of mayhem - and it was headed right for us.

It began with a sudden flurry of rain. Ahead we could see nothing but gray-black. To the south, the bottom was dropping out of a huge, ragged cloud like a gnarly tornado in the making. Thunder was beginning to echo in the distance. I was starting to look for somewhere to pull off the highway, when suddenly we were hit with a blast of wind that practically knocked us off the bike. Jenny yelled at me through all the racket that we needed to get off the road. Just there was a gravel road, so we dismounted and pushed the bike up a short hill to a bit of shelter behind 8' high bushes. With rain cascading from the sky, we laid the bike down and quickly pulled on our rain jackets. Standing there, watching the rain and hail, and listening to the frequent rumbles of thunder overhead, I assured Jenny that we were safe from lightening because it was all occurring in the upper atmosphere. Suddenly there came a defining crack of an explosion somewhere very nearby. Well, most of it anyway.

For 20 minutes we stood there reveling in this humbling demonstration of nature's power. And when at last it began to taper, we figured we couldn't get any more wet than we already were, so we hopped on the bike, rode carefully down the gravel road, and proceeded carefully along the slopping wet highway, amid bursts of spray from the semi-guided missiles of metal and glass. The rain was good and not terribly cold, we had rain jackets, and we ourselves were basically waterproof, so everything was fine. But we decided it best to stop for the day in Van Buren.

Day's mileage: 75

Day 62

May 1, 2004 Missouri

Layover day in Van Buren.

Day 63: Van Buren to Cabool

May 2, 2004 Missouri

With rain much of yesterday, we had taken a layover day. Now we were anxious to get going. The morning sky was filled with fog, and the air temperature was very chilly. We crossed the Current River on a wide bridge. This river, and the many springs feeding it, is the main attraction of the Ozark National Scenic Riverway where we were cycling this morning. The first time we had seen the river, a day and a half ago, it was normal, but this morning it was flooding with many trees standing in the water. The scenery was very beautiful, the forest fresh and still dripping from an early morning rain. Highway 60 climbed up and down, winding through the Mark Twain forest, past karst areas of exposed limestone.

The morning finally started warming and we left the fog behind in the lower river valleys. Overhead the sky was completely blue, except for a small band of clouds in the distance ahead. The map showed that Green Mountain, just to the south of us, was 1,200 feet high. The forest was mixed hardwoods but mostly pine and oak, and we commented that in several hours of riding we had seen no roadkill. Bucking headwinds, we went through a few small towns, and past many small farms with grazing cattle or horses in pasture, all very quiet and serene this Sunday morning.

By 2:00 pm the small cumulus had grown immense and were moving swiftly eastward. Ahead and to the south we could see rain falling. Through this area we saw numerous armadillo roadkill. Reaching a gas station and restaurant we ducked inside to avoid the initial squall. In 20 minutes we set off again in a light but positively frigid rain wearing our rain jackets. For half an hour we peddled in this rain, until reaching the junction to Cabool where we stopped to study the next major storm system advancing toward us. This one looked serious, so we headed over to a nearby motel.

For an hour rain fell by the buckets, then amazingly the sky cleared and warm sunlight streamed down, only to be followed later in the evening by another big, black mass of clouds that dumped torrents. We are not used to weather this boisterous and swiftly changing. Nor had we expected southern Missouri to be this beautiful.

Day's mileage: 75

Day 64: Cabool to Springfield

May 3, 2004 Missouri

When we set off at 7:30 am, the temperature was in the high 30's. The sky was cloudy, but the clouds were low-lying and more like fog. A light but very cold wind blew out of the north. We resumed peddling along the very rough shoulder of highway 60, and had gone perhaps 3 miles when Jenny told me that we needed to stop to check the rear tire. Sure enough, it was losing air. We laid the bike down, removed the tire, and found a chunk of glass in it. This highway shoulder riding is expedient, but can also be rough on tires. I patched the tube while Jenny removed the glass from the tire. On inspection she found a few more glass-hewn gouges. Altogether there were four holes in the tire. All this with numb hands and breath that we could see in the cold morning air. Both front and rear tires had only 800 miles on them and the tread was still good, but the rear tire has taken a beating.

The sun began to warm our backs, although our hands and faces stayed cold throughout the morning. At 11:00 am we rode past a bank sign that displayed the temperature as 45 degrees. We couldn't ride fast because the shoulder was too rutted and potholed. And to make matters worse, the bike was making some awful creaking and cracking sounds. We couldn't tell if it was from the bottom brackets, the rear hub, or where. We even stopped several times to investigate. One thing was for sure, the play in the rear hub was worsening. We could grasp the rear wheel in one hand and move it side to side at least a quarter inch. It was time to find a good bike shop, and fortunately were coming to Springfield where there might be at least one.

The day warmed so slowly that we wore all our clothes all day. We even made a few stops along the way for hot chocolate. The small towns were nicely spaced, 10 to 15 miles apart. In Norwood we asked about a frontage road, and were given directions. This got us off the busy highway and its horribly rough shoulder, and put us on a narrow two lane road that was very quiet and fairly smooth. Even though it wound around a fair bit, it was probably faster because we could travel much faster on it. The only downside was that it lasted only for about 12 miles.

Again, we were quite surprised to see roadkill armadillo today, several of them. Although we still did quite a bit of hill climbing, the hills were much less steep. The terrain seemed to be flattening out. For about 20 miles, between Cedar Gap and Rogersville, we saw signs along the highway warning the automobile drivers to share the road with the horse and buggy of the Amish farmers. Obviously the buggies did not venture onto the actual freeway, but kept to the shoulder, even though the shoulder was in very bad shape.

West of Fordland the shoulder was much improved, allowing us to pick up our pace. Also we had a slight tailwind, and by now the sky had cleared and the day was finally starting to warm. The closer to Springfield, the more congested the traffic, until eventually we were riding along a full-blown freeway. The wide shoulder allowed us to travel very expediently, although we did have to be very careful at all the on and off ramps. The bike shop that Jenny had phoned a few hours earlier was not far from the highway. When we pulled up to its front door, it opened automatically. Jenny went in, and right away one of the mechanics came out and walked the bike through the store to the back shop.

A&B Cycles is a huge bike store, with a huge shop, and half a dozen mechanics working on bikes. One of the more knowledgeable fellows, Charlie, took up our cause, and seemed to be the most experienced. Best of all, he was willing to do the work right there and then, and to have us lurking over his shoulder the whole time to learn as much as we could. And he took the time to explain everything. He was a no bs type of guy, and didn't mind admitting when he didn't have a certain tool or part, and he didn't try to talk us in to work we didn't need. In fact he wouldn't even entertain talk about replacement parts that I thought the bike might possibly need, but that he did not.

Charlie was very concerned about the play in the rear hub. He had not disassembled this particular type of hub and disk brake combination before, so he phoned both Shimano and Santana to obtain the needed advice. That done, he proceeded to rebuild the hub, piece by piece. Jenny cleaned the parts in the shop's solution tank, and I helped Charlie wherever I could. The work was surprisingly involved, even for an expert, and now I understood why Santana had not wanted to tell me how to do it.

Charlie also inspected the front bottom bracket, removing the cranks and pulling out of the eccentric, and finding quite a bit of water inside the frame from the previous few days peddling in the rain. He tightened the timing chain, adjusted the dérailleur, and also checked all the allen bolts throughout. The entire job took two and a half hours. We also bought a new tire and tube, and some chain lubricant he recommended. We thanked him profusely for his help, and for working far past his usual 5:00 pm quitting time. He guaranteed his work, and said that we experienced any problems with it, to phone him and he would refund our money.

It was 6:30 pm by the time we left the shop, and we were very pleased to have the rear hub finally working properly. A few blocks south was a nice motel, and that is where we stopped for the day. While Jenny walked to the grocery store for salads and fruit, I changed out the rear tire and tube for the new ones.

Day's mileage: 76

Day 65: Springfield to Pittsburg

May 4, 2004 Missouri

A bright and cheery day greeted us, with sunlight streaming down and only a bit of scuddy cloud on the western horizon. The air was chilly but not as cold as the previous mornings. The wind was blowing out of the southwest, even at 7:30 am when we set off. With a city map in hand, Jenny directed us through Springfield, as we traversed the city from its southeast corner to its northwest. Preferring to stay off the busy main routes, we zigzagged the 12 miles, first north, then west, then north, then west until eventually we reached road 266 leading west, away from town.

This happened to be the old, historic Route 66 that led past many old buildings of that era such as tiny one-pump gas stations now grown over with vines and with the roof crumbling in. Several had been built of quarried stone, which obviously made very strong walls. Most had only the walls remaining; the roofs had long ago deteriorated and collapsed, or were perhaps blown away in a tornado.

Midway into the morning we took a guardrail rest stop. We sat on the ground and ate some fruit, then Jenny reached over to check the air pressure in the tires, and with a surprised look on her face she reported that the rear tire was flat. After removing the tire and tube, I could not find a leak in the tube and Jenny could not find anything protruding into the tire. I installed a spare tube, then we were on our way again.

As we cycled through this southwest portion of Missouri, we could see evidence of some of the devastation wrought by the tornadoes that struck here one year ago. Although the clean up was finished, there was still a lot house damage, mostly roofs torn off, or older buildings that were partly collapsed. In some areas we cycled past pieces of roofing and plywood and chunks of insulation. At one rest stop we spoke with a local fellow who told us about last year's devastation. He said that in one 11 day stretch there were over 200 tornadoes. But he also said that most people living here have never seen one in their lives.

The morning gradually warmed, but we had a strong headwind all day, which kept us from overheating. Road 266 (Old Route 66) became highway 96, quite busy with local traffic and trucks of all sizes. The land we rode through was gently rolling and at the top of one hill we had an excellent view to the north, west, and south. Amazingly, the land looked very flat in those directions. That would suit us nicely, thank you. Yet the view was deceptive because throughout most of the day we climbed and descended the undulating terrain. It was pleasant going despite the incessant traffic, the narrow shoulder that often became non-existent, and the strong headwind. It appeared that a lot of the land had been cleared for agriculture and grazing, but most of the farms were small to mid-size, family type farms. A few poultry-hauling trucks passed us by with the stacked up cages rattling and white feathers flying.

We saw some beautiful birds today: robins, bluebirds, blue jays, cardinals, meadowlarks, swifts and swallows, and two birds dressed in what looked like day-glo orange. These two birds were so busy squabbling in mid-air that we nearly ran into them.

Around noon, the clouds ahead of us developed into a thick mass that threatened to rain. But within an hour the whole mass of clouds passed quickly overhead without dropping any moisture on us.

We plugged along taking the blasts of wind almost head-on, and received a nice patina of dust, pollen and road grime on our faces, legs and arms. Again, our eyes stung from the debris. Eventually we turned northwest on road 171, and this is when we finally had the wind coming from slightly behind. Our speed increased dramatically, with a corresponding drop in effort on our part. Also, with the wind more on our backs, we became quite hot. We stopped several times in order to drink more water and juice.

After 91 miles of peddling we reached the Kansas state line. Reaching a state line is always a happy occasion, and this one was no exception. With a laugh we said the name out loud a couple times - Kansas! - and we both thought it had a nice ring to it.

The best part was that the roads now had wide and smooth shoulders. This made a huge difference for me, because I could relax my constant attention on the traffic behind. And no more ditching the bike off the road when someone was coming a little too close.

We peddled north into Pittsburg, Kansas, and finally called it quits for the day, at 5:45 pm, at the north end of town.

Day's mileage: 105