The Parkes and Stockham Cycle Part 2: TransAmerica

Date: Saturday 18th September   

Route:  Glenville, Kentucky – Sonora, Kentucky 

Distance: 106 miles 

Total climb: 5,178ft 

Net climb: 209ft

As initially planned, this was to be a monster day of 130 miles; but we had clocked an additional twenty miles the previous day and so felt confident that we could make it.  As it turned out, we were foiled by the heat and the clock.  That said, in our efforts to make it we annoyingly failed to take any decent photos of the day.

Our day began, as it had ended, in the sprawling retail park on the outskirts of Owensboro, with softball players everywhere.  Fortunately it seemed that we beat them all to breakfast, as Denny’s was empty when we wandered through the door.  A chain yes, but a superb breakfast served up by a rather moody waitress (it was tempting to point out that at least she didn’t have to cycle over 100 miles that day, but that would have been churlish).  After we had polished off our sizeable portions, we headed back in the car to the crossroads at Glenville and set off, at around 10am by which time it was already getting warm. 

By the time we had steered ourselves to Whitesville (24 miles into the ride) it was positively warm and the large “soda fountain” in the “gas station” there was soon our best friend.  A few more drinks and a couple of slices of pizza later and our core body temperatures had cooled sufficiently to head back out on the road, although not before Parkes had identified, purchased and eaten a large bar of Dairy Milk chocolate.  This proved to be ill-advised and led to him feeling sick for the next 10 miles of pedalling.  We paused before heading out; first to note some creative graffiti in the toilets (the most memorable example being “the South will raise (sic.) again”) and second to chat to a couple of local kids (aged around 17) on bikes who wanted to know about our trip.  They told us not to expect much on our route over the next 10 miles, but after that they couldn’t say what was in store – they had never travelled that far.  Somewhat astonished by that revelation we headed on to Fordsville – the 10 miles journey that we had spoken about with the lads – and met team Stockham on the outskirts of the town, talking to someone who was in the process of building a car from scratch.  It was the Fordsville motor festival and the whole town was full of “petrol heads” who were “kicking rubber” as well as lots of locals who were milling around and the various stalls and exhibits.  We stopped for a quick look, but resolved that although it looked fun, our time would be better spent pedalling.  We did stop long enough, for another random act of kindness, when a local chap paused to chat and gave us a free bag of cookies each.  He also told us that there were a couple of cyclists a few hours ahead of us.  This was all the incentive we needed – we were racing again!

Once again we had arranged a meeting point with team Stockham at a junction 7 miles past Fordsville, where our map informed us that there was a shop and a gas station.  It turned out to be an idyllic spot where we could lie on the grass under the shade of a tree.  Unfortunately, the shop had recently closed and so there were no cold drinks to be had.  Still, Tammy was stocked full of water and Ma Stockham had bought some fresh peaches so we didn’t go completely without.  Nonetheless, it’s always disappointing when you have your mind set on something and it fails to materialize – especially when at times on the bike there’s little else to think about other than your next drink/meal (note: I think this might be less true for Fred, for whom food plays a less significant role in the day…)

After we headed off from our bucolic haven the heat did not relent one jot and although the sight of large expanses of water at the Rough River Dam was pleasant we really needed some time out of the heat and some more substantial food.  Cometh the hour, cometh the Knotty Pine family restaurant in McDaniels, who not only provided some much needed fries and a milkshake but also gave them for free when they found out that we were doing our ride for charity.  Yet another example among so many of just how kind the American public is at large – such incidents never cease to cheer us and to spur us on towards our goal.

For the rest of the day we continued through the rolling Kentucky countryside and although the temperature cooled, this correlated (as it so often does) with a loss of light.  We spent the last hour of the ride in total darkness, although for the final four miles we were accompanied by Team Stockham on the back, ensuring that any traffic was forced to slow down.

Unfortunately, we had failed to take account of the fact that we were passing into the Eastern time zone and so we lost an hour of riding time; this combined with the heat meant that we couldn’t sensibly make it to our intended destination.  We therefore stopped in Sonora, ten miles short of our target. 

Team Stockham informed us that there were no motels in Sonora or anywhere on the next ten miles of the route, so after loading the bikes into the car we headed north on the I-65, only to strike gold again.  We checked into the Glendale Economy Inn (a bizarre name given the Neo-classical exterior – for those in the know it resembled a certain Hotel Tall Trees…) which was located opposite an Iron Skillet restaurant.  Now I am prone to exaggeration when it comes to the quality of road-side food; but this place was simply incredible.  Open 24 hours-a-day, with a shop and a restaurant, and serving really excellent food; it was exactly the kind of place you would expect to find in the US but which just doesn’t seem to exist in great numbers.  It is a chain and no doubt it would seem soulless after a few consecutive visits, but it was exactly what we needed.  No need to worry about sorting breakfast in the morning.  It was suddenly all about the Skillet.

Date: Friday 17th September    

Route:  Elizabethtown, Illinois – Glenville, Kentucky 

Distance: 87.5 miles

Total climb: 5607 ft

Net climb: – 98 ft

We awoke, at least somewhat relieved that there was no evidence of the mice/bed bugs that the locals had suggested may greet us in our motel room.  As an additional bonus Jay also managed to get one of the televisions working so that we could catch up with what was going on in the world (or the rest of the US at least).  We got dressed quickly into our civvies and headed for breakfast in the centre of Cave-in-Rock.  In days gone by this town had been a den for pirates and bandits, who hid in the cave on the side of the Ohio river.  Today they are a far gentler bunch and a sign in our breakfast restaurant warned us that profanity would not be tolerated.  Coupled with the poster of the Ten Commandments this seemed likely to keep the local diners in check.

After breakfast we drove back to the motel and quickly showered and dressed before getting a lift back to Elizabethtown.  In the light of day Elizabethtown is far more impressive than at night, with a stunning location next to the Ohio River and the oldest operating hotel in Illinois – which we had failed to notice the previous evening.   We loaded the bikes up on the riverfront while Team Stockham chatted to some motorbikers who had just set out on a tour of their own.  After a quick chat with another local about the various towns that he had lived in on the South coast of England during the war, we set off to cycle back to Cave-in-Rock and the Kentucky border.

The ten miles from Elizabethtown to Cave-in-Rock included a number of short, steep hills along a pretty poor road surface, nonetheless, time seemed to pass quickly and soon we were rolling down to the banks of the Ohio River to catch the Cave-in-Rock ferry.  Unfortunately we had just missed the ferry and so would have to wait twenty minutes for it to return from the other side.  Time for a quick Coke break.  We attempted to sit down and relax in the small park made by the locals on the side of the river, unfortunately we discovered (rather later than we would have liked) that it was swarming with thousands of some kind of flying insect.   Having been just about to sit down we ended up sprinting back to the ferry-dock covered in the flying critters and doing our level best to knock them off our shirts, shorts, hair, arms and faces.  We decided that it was altogether safer to sit and wait in the car park for the ferry to return.

Soon enough we were loaded on to the clever little ferry (whose engine room could pivot away from the car-laden deck) and heading across the majestic Ohio River.  This was the second and last part of the route (we hoped!) which we were unable to do by pedal power alone and so constituted our second instance of “legal cheating”.  Once we landed on the other side we were in Kentucky and had left Illinois behind.  We had only spent two days in Southern Illinois but they were very enjoyable indeed: the riding had been fairly easy and the rolling green fields felt a little like being home in Yorkshire; the towns we had seen had been all we could have hoped for and crossing both the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers in the space of a few days was just magic.  Finishing another state so quickly also provided just the psychological boost that we needed. 

After we touched down in Kentucky we made good progress along the gently rolling roads; we passed Yoda’s General Store (nice to know that he’s still occupied despite the end of the film franchise), a lively country auction (we think Fred may have inadvertently bid for a prize pot bellied pig) and saw more signs warning us that there might be Amish carts on the road.  These signs had cropped up a number of times over the previous few days and we both really hoped that we would get the chance to see some members of that endlessly fascinating community.

We didn’t have to wait long; when we stopped in Marion after a further 12 miles for a quick morning break in Subway, we were joined in the queue by a group of Amish teenagers.  It was an incongruous image, but we thought we might embarrass them by stopping to ask them about their choice of lunch venue.  In any event we had to get back on the road – it was getting hot and we still had some distance to cover. 

After another twenty-two miles we stopped in Clay intent on finding a more substantial lunch.  We were met on Main Street by Team Stockham, and popped into Jeri’s Cafe – which appropriately enough had a London-themed decor.   The plan after lunch was to meet at Sebree – our planned destination for the day and see if we could clock up a few additional miles, without needing to ride in the dark for too long.

It was a hot afternoon, but surrounded by large ranches and endless rolling green farmland it was a joy to keep on riding.  We made it to Seebree at around 5pm, where we expected there to be a shop.  There was.  There was also a Tent Revival Meeting; these are events for the local community with music, food and a sermon from a travelling preacher.  The owners of the shop (who also provide accommodation for touring cyclists) welcomed us into the festivities and after we had got the drinks and snacks that we needed after a warm afternoon in the saddle, we sat and listening to a selection of genuine country and bluegrass music.  It was the perfect break, and whilst some (or most) of us may not accept the underlying message and may fail to understand the degree of religious fervour that we encountered at many stages during the trip, it would be almost impossible not be charmed by the warmth and kindliness of the people and the sense of community spirit at the meeting.

With our bodies refreshed and still humming along to a couple of the tunes that we had heard we set back out on the road with a plan.  To sprint the next 13 miles and see how the light was – that would mean we had banked a few extra miles for the day without cycling after sunset.  It was clear that the break had given us a boost because flew, covering the distance in just 45 minutes.  We met Team Stockham and agreed that we would ride the next 7 miles to Glenville and then stop for the evening.  We dropped our pace a notch, but still made it to the crossroads at Glenville before dark. In total we had covered 20 miles in seventy minutes since leaving the revival.   

Delighted with our progress we loaded our bikes into the car and headed off to Owensboro to find a motel.  This proved more difficult than expected as the NSA Mens Class “E” Softball World Series was taking place over the weekend and it seemed that every average softball player in Kentucky had headed to the bright lights of Owensboro.  Nonetheless after a few fruitless attempts Motel 6 came to the rescue.  For dinner – there was only ever going to be one choice – anyone for Appleby’s….?

More stuff….

–          The only real downside for the day was that (not for the first time) Fred’s eyes reacted badly to the sunscreen that we were using and he was rendered effectively blind for the final four miles of the ride.  He would continue in agony until after he had showered and more than an hour had past.  This was not (I was assured) in any way amusing. 

JBS

Date: Thursday 16th September    

Route: Murphysboro, Illinois – Elizabethtown, Illinois 

Distance: 87.5 miles 

Total climb: 5607 ft

Net climb: – 98 ft

The Apple Tree Inn, although not exactly palatial, had afforded us an excellent night’s sleep; so good in fact that we set off rather later than normal.  Unfortunately it did not provide breakfast.  Our hastily concocted plan, therefore, was to head towards Carbondale and stop at the first place that served breakfast.  We rolled the 11 miles into Carbondale fairly quickly, following Greta’s directions to the letter.  By a fortunate happenstance, I had programmed Greta to take us into the centre of Carbondale as we had planned to finish the previous day there.  I had forgotten this and so although we ended up veering about a mile off route, it also meant that we wound up in centre of town, having cycled right through the middle of the university campus.   In an even bigger helping of good luck, Greta took us to a spot which was not only right next to Mary-Lou’s Diner (famous for its breakfasts for miles around) but also on the same street as the first bike shops that we had seen for hundreds of miles.

We checked Rosie and Diana into the Cycle Surgeon to have then looked over and then settled down to an excellent breakfast at Mary-Lous.  A Carbondale institution, the place is covered in pictures of the great and the good that have eaten there over the years.  Our now habitual breakfast of oatmeal followed by some form of eggs/bacon combo was served by probably the friendliest waitress we have had (sorry Pam in Riggins!) and the whole place had a warm and inviting atmosphere.  While we were eating, Team Stockham also arrived at the diner with news that their Garmin GPS (Grace) had broken down.  They were to spend the rest of the morning trying to get it fixed.  Breakfast finished, we headed off, giving Team Stockham strict instructions to visit every bike shop in town and source as much chamois cream as they could buy as we were running low on supplies – a situation that could not be allowed to continue.

As we rode out of Carbondale, past the incredible university sports grounds (the football field looked to have a capacity of at least 20,000 – testament to how seriously they take college sport over here) we had to ride on some fairly busy roads.  All went smoothly save for one amusing driver who instructed us to “get a car” – our second piece of mildly amusing banter in the space of 12 hours.  After deciding to continue on our bikes, in spite of the suggestion, we rode on past a series of magnificent lakes – albeit with peculiar names.  There seemed no obvious reason for calling them “Little Grassy Lake” and “Devil’s Kitchen Lake” but they provided a spectacular background to our late morning.

Save for a couple of “foot-down” breaks, our first proper stop after Carbondale was in the inappositely named Goreville.  Although it sounded like the setting for a budget horror movie, it was in fact a lovely small town and home to the excellent Delaney’s Restaurant.  Inside we had an excellent lunch topped off by two enormous milkshakes and chatted to the locals, one of whom gave us a hugely entertaining lecture on the history, geography, flora and fauna of Southern Illinois.  As with so many places that we have stopped it was a shame to leave, but all too soon the road was calling us again. 

The remainder of the afternoon was spent through the gently rolling and lush green fields of Southern Illinois.  Our late start meant that we had to keep riding into the gathering dark along some fairly busy roads.   This required some negotiation with Team Stockham as to where was best to stop, however we finally climbed off the bikes in Elizabethtown.  Only to head straight into the nearest bar to try and find an evening meal.

We struck lucky again and within half an hour I was sat eating pizza at the bar.  Although Parkes had decided that he wasn’t hungry he wound up in the middle of a discussion with a local named Chris as to the comparative prices of every known commodity in the UK and the US.  Chris’ unceasing wonder at how expensive cigarettes, alcohol, food and the rest are back at home provided a ready source of amusement for all.  He also very kindly insisted on buying beers for us both as his guest and recommended that we should sample some of the local restaurants once we had crossed into Kentucky, including that state-wide institution KFC.

The bar had been the perfect tonic for a stressful end of the day, although we were warned by Team Stockham that the Cave-in Rock Motel might wipe the smiles off our faces.  Even the locals hinted that it might not be the ideal place to spend the night.  The cardboard sign at the front of the motel did not bode well, and Parkes decided to play it safe and sleep in his sleeping bag.  Nonetheless although it was basic and a touch unloved it was great to finally climb into bed, and at a remarkably early time for us.  We needed rest, we were riding into Kentucky the next day and we had been warned that we would need to be on our guard.

In other news….

–          Although basic, the Cave-in-Rock motel was the first place we stayed with two televisions in each room – one for playing videos to compensate for the fact that the television reception was so poor.  It also had arguably the best shower we had on the trip – albeit with a purple bin bag as the shower curtain….

– With broad smiles on their faces the locals informed us that there were two four-star hotels in Elizabethtown – unfortunately they were not listed on our maps.

JBS

Date: Wednesday 15th September   

Route: Bismarck, Missouri – Murphysboro, Illinois

Distance: 99 miles

Total climb: 5377 ft

Net climb: -616 ft

Even after an Applebees the previous night, breakfast pride kicked in at the hotel buffet. Once we had over-indulged, we were couriered by Tammy and Team Stockham back to Bismarck, for the day’s ride. We spent four miles battling debris down the hard shoulder of one of the main routes into Farmington, before heading off onto quieter roads that threaded their way through some national parkland.

Once back in Farmington, we were pleased to see beyond the generic strip that provided our needed accommodation and feeding station the night before. The town centre was fun to roll through, passing book shops, music shops and the town’s specialist accommodation for cyclists – a former jail, converted by the locals.

From Farmington, a lengthy stint took us to lunch in St Mary, passing vineyards and running along a pink road surface. Jay was disheartened to find the map inaccurate in its suggestion of services 8 miles earlier at Ozora. However, his mood quickly improved when we wandered into a rather hostile looking bar, in almost complete darkness. It had all the ticks we needed – gambling machines, self-serving punters watching daytime television, a brash bar lady and food. We scoffed burgers and BLTs, bananas and cookies, preparing for the afternoon. Had there been tins of spinach, I’m convinced they’d have gone too, since we were heading towards the home of Popeye.

A few miles out of St Mary, we wheeled onto the sun-drenched flood plains of the Mississippi. A sprint over the bridge spanning this mighty river took us to Illinois and Chester, aforementioned home of Popeye. Missouri had been an enjoyable state, with rollercoaster roads, stunning scenery and, in the main, fun people.

After hauling up the hill into Chester and onto a new plain, we rolled for many miles, discussing Arsene Wenger’s contributions to the Premier League and admiring the tall crops in the fields. We stopped briefly for a soda at a gas station, before fitting lights and donning reflective gear for another night ride into Murphysboro.

On arriving in Murphysboro, someone shouted a request for a wheelie from a parked car. Given the recent issues I’ve had with spokes, I declined but was delighted with the interaction and the optimism that I could possibly lift Rosie’s front wheel with all the weight in the front panniers.

Our route took us, quite literally, around the houses in Murphysboro, before reaching the centre. I’m sure this is interesting in daylight and adds to the trip, but it gets a little edgy at night in certain neighbourhoods. We were therefore delighted to reach the ever-safe haven of McDonalds in town (and not just for the cookies and milkshakes). Whilst waiting for Team Stockham to arrive, we were informed by locals that Murphysboro was in the process of its annual apple festival. There was a fair in town, processions were scheduled for the weekend, bands were playing, cider was flowing and I understand there may even have been some apple bobbing at some point. It was a shame we arrived so late and would be leaving early the following morning.

That said, we stumbled across another M’boro gem, after a quick change at our motel… 17^th Street Bar & Grill. Our restaurant for the evening, chosen by pure chance, was the home of ‘The Legend’, Mike Millls – 4 times barbecue world champion and grand champion. His daughter served us some superb food and Mike himself popped in at one point. He had signed photos covering the walls from various celebrities (including Jerry Springer) all of which helped to justify his decision to sign off his menus, ‘The Legend’.

Our breakfast was sorted for the morning as well, with Mike’s daughter providing a strong recommendation in Carbondale for us. Illinois had started well.

FP

Date: Tuesday 14^th September

Distance: 47 miles

Total Climb: 2957ft

Net Climb:366ft

A logistical nightmare.  Where to find a bike shop in the middle of Missouri that could fix the spoke on Fred’s rear wheel?  The Google presented us with two possibilities – Poplar Bluff and West Plains; both were about 60 miles away.  We opted for Poplar Bluff and set off from our peculiarly lavish looking motel at around 7:30, without breakfast.  The plan was to eat while the bikes were getting looked at.

Unfortunately the plan went awry when we arrived at the Poplar Bluff bike shop to find that the owner had been involved in a cycling accident and so the shop would not be opening.  The only remaining option was to head to West Plains.  We called ahead to confirm that the shop was open and headed back out in Tammy the Texan Chariot.

It was around 12 noon by the time we found the West Plains Cyclery and dropped off the bikes.  We popped next door for a belated brunch in an authentic fifties motel (with plumbing to match) and before we had even finished our milkshakes the bikes had been repaired and tuned up.  In yet another act of unprompted kindness, the owner of the shop did the repairs for free and wished us luck on our way.

With the bikes prepared, we headed back to Ellington with Team Stockham and finally set off at 3pm (massive thanks to Team Stockham for their efforts in driving the 250 mile round trip to get the bikes fixed).  It is always difficult to get going when we start late in the afternoon, but we made a decent stab at it, and clocked up 47 miles through the rolling Missouri countryside before stopping at the small town of Bismark.  There was little to note during the ride, save for our stop in Centreville.  What had initially been planned as a “foot down” at the diner/general store became a somewhat longer stop as we talked to a lady and her daughter who had seen us on the road the previous day.  They were interested in why there were always cyclists riding along the road that we were on.  We told them about the TransAmerica route and some of the highlights of our trip.  It turned out that they were an intrepid pair of amateur historians who were in the process of transcribing all of the cemeteries of the local counties; apparently no-one had done this necessary task since 1986.  A strange hobby, no doubt, but their enthusiasm for their endeavours was great to see.

 After Team Stockham arrived at Bismark, the bikes were loaded into the car and we headed off to the larger town of Farmington, in the hope of finding some accommodation.  We secured a room in a Super 8 motel on the outskirts of Farmington – essentially a giant retail park.  For dinner we made our way to our friendly neighbourhood bar and grill – Appleby’s.  It was a revelation; sport on TV, a number of different beers available and the ability to order a meal that came with vegetables.  Although I had previously mocked them (without any reason whatsoever) the good people of Appleby’s now rank as unquestionable number one in the chain-restaurant league for the trip.

JBS

Date: Monday 13th September    

Route: Houston, Missouri – Ellington, Missouri 

Distance: 79 miles

Total climb: 5667 ft

Net climb: -321 ft

For breakfast this morning, we ventured to a local diner. Opting not to disturb the signed ‘Table of Knowledge’ occupied by locals, we settled on a table for four people, forgetting again that our orders usually require a surface designed for banqueting. Oatmeals and cooked rations devoured, we returned to our grand hotel to complete the preparation routine, in one of the slowest times to date.

Our start promised to be unpleasant, with the route heading along a road frequented by logging trucks. Rolling out of town, we had our share of jumpy moments as these behemoths of the road thundered past, sometimes within less than a foot of our bikes.

I’m delighted to say that we made it past the worst of the traffic, to Summersville for lunch. We were directed to House’s Haunted Hut, for a BLT with fries (Jay) and a hot dog (me), ahead of an afternoon of climbing. Although tempted by the table football and the advertised pool ‘tournie’ tomorrow night, we managed to prise ourselves away and head deeper into the Ozarks.

A steep descent led us down to Jacks Fork, where we saw people swimming and kayaking in the crystal clear river and springs – generating incredible envy in the heat. The steep drop was mirrored by our toughest climb on the trip to date, in terms of gradient. A punchy 400 vertical feet of forcing the pedals round in lowest gear was a shock to the system, but a fun challenge.

We met Team Stockham for a soda in Eminence and relaxed by watching the country music channel on in the diner. Just before setting off for the final stint of the day and more climbs, we bumped into a local who warned us to put high visibility gear on for the road ahead. Given that Jay’s top is a bright yellow, he had little to do. However, I had to fetch my yellow top and put it on over my jersey – not ideal in the heat and humidity, but nonetheless sensible.

Apart from the hills, the day was relatively uneventful. We made it to Ellington over more steep climbs and avoided too many fall-outs with local traffic. The Ozarks have proven to be very scenic, with the rollercoaster hills, crystal clear waters and rocky outcrops overlooking the rivers and streams.

We stayed at the only motel in Ellington, which appeared a little out of place with huge pillars on the front of it. Food was sourced from Hall’s restaurant, just before it closed for the evening. Washing was done at the laundrette in town. All tasks completed, the only concern hanging over us was a broken spoke I had picked up on the rear wheel – probably due to the steep climbing today and having (for the first time in a few thousand miles) to get out of the seat to force my way up one section.

Tomorrow, we will need to find a bike shop, since I still cannot remove the cassette with the tools we have.

FP

Date: Sunday 12th September

Distance: 112 miles

Elevation gain: 7420ft

Net climb: 180ft

No photos today after I dropped the replacement camera in a cat’s water bowl the previous evening.

Team Stockham’s discovery of a bijou apartment in Ash Grove proved to be an excellent result.  The flat came with enough food for us to get a good breakfast before heading down to the garage, which was also owned by our temporary landlord.  He proved to be quite a character and showed us a varied selection of amusing curios including a wallet made from a frog, a series of IQ tests and a photo of a cyclist who had been “captured” and held, upside-down in a winch mechanism.  All of this meant that we headed back out into the rolling hills of the Ozarks with smiles on our increasingly bearded faces.  Those smiles were removed in short order though after a young driver yelled some abuse at us for no apparent reason (save perhaps for the lack of variety in his genetic coding), it is never great to get this sort of treatment, but it is worst when it occurs first thing in the morning, as it gives you the whole of the rest of the day to reflect on it.

The morning ride took the same form as the previous day with the road resembling an endless rollercoaster of fairly steep hills.  Our technique on this sort of terrain was improving though and so we made it into Fair Grove ahead of time.  At Fair Grove we stopped at Subway for the first time on our journey.  It proved to be a very time efficient stop with the best cookies that we have tried to date (Fred can confirm this having “sampled” five cookies during this visit alone).  We both agreed that Subway would be high on our list of potential stopping points in future; not realising at that time how prescient our decision would be.

After Fred had stopped at the local gas station to inflate his tires a touch, we headed back out on the road.  Fortunately, the rollercoaster ride had finally come to an end and the road for the rest of the day, whilst still undulating was less severe than our first session.  We made it to Marshville for lunchtime and a quick McDonalds milkshake and some fries by the side of the Interstate.  We also took the opportunity to get in touch with Team Stockham.  Once again it was a relief simply to get out of the heat, which was well above 90.

More hills, more heat and into Hartville, for our second Subway of the day; this time only for cookies and some drinks.  We also finally met up with Team Stockham.  Hartville was one of many towns which appears to have felt the full brunt of the recession, with most of the impressive old buildings of downtown sitting idle and empty.  It felt a little as if the heart of the town had stopped beating.

Our plan was to head to Houston, but we still had a long “ways” to go.  As we rode on through a number of hamlets: Graff, Bendavis, Bucyrus and a number of others that appeared to have passed cartographers by, the light began to fade and like David Hasselhoff before us we once again became night riders.

It was a difficult hour on a busy, uphill road, although our mood was lightened by a road sign which indicated that we could turn right for “Houston” or left for “Success”.  We stuck to our plans and turned towards Houston.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the lights of our destination came into view and we were met by Team Stockham in a garage in the centre of town.  In a flurry of activity we also met Frank, one of the original TransAm riders from 1976, who had made it to Eureka on that ride before being involved in a serious accident.  Thirty-four years later, he was completing the journey from Yorktown to Eureka.  An inspirational guy who shared a few stories with us about the original TransAm trip, before heading back to his RV for the evening.  We rode on to our motel – the newly refurbished Lazy Bear Motel – which was the very picture of Byzantine luxury.  We then headed off to a recommended diner for one of the better meals of our trip and a few well earned beers.  It had been a long, hot and hilly day.

JBS

Date: Friday 10th September   

Route: Near Fredonia, Kansas – Pittsburg, Kansas

Distance:   85 miles

Total climb: 1774 ft

Net climb: -30 ft

After a good, if uneventful breakfast in the mythical kingdom of Fredonia, Team Stockham dropped us off back at the junction at which we had finished the previous day.  We made rapid progress to Chanute, where we stopped for a quick McDonalds’ break.  The temperature was already starting to get a touch on the warm side and so Ronald’s milkshakes and air-conditioning proved a welcome break from the heat. 

After we re-emerged into the baking sun, I found that my rear tire had gone flat in the space of 20 minutes.  Tempted as I was to blame some errant youth, it was more a question of fixing the problem than figuring out the cause.  We wheeled the bikes across to the nearest gas station and changed the inner tube while chatting to a local who loved all things to do with Liverpool.  We gave him a few recommendations of things to see and do if he ever made it to the city, before heading back out on the road. 

We planned to stop in Walnut for lunch, but were hindered again by the good people of the Kansas Highways Authority who, in their wisdom, had decided to dig up a section of our route.  We were 7 miles outside of the town of Shaw when a sign informed us that the road was closed in 7.5 miles and that the bike route was closed.  We knew that if we could get across the river outside of Shaw then we would be able to ride around the roadworks.  It was a gamble; but we decided to ride along the road.  At the risk of shattering the suspense built up by this carefully crafted prose, we made it across the river, just before the road came to an abrupt end and we then managed to navigate around the pit that had been left by the road workers.  Out of the frying pan and into the fire; our diversion took us along a small gravel covered road, alongside of which there was a small house with a white picket fence and a friendly pit-bull terrier, who decided to chase us all the way onto highway 59.  This was our first serious dog-race of the day.  It was not the last. 

As we continued to head East, the temperature continued to rise.  By the time we had reached the town of Walnut, it was almost unbearable; our planned lunch break had come at exactly the right time.  We headed into the town bar and downed a couple of cold drinks; however although food was available (frozen pizzas) the bartender seemed unnaturally reticent to actually make any.  We took this as a sign that we should probably head elsewhere and so made tracks for the general store.  It has to be said that the food under the hot lights looked as if it could be something of a biohazard, but I risked it and went for a cheese burger which proved to be very tasty indeed.  Fred played it safe and stuck with an assortment of confectionary. 

We wound up sitting in the general store for a while, drinking coke and intermittently dozing.  The heat had clearly sapped our resolve a touch.  Fred also enjoyed listening to the locals bantering in their Kansan-drawl.  He subsequently claimed that he heard his first vowel-only conversation. 

The afternoon ride into Girard was uneventful, save for yet another dog-chase, this time involving a Rottweiler and three other menacing pooches.  Just as it seemed that we had made it past them, Ronnie the Rottweiler stepped up a gear and reappeared on my right.  Meanwhile, Fred had also picked up the pace and appeared on my left.  In that split second I thought that Parkes was one of the other dogs and I made a move to swipe him with my front pannier.  Fortunately, I missed and we both rode off intact.  With out heart-rates off the charts and Aidan’s words (“Watch out for the dogs in Kansas”) ringing in our ears, we dashed into Girard and met up with Team Stockham who had parked in front of the only B&B in the town. 

We decided to head on to Pittsburg, a town with, of all things, a bike shop.  After giving Team Stockham the slip (they are still getting used to the route maps and suffer from an occasional “misnavigation”) we made it to the corner of 560^th Avenue and Broadway and waited for Tammy the Texan Chariot to arrive.  As soon as it did, Fred was whisked off to buy a new tire before we headed to our motel for the evening; the “Holiday Lodge”.  Perhaps an optimistic name, but a solid motel nonetheless.

Our evening was rounded off by a trip to Napolis for some good Italian home-cooking.  A cracking meal, although it did mean that we missed the home game of Pittsburg’s Gorillas football team and their strong fourth quarter charge to win the game.  Unaware of the result we had a post-dinner drive around the town, taking in the impressive college architecture, the frat house parties and a man dressed in a hot-dog costume running down the street.  Pitsburg was undoubtedly the place to be.  Sadly, the distance from our hotel to the centre of town was too far to walk and in the absence of a taxi firm Parkes and I decided that there was no scope for a night on the tiles.  Early to bed on a Friday night, it was almost as if we had been on the road for 33/36 days…

JBS 

Date: Thursday 9th September   

Route: Newton, Kansas – Near Fredonia, Kansas

Distance:   113 miles

Total climb: 2573 ft

Net climb: -552 ft

In keeping with previous ‘Harry Potter’-style titles, this is the best I can do with today’s events.

The BW provided its usual selection of cereals and pastries to satisfy our breakfast pride, before a 38 mile stretch without food or water, or anything else for that matter. After eating and a stop at thegas station for provisions, we bumbled along quiet roads,past fields of cattle and nodding donkeys, to Cassoday.

The plan was to dine in Cassoday, so we were saddened to find the whole town (population 130) had been hit hard by recent economic conditions. All three shops and the diner were permanently closed, so we sat on a shaded bench outside and ate our reserves of cookies and brownies.

The revised plan was to pedal a further 17 miles to Rosalia for lunch, in the hope that more services would be open – if not, the next major town would be in 39 miles. We scooted along past more fields of cattle and horses and arrived in Rosalia in good time, pleased to see an ‘open’ sign in the diner window.

Two pizzas ordered and sodas flowing, we began conversing with the owner/chef/waiter/barman. In addition to having a ‘hundred head of cattle’ in the fields around town, he ran the diner and offered free insights into a multitude of political, economic and social topics from a proverbial soap box at the bar. I think all customers are given the same level of warm and welcoming interaction, but this did not detract from the entertainment and intellectual stimulation. Over a light lunch we covered trade protectionism, unionisation, optimal fiscal policy, cowboy bravado and the food hygiene issues of a rather unpleasant diner in the next town. The mood of the discussion, to the backing sounds of a sci-fi channel narrator on the television, can be best summarised by our new acquaintance saying, ”if I was President, I’d only last six hours.”

After digesting both food and alternative viewpoints, we charged onwards towards the town of Eureka. Before arriving, we were met by a newcomer to the trip… Team Stockham. It was a mood-lifter to see Julia, John and Tammy, the white chariot from Texas – if things go well, they’ll be around our route all the way to Yorktown. The company will be great and I’m sure we’ll call on their support for the odd lift, instead of relying on locals and their trucks.

Eureka was our target for the day, so it was pleasing to arrive early and in daylight. The town was founded around a fresh water spring, making it appropriate to stock up on beverages at the gas station, where we met two cyclists heading west – not for the first time, they were a little surprised by the schedule we are running to (which is a little unnerving).

We took the decision to get ahead for the day in good but drizzling conditions. More miles through the tires brought us to Toronto, changing landscapes and increasing humidity. In the manner of an adapted Forest Gump, we just kept on cycling. After Coyville, we were offered accommodation by a lady who stopped her car in the middle of the road, but we opted to roll further. We eventually met Team Stockham and headed to a motel in nearby Fredonia, just off the route.

Focused on hitting deadlines for a number of reasons, we’re delighted to be ahead of current schedule and to have made some good extra miles today.

Other loosely noteworthy matters:

• In the spirit of the trip, we are still trying to be as unsupported as is reasonable, given that we need to be in Yorktown before the end of September. This means that we continue to carry all our kit on the bikes. We’ll probably be gratefully accepting lifts from Tammy to bike shops for repairs or to nearby motels (instead of relying on lifts from locals, as we have done in a few cases to date). However, this will not alter our cycling of the entire route, by hook or by crook.
• Our evening meal in Fredonia provided the first prohibition incident of the trip, when we casually ordered three beers on being seated. The waitress, looking less than amused, wouldn’t even respond until we swiftly changed to sodas.
• Our beards are still growing, but are not even close to Mr Gump’s effort.  Despite being many miles beyond the Hoosier Pass now, we are both focused on their development, even though they are hugely irritating in the heat and humidity. However, they do bring some (false?) credibility to our trip when we speak to locals – all forms of gravitas are useful when you are wearing spandex.
• Having mentioned Helen’s friend Katie early in the trip, I’d just like to offer a huge thanks to Guy ‘Humphamania’ Humphreys, for his continued beating of the fundraising drum whilst we pedal onwards. A key influence on our chosen charity was as a gesture to a good friend and a fellow ‘Hawk’ and he’s definitely a part of the trip, eloquently summarising our waffly blogs on social networking sites.

FP