Month: July 2015

Thursday, the biking  started a little after 6am. Tom and Buster were already up. We said our good -byes and off  I rode. The first five miles retraced the middle fork of the Black River.  Yesterday, I had lunch at Johnson’s Shut -Ins State Park, through which flowed the East Fork of the Black River. The park was pristine and that crystal clear river kept adding more rafters and kayakers for a lazy afternoon down to the Lower Reservoir under the watchful eye of Lee Mountain.  The park rangers were warning of a cub bear sighting.

Today, on my way to Centerville (pop.191), I crossed a 1000 foot Ozark knob and entered the west fork of the Black River Basin. I had breakfast at the Hummingbird cafe.

Actually, the sign just said Cafe and at first, thought I was entering into the first scene of “A Ballad of a Sad Cafe.” Two sisters with aging Ozark smiles offered a red viny booth with matching formica table top.  They took my order in unison . “JEETJET?”

I watched  them skedaddle back to the kitchen to make “granny licking good” flatcakes from scratch.  With a rap on the cafe window, I heard two Bubba’ s say,  “Heide Ho neighbor.”  Actually, the Bubbas  were two hummingbirds staring at me.  Then,  I realized  that each booth had a feeder out side the booth window and all the Hatfields were raiding the Mccoy’s feeders and visa versa.  They all had on the same uniform so it was difficult to decide which family was winning.

“You’ins, reckon they be all tore up and ornery if I was to give’m a piddley amount of sugar?” she chirped as the flatcakes landed on the table.  I wanted to reply “Dern tootin,” but instead asked how often she had to refill the feeders?

The meal and entertainment were brilliant.  Sorry, a flashback to my Wimbledon experience. On I rode to Eminence and the Ozark National Scenic Riverways, one more outdoor treasure.

The clouds were low and threatening but it did not rain. Without the harsh glare of the midday sun, the hills and valleys were rich combinations  of blues, greens, and browns.

Route 106 kept roller coastering up and down .  Below is horizontal scale of that region.

By mid afternoon large dangerous thunderstorms were  nearby. I sat out one storm in Summersville as it exploded one mile to the north of me.  I raced on to Houston and the Lazy L motel. The entire evening and on through the night, storm after storm thundered  by.  I was so grateful not to be in a tent and that after four days of biking my new bike had performed flawlessly.

When eating at Cracker Barrel,  I know there is a sealed story behind each piece of  memorabilia. But how do you get to the story?

Judy returned dolls that we found in the attic  of our first home, to the previous owner’s daughter. The daughter, by then  a mother, was so joyfull at the dolls return, and to be able to share the dolls with her children. The story and the story maker reconnected.

At the Wilderness Lodge, dinner was family style.   A festive group from Frito-Lay sat at a long oak table.  They were in high spirits but a little to loud for me. They had completed a corporate bonding day  on the Black river that included coolers of Miller Lite . At a second table sat Anna ( the grandma in the rain).  She had that contented  smile that I see on skiers faces after a great ski day.  Sad that its over, drained, but what a day. We had dinner overlooking the river.

 

Her daughter and two grand children had just left for home. She was driving back to Santa Fe in the am.  The vacation had been hard for her to to arrange, everyone living so far away.  But today had been the best day, especially  playing in the rain, on the river, in the pool, and of course in the rain puddles.  Her granddaughter had said to her “It was the best day ever!!!”  Anna could not have been more pleased.

At that moment, Chris responded to the earlier  mud puddle picture and message

I offered to email the picture to Anna, after I showed her Chris’s response.

She thanked me, but said no. She preferred the memory alone. “I don’t need to lose another photo.  The vacation is complete.”.

With help  from the river and the rain, today had great symbolic meaning for her. She completed a family cycle fifty years in the making.  The Black River, the Ozarks, and Wilderness Lodge  floated in and out of several generations of her family’s lives.  Like an epic novel,  Anna’s grandmother  first brought her to the Black River when she was a young girl as a special treat.  Family vacations continued there, year after year.  She married her second husband overlooking the river.  And today,  Anna had captured and released a perfect moment with her granddaughter, simply by splashing in mud puddles.  The cycle complete. That evening,  she did have that Mona Lisa smile.  A smile, her granddaughter will also pass on someday, when she floats back to Wilderness Lodge,  and swims the Black River with her granddaughter.

“Your right” I said to Gnomeboy before I went to bed.  This day was so fluid I could feel his  current.  “Ol Man River” flowing, and swirling about the reeds, and of course,  moving on.  So it goes.               I ride on.

 

Well, I didn’t rendezvous at the jail, but I’ll get to that story later.  Alex’s text woke me at six . I texted back that I would start later, but would hope to catch up by noon.

Gnomeboy had other ideas. He wanted a shorter day of biking, and he especially wanted for me to stray five hilly Ozark miles off the trans American bike trail in order to swim in the Black River and stay at The Wilderness Lodge.

“The Ozarks are the oldest mountains in the world.” He wirled  both arms.  “The Black River is oldest river” and  Gnomeboy implied,  “The wisest.”  “Put your toes in it.  Wade in it.” Don’t you want to hear what the original “Old Man River” has to say?

Unconvinced,  I started pacing, to catch up with the other riders.  This ended abruptly at Pilot Knob Missouri with the first on many thunderstorms.  I sat out the  first storm under a large state park pavilion.  Sherman’s union army camped there in 1861  to protect  the iron ore deposits ten miles away in Arcadia Valley.

Well,  with more damaging storms on the way,  I took Gnomeboy’s advice.  With a simple left turn, I  adventured on to Lesterville, the Black River, and the Wilderness Lodge.  “You won’t regret this.”  He winked and managed  a small bow.  For one brief moment,  I thought I saw a wand behind his back and heard  “The Socerer’s Apprentice”  playing in the background. “The ends justify the means”  he slyly smirked.

The Wilderness Lodge was located two miles off route 21 and more importantly,  back  a mile of hilly gravel road.   Backwoods banjo misic was strumming, but the clawing  was muted by the happy and jeering voices of young and old tubing down this winding crystal clear river.

The lodge was built in 1912 of pine log and limestone, overlooked the Black river and was surrounded by Ozark wilderness.  Tom  and Buster showed me to my stone cabin, pictured below, after a tour of the lodge.  The pine floors creaked and every room had a limestone  fireplace.

Heavy downpours without lightening continued throughout the afternoon.  I stayed in the pool or under a sheltered deck.

Anna, her daughter, and two grandchildren we’re doing the same. Eventually, they all ran out and splashed in rain puddles during a rainstorm. They played what looked like  rain puddle hop scotch to their cabin door. I took a snapshot and e-mailed the photo  to Chris. The little boy’s manner was reminiscent of Chris as a child.

That Black River afternoon floated back memories of my childhood vacations.  Cabins without tv, rowboats without motors, and playing cards out on the porch when it rained. The stream of memories are sad but sweet, with all the thunder and lightening gone.

I ride on.

The Mississippi kept calling me during the night. “Wake up,  get out of bed and ride.  Hurry,  I’m flooding …again.”

The weather channel had texted a flood alert. The Big Muddy  was four feet above flood stage and roads around Chester  Illinois were to be closed sometime on Tuesday.

In Murphyboro Illinois, I stopped at the police station for a road update . Route 3 was still open.

I elected to literally take the high road, anyway.  That route stretched  out longer, hillier and less scenic than Route3 (river road.)  Twenty minutes from Chester the oncoming traffic grew exponentially. They closed River road for three miles south of Chester and rerouted the south bound traffic. For the next few miles, I was singing “Summertime” and the biking was easy.

I made it to Chester in time for lunch.  Chester Illinois , home of Popeye the sailor man.  The town had murals, statues, and cut outs of all the characters. I  had a spinach salad for lunch in memory  of his cartoonist Elzie Segar.

After lunch, I biked to the river park  and watched Ol Man river in awe. What a natural wonder. I could see Huck Finn  rafting down that Mississippi , and Mark Twain paddle wheeling up by the shores.

I biked over the river, and thru the woods until I came upon three cross country  bikers: Chris, Tyler, and Alex. We biked to Farmington and made plans  for a 6AM start on Wednesday. They stayed at the Farmington jail hostel, and I at the Hampton Inn.  Tomorrow we ride on.

So once again Judy gave  me a Monday morning  kiss goodbye.  Guy and I drove off in my  car with the bike and gear packed inside .  Judy thought it wiser if Guy returned me back to  southern Illinios. She would stay at home.

We  crossed the Ohio River at Paducah. He dropped me at the nearest McDonald’s  and off we both sped. Guy returned back to the farm by mid afternoon. I was off to find Tunnel Hill State Park, and then to reconnect with Route 76.

Tunnel Hill State Park is a converted railroad bed. It’s now a multiuse trail. Even at 10:30 there remained a light fog. No road noise penetrated the forest. Song birds, Blue Jays, and squirrels scattered as I ascended the trail over hollows and bridges.  A white but translucent fog shrouded the on coming tunnel.

The pictures show the fog as I approach the tunnel. The remaining pictures show the tunnel itself and then the exit.

 

What a wonderful temperate trail to bike. The trail crossed Route76  near Tunnel Hill Illinois .

Route 76 winds through Crab Orchard National Wildlife Refuge in southern Illinois.  I had Red Crab Apple seeds to plant from you know who.  I pulled the seeds  out and Gnomeboy was hidden as a stowaway in the bag of seeds.

“I’m frustrated.” He grumbled.  Different animals were stealing the  newly planted seeds .  “Blue Jays are common thiefs.” he muttered under his breath. “I’d take one Cardinal over a flock of Jays .  Can’t believe a word they squalk.”  Gnomeboy heard about the thiefs  through the Purple Martin grapevine.

At least, that’s the excuse he gave to me. But I’m happy to have his company.

Monday , Monday so good to me. Monday morning, it was all I hoped it would be. We rode on to Carbondale Illinios and prepared to cross the Mississippi on Tuesday.  So it goes.        I ride on.

 

 

Friday morning, Judy, God love her, drove 250 miles to rescue her stray old dog and brought me back home.  Saturday evening, we drove a collie to E-town. Another animal rescue team  then  continued with Laddie  to Bowling Green.  I was grateful she let me stay in the Suburu and not crated  off  down I-65.  I could read the note on my collar, “Feed daily & keep away from bikes…. He tends to ride away.  Like a Beagle, he follows his nose.”

Earlier that Saturday morning I was regearing at Pedal the Planet, a great bike store in Lexington Ky.

Scott Gilfedder outfitted a Specialist AWOL bike  for touring with fenders, racks, and bags.  Several hours later,  I was ready to follow my nose.  Saturday and Sunday followed with two test rides. The bike handled well  both times. I ride on.

The day started early.  I hoped to make it to Illinois by evening.  The roads remained empty through Central City, the home of the Everly Brothers. Route 62 now played on as the Everly Brothers  highway. I was looking for a bike day in paradise.

The Green  River flooded over its banks and the photo shows the coal  company burning away Mullenberg County.

 

 

The weather was warm but breezy and a comfortable pace was easily managed. West of Paradise, Amish well kept farms sold roadside produce and jams.  Kids driving  a horse buggy came clicking by in the opposite direction. Just a great biking day.

West of Marion, the rear spoke broke for the fourth time.  After balancing the wheel,  I wobbled to the Ohio River  and crossed by ferry at Caves in Rock.

By E~town Illinois, it was obvious that the wheel would not make it to the next bike cycle shop.  A detour was coming my way.  I stopped at a B&B, The Rose Inn, on the river’s edge.  The river, the views, and changing light were mesmerizing and dream like. I kept hearing renditions of Moon River.

However, the planned bike adventure  floated down that flooded river beyond my reach, lost.

 

Lucky for me, I feel a morning rewrite is in order, with a new verse, a  new bike and a new plan.  So it goes. I ride on.

Wednesday  morning’s weather was ideal to start the western leg of my bike tour.   Once again, Judy said good-bye and wished for a safe trek.

 

 

Two hours later,  E-town and three confederate  flags were behind me.  Ghosts from the 1800’s  unwilling to be buried along Dixie Die way.

 

The winds were from the North at 8 mph with partly sunny skies. The temperature hovered in the mid 80’s. Traffic  remained light along the Trans-America route. A great biking  day.  The roads were very hilly west of E-town, through  the Nolin and Rough River valleys but great sights.

I continued to zig-zag southwest through Bill Monroe’ birthplace  in Jerusalem Ridge and traveled over Blue Moon of Kentucky  highway, as I coasted in to Beaver Dam 137 miles later.  There is a small scale model of his home in the motel lobby.

After that full day of biking, I continued to feel that gliding or coasting sensation while  walking. It’s the same sensation after hours of ice skating.  Overall, a great first day.

Tomorrow,  starts  go west oldognewtrek….  Western Kentucky followed by Southern Illinois, the Mississippi River and the Ozarks of southern Missouri.   The Trans american Trail then follows the Arkansas river to Pueblo Colorado.  The bike is packed for stage three, a western ho  adventure awaits.                                                                                                 Trek replaced the rear wheel.  After 500 miles around Kentucky, there have been no problems with the spokes.  As you might remember, my Wilderness Trail trip abruptly ended in Danville… the real wheel broke again.  Well, after the bike was refitted, Gnomeboy and I made two bike trips to complete Daniel Boone’s  route to Bardstown.  The first biking was a round trip from Danville to Mackville. This included the Civil War battleground of Perryville.  So sad.                                                 Mackville is on the Transamerican trail.  I had lunch there with three Brits and decided to take this trail rather than the LEWIS AND CLARK TRAIL.  There are more back roads, less traffic.                                                                                                                                             Last Sunday,  the last portion of the wilderness  trail was completed.  I rode from home to Mackville and back, by way of Springfield.  The Wilderness Trail was now complete.  I have pedeled from the Atlantic Ocean to Fox Hill Farm.  The only casualty was Gnomeboy.  “I’m being bored.” he said to me on Sunday.  He did not like the return bike  trip each time. “Did it. Done it.” “Life is too short.” (no reference intended) he told me.  With that he yelled, “Skreech.”  A Sparrow hawk swooped down and off they went.  At the time, my only thought was more milkshake for me. But it was slow road home that day.                                                                               This week, back home, Gnomeboy has had a reason each day why not to travel with me; a sick chipmunk, or he had to tend the garden. The one I liked best, his 100 year old son could not be trusted home alone. He did give me seed and locations where he would like some plantings.  “Make me proud.  See one, Do one, Teach one”  he would say.  ” You can Branch out.  Peddle on Druid.”

Well,  if that trust isn’t nice I don’t what is.  Life is a funny funny riddle.  So it goes.                I ride on.