Life Spoke

I'm in Fox Lake, Illinois at my brother's house. First time I've had the chance to personally update you all.

I arrived here from Fort Collins via various modes of transportation. About half the miles were on my bike, the other half were on my butt. I have some problem with my right Achilles tendon. It's swollen, tender and feels as though it's squeaking when I extend my foot and bring it back again. I have an appointment with a sports medicine doc tomorrow, with the assurance that if I need an MRI they can fit that in tomorrow as well.

Monday night I rolled into Clarinda, Iowa. The fog was condensing and the gray soup in the air grew darker. I found a motel on the edge of town. My gear came out of the panniers, then out of the plastic bags and soon the motel room was littered with the debris of a fully loaded cycling odyssey. The window unit inflated the cramped room with hot air and I cracked the window to let out the smell and dampness of drying gear.

A lonely motel room in a small town. My phone, my friend, my link. Slurping hastily made mac n' cheese I called my Grandfather in New Jersey to chat. Customary pleasantries followed by a quick synopsis. I'm here, the weather is crap, and yes I think the hotel clerk will return my clothes after he washes them.

Down to brass tacks. "My ankle is bothering me, it's the strangest thing. It hurts a little to ride up hills but I'm icing it and it should be fine." I think he must have heard something I wasn't saying. Maybe the words I used, the cadence of my speech, the tone at the end of the sentences... He heard me say, "My ankle hurts like hell and I can't walk or ride the bike very well, but I'm gonna keep riding to New Jersey no matter how bad it hurts or how bad the weather gets." His wisdom must have deduced that I was going to ride my bike until my legs fell off or I froze out there.

"You know Andy, nobody in the world has more respect for you than I do. I have to let you know that I would have even more respect if you stopped riding because you're in danger. You have a long life to live and you wouldn't want to injure yourself over this. You've come a long way already."

At face value you could misconstrue this as an encouragement to give up. Don't be fooled. He was saying the unspoken that many of you have wanted to say but can't, don't or won't say for a million reasons. "We want to see you get to New Jersey, but we don't want to see you sacrifice yourself in the process."

I went to bed after talking to Tracey on her birthday. I iced my ankle all night and lathered on topical ibuprophen/lidocaine. I woke up and it hadn't changed. Oh well, gotta keep going.

Within five miles I realized I was grinding my jaw. Within ten miles I realized I couldn't ride up hills. It began to really hurt then; like a knife sawing at the back of my ankle every time I powered with my right leg. Everything became strange for a while, I had a slight tailwind but couldn't go more than 10 mph. I stopped and got off with a queasy sensation. Not from physical pain but from the realization that I had to pull the plug. I was ten miles east of Clarinda and ten miles west of Bedford. I decided to head east and pull the plug in Bedford.

I tried to call out but I had no cell coverage. Without the link I had to deal with this alone. I grew alot in those few hours. I thought, "I might be pulling the plug but there was no way I'm going to walk my bike." Bullheadedness piercing the hull of reason.

There was no way to get out of Bedford by the usual modes. Even AAA turned me down because they only tow 'motor vehicles.' I can't blame them but I do. Two options; hitchhike east or hitchhike west. East made the most sense.

The second pickup stopped when I thumbed him. He was the Taylor Country Game Warden. He called police dispatch and within minutes a local cop was running my license and arranging for a Sheriff to give me a lift to the county line. Bags off, wheels off, bike in the trunk and away we went.

We got to the county line and he let me use his phone to get details on buses and trains in the area. He got on the radio and called for the Sheriff of the next county to come ferry me further east. I sat at the intersection of Hwy 2 and 25 on the Taylor and Ringgold County line for over two hours. I was about to start hitchhiking again when a farmer came by and offer me to use his phone, mine had no reception all day. Dispatch told me to hang tight. I sat for another hour and a half.

The Ringgold County Chief Deputy picked me up at 5:15. He drove me to the Decatur County line where we met another sheriff. He drove me to Lamoni and dropped me at the Livestock Auction where a bus drops off and picks up. There were no signs to indicate this was a stop, it was a mysterious depot spot.

At 10:30 the bus came right on time and I put the bike and bags underneath. A few stops and an hour later we were in Des Moines. I paid fare and freight for the bike to Chicago. The bus left at midnight. We stopped in Iowa City for a half hour then on to Chicago.

The bus was full of Hispanics, Asians and a few elderly women. Everyone on the bus was well dressed and groomed. Then there was Drew; worn out clothes and scraggly beard. If there was a suspicious character on the bus it was certainly me.

We arrived in downtown Chicago at 6:45 this morning. I slept maybe two hours last night. I was the third person off the bus and my bike was already pulled out, tossed on its side and my bags tossed on top of it. Furious, I took three big steps and pushed the baggage handler away from the bike as he was yanking on a bag that was stuck between the chain and the gears. "You're messing my bike up!" He didn't care, he went back to heaving bags onto the asphalt.


The bike seemed OK aside from a broken rear fender. I cooled off and went inside. Information told me where to catch the Metra. I rode the bike a few blocks to the station, bought a ticket, found eggs and toast and waited. I left Chicago at 9am.

Matt picked me up at 10am at the station near his office. After a great big hug at his office he handed me the keys and a few hours later I'm here writing this. I'll go pick him up at 5pm.

Since I've been sitting here writing, my ankle has stiffened up. It squeaks now every time I move my foot up and down.

Achilles in Greek mythology was a great warrior. Arrows and spears bounced off his chest in battle. As a baby, his immortal mother took him by the ankle and dipped him in either fire or water to make him immortal as well. The only part that wasn't dipped was his ankle and it was his only weak spot. He was eventually killed when an arrow pierced his ankle. This is not a comparison, just a bit of lure that I thought I would refresh you on because I was interested myself.

I'll write the complete story from Fort Collins to Clarinda either tonight or tomorrow. I'll let you know what the doctor thinks also.

-Drew