Life Spoke

Doc says my Achilles isn't torn. MRI shows inflammation in both the tendon and the bursa that cushions it from the bone. Diagnosis; Achilles tendonitis and bursitis of the retrocalcaneal bursa. This is the bursa (small fluid-filled sack) that cushions the tendon where it runs over the calcaneus (the bone that forms the heel of the foot).

600 mg of Ibuprofen three times a day, ice three times a day. A bunch of rest to let the initial onset settle down.

Knowing it wasn't torn was all I needed. I went for an 11 mile ride at an easy pace over an hour's time yesterday. There's a great park (M0rraine Hills) about a mile from Matt's house; rolling hills and no traffic. I taped the Achilles from the ball of my foot, down to the heel and up to mid-calf. It relieved most of the pressure. During the ride I only felt pain a few times - mild. Don't worry; I wasn't pushing myself at all, just easy spinning. Trying to keep my heart rate up.

I'm leaving Illinois next week. My mom is driving out from New Jersey and will take the weight. She'll be my road support for a few weeks. All I have to do is ride the bike for the miles it takes to get to Jersey. I think I'll zoom without the 60 lbs of gear holding me back.

I'm relaxing at my brother's house. I've been playing with my nephew, Matty all weekend. We carved pumpkins and played with hot wheels. I taught him a little about balance on his bike...made him close his eyes as I rocked the bike back and forth so he could feel his weight shifting on instinct.

I'm getting antsy. Ready to exercise. My legs are tense with expectation. Ready to power me forward. Below is the story of eight days of riding from Colorado to Iowa. ___________________________________________________________

Monday 10/9 It had been cold and rainy for two days in Fort Collins. I knew I wouldn't last with the clothes I had so I went over to a bike shop and bought a pair of wind block/water resistant fleece pants. On my ride to the shop I found another broken spoke. Replaced it and trued the wheel at the shop.

I left Amy and Mike's house at 1pm. I got to the edge of town and my gloves were soaked. Wind was blasting the cold water right to my finger bones, they had gone numb. I saw a hardware store and bought a pair of big green rubber gloves to fit over my own gloves.

There was a 10mph headwind and the rain was coming in a dense mist with occasional shots of big drops. The temperature was 38 degrees.

My hands kept going numb regardless of the gloves. My jacket was no better than a sweatshirt; the rain came right through and soaked my chest and arms. Before I left, I duct taped a clear plastic bag over the helmet. At least my head was dry. I found it extremely tiring to ride with rain pants but the conditions called for them. They actually worked pretty well and my legs were only damp with perspiration.

I made it Ault (the sign reads 'A Unique Little Town'). The pizza shop let me put my arms in their oven to warm up and dry some. My face was bright red. I was happy I hadn't shaved my beard since starting the trip; it was good insulation.

The cold, soaking, driving rain. The exhausting swooshes of the rain pants as I pedaled. My new water bladder was leaking air between the mouthpiece and the hose, making it a huge effort to suck in a mouthful of water. Malfunctioning gear, brutal conditions; on top of this I had a sense that I was starting all over. I was completely out of the psychological and physiological rhythm of endless cycling. I thought of giving up a hundred times this day. Thoughts of sunny autumn days and getting to Nebraska kept my chin up.

The map showed the town of Briggsburg to be another 20 miles, I headed out. I made it another 15 miles or so and called Amy and Mike. "Um, I'm completely frozen and soaking wet." "Do you think you can find a place to stay tonight?" "I'm really not sure, but I don't think so. I'm nervous I won't make it to town before it gets dark." "OK, we'll come get you."

Right after I hung up, it dawned on me that they'd have to drive here AND back. They were about 45 minutes away. In the morning I'd be right where I started that morning. I tried calling back to say that it wasn't necessary but the phone didn't have reception anymore. So frustrating.

I rode into the rain for 30 minutes then turned around and rode back west. We found each other soon enough. Mike helped me toss the bike into his truck. As I struggled I realized how out of it I had become. Getting my gloves off was difficult. It wasn't the numbness so much as the confusion. I jumped in the cab and saw how white they were. The pain of warming up was similar to that of ice climbing - millions of needles poking and wiggling as heat melts the frozen nerves.

I was pretty close to hypothermia but had no idea while I was riding. I'm really glad they came to pick me up. I would have had to knock on every door in Briggsburg to find someone who would let me in. There was no way I could have camped that night; the second I started taking things out of the bags everything would have gotten soaked. My slow brain would have spent way too long setting up the tent. The interior would have gotten soaked also. In my state I needed dryness and warmth to combat the budding hypothermia.

Back in Fort Collins we stopped at a hardware store and I bought a can of waterproof spray. Amy and Mike made tempeh burgers and I also inhaled a bowl of ramen. We threw my clothes in the dryer and I sprayed the jacket with the waterproofer. I inspected the cargo and found most of the stuff in the bags damp, including my down sleeping bag. I repacked everything in plastic in preparation for the next day's battle. I passed out at 8 o'clock.
Daily - 35 miles, 11.2 mph, Wet and frozen.

Tuesday 10/10 Amy drove me out to where they picked me up the night before. So cool not to have to re-ride the 35 miles in to the wet headwind. Weather was much the same as the day before but not as cold.

Within an hour the rain had slowed to a light mist. I got a flat and stopped in the lee of a tree to fix it. I found a small wire in the tire and pulled it out with pliers. In the rain, I was riding right over all the debris in the shoulder because I didn't want to swerve into the lane. I also couldn't see the stuff because my glasses were coated with water. Trucks and cars threw spray at me as they blasted by doing 65 mph.

Briggsburg was a small community of maybe 45 people. Only a few houses, no stores. I surely would have been in bad shape the night before; knocking on doors, getting colder in the dark. Few options, begging to be let in.

I rode on through for hours and hours and by 4:30 I was in Sterling, CO. I got information at the tourist center, just off the interstate. After telling them about the fundraiser, they gave me written permission to camp in the rest area for the night. The sun was slicing through a gap in the clouds to the west. I had a nice evening getting back into the swing of camping after a long day of riding and what felt like an eternity of time off.

I bought a tube of bathroom caulk at a local hardware store in Sterling. I used this to seal up the zipper that runs down the side of the rear panniers. I think that's where much of the water had entered and gotten my sleeping bag wet.
Daily - 76.5 miles, 13.6 avg.

Wednesday, 10/11 It was surprisingly warm all night, despite a forecast of sub-freezing temps. I think the diesel engines of the idling trucks in the rest area must have taken the chill out of the air. Bad for air quality but great for taking the edge off the night air.

Rolling hills for a few miles and then onto the flat plains. I had dropped about 1200 feet from the elevation of Fort Collins. Steady wind out of the northwest, helped me cruise along.

I began to see grain elevators in the distance and soon realized that in order to make a town, you have to have a grain elevator. Without a grain elevator there is no town. Psychologically, it was a relief - I could see the next town ten miles ahead, the top of the grain elevator sticking up above the corn and the rolling hills. The day turned into seven to ten mile segments. I'd see it was 21 miles to the end of the day and mentally, "OK, just a few more sevens and I'm there." Three seven's is easier than one 21.


I crossed into Nebraska at the town of Venango, NE. Two nines and I was in Grant. In the supermarket I asked about staying in the fairgrounds. Standing right behind me was the Mayor, Billy Wilson. He told me to go right ahead.

As I was simmering my dirty pot to steam the scraps off the sides, Billy came driving up to check on me. He had unlocked the bathroom at the lumber yard a block away. There was heat and running water in case I woke up freezing in the middle of the night. I was very grateful for his support.
Daily - 86.8 miles, 13.5 avg. Nebraska!!!!

Thursday, 10/12
Chilly but not freezing in the morning. Minor snow flurries the night before but I was under the livestock pavilion and was warm and dry in my tent.

Flat riding for a few hours and then into the ravines and canyons of Medicine Creek. I thought Nebraska was all flat! As frustrating as it was, the terrain was beautiful. I was shocked to see the vertical mud sides of the shallow ravines. The trees were all starting to turn greenish yellow and some were already orange. The sun was shining and I was riding through the idyllic fall day that had lured me forward when the cold rain battered me two days earlier.

I passed through another time zone! From Mountain to Central Time and lost another hour. I saw no sign to marking the longitude and didn't realize it for a few hours. I guess the State only marks time zone changes on the interstate roads.

Hwy 23 is certainly a local road; only two lanes and there is no shoulder in most places. I passed through Grainton, which shows up on maps but is considered an 'unincorporated' town. An unincorporated town is one which has no central government and therefore no municipal taxes. Very intriguing.

All the little towns along the way were just that. Small towns with populations ranging from a few dozen to several hundred citizens. I eventually made it to Franam and was told I could camp in the city park. It was next to the combined elementary/high school. Since there are only a few dozen kids in the community, the school is shut down and the kids get bussed to Eustis. No buses or jubilant kids in the morning to roust me early. Sweet.

I met a guy who had recently moved to Farnam from Cape Cod, Massachusetts. His mother-in-law was sick, so I think he and his wife were living with other relatives in town. He had his dog and his camper and was hoping to last through the cold until Thanksgiving before RV'ing south for the winter.

No rain or snow, not too cold. I had ripped my left glove during the day and spoke to Joe Ferdinando about it. He was really eager to help me with gear, so we arranged to have a pair FedEx'ed to the town of my next food drop, Dorchester.
Daily - 93.75 miles, 15.4 mph avg. Longest day! New time zone! Ripped glove.

Friday, 10/13
I woke and started packing. While stuffing my sleeping bag, a man approached with a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs. Cliff Transmeier is the local pastor. He saw me just getting up while on his morning walk. He thought I would appreciate some eggs and coffee. Most interesting, he scrambled some eggs with cheese and put 'em on toast lathered in mayonnaise. Weird combination but it was REALLY good. Try it!

The ravines and easy rolling hills soon opened onto the plains. I was flying with a tailwind. I felt strong despite three big days of riding so far. I also needed to make it to Dorchester by Saturday so I needed one more BIG day this day.

I stopped at about noon in the wind eddy of a low ewe bush. I laid out my pad and dozed for a half hour in the sunny fall afternoon. I live for windy, sunny autumn days. They bring back so many memories from childhood. All my best memories of backpacking and rock climbing are tied to the musty smell of decaying leaves and the rustle of wind through colorful trees. A good respite.

Into Holdrege after 52 miles. I talked with a mentally disabled man outside the supermarket. He wanted to know all about my bike. Kept saying, "I'm gonna do this maybe next summer or the one after." I told him I was headed to Hastings. "There's a college there. I'm gonna go to college there next year, maybe next." It's strange, but after hours of riding endless miles with no one to talk to, a mentally disabled guy was the easiest person to talk to. I felt I could communicate at his lethargic mental speed. I also felt no pretense, no need to say anything more than answer his simple questions. My answers didn't matter much either. He was going to agree with everything I said and think it was cool. I could have told him I was an astronaut when I'm not riding a bike cross country and he would have told me he contacted NASA one time. But I was honest and straightforward since that what he deserved.

Eventually I made it to Hastings. 104 miles!

I went into a restaurant I thought would have great burgers. Maybe they did, but the blaring heavy metal and the hard stares from the good old boys made me rethink. Way too much noise and angst so I apologized to the waitress and walked over to the Mexican restaurant next door. I looked wasted and I was. I was so tired I could only sit and eat slowly.

I saw a fairgrounds on the edge of town and called the police dispatch to ask about it. They said it was OK, so I rode over. The parking lot was full of RV's and campers. One guy was staggering around drunk and said hello. I asked if there was going to be a rodeo or something. "Nope, pool tournament tomorrow here." That explained both the campers and his intoxication.

I found a livestock pavilion, opened the cattle gate, let myself in and closed it behind me. I was asleep in almost no time. It was the first time I felt as if the sleeping pad wasn't thick enough. My legs
Daily - 104 miles, 15.7 mph avg. Century ride!

Saturday, 10/14
One more sprint day. I indulged in Burger King for breakfast - three big sandwiches, coffee and whatever ice tea stuff they had in the soda machine. I called the Post Office in Dorchester to see how late they are open. "I close up at 9:15 this morning." I looked at my watch, it was 9:10. "You mean you close in five minutes?" "Yes, why?" I told her about my package and she confirmed that it was there. She had read Tracey's cheers scrawled all over the boxes and knew I was riding for a fundraiser. "Take my home phone number and call me when you get into town. I'll come down and open up to give you your boxes." THANK YOU.

To be honest, the section of Hwy 6 between Hastings and Dorchester was a blur. My butt was impossibly sore and my shoulders were screaming. All I did this day was ride, stretch and eat. I'd ride an hour and then stop, stretch and eat again. Same thing with the grain elevators; every seven to ten miles. I did pass an ethanol refinery where corn is turned into the gasoline additive, ethanol. All the gasoline in the Midwest is blended with ethanol for various automotive engineering and environmental reasons. Unfortunately, camping stoves don't like ethanol. Sputter, sputter even though it was a brand new stove.

Hours later I rode into Dorchester. I went into the grocery store that was supposed to have received the FedEx'ed gloves from Joe Ferdinando. FedEx hadn't arrived and it was too late to expect a package. I called Jennifer from the Post Office and she was there in minutes, handing over the 20 pounds of food boxes.

I was told I could camp in the city park. As I spread the contents of my remaining food and the new food delivery on the picnic table, I found myself entertaining company. Ten year-old Alex and his friends live in the park when they aren't at home or at school. I wasn't sure what to expect of my visitors, but after a few minutes their honesty and sincerity became apparent.

"You must be rich!" when they saw all my camping gear, and "Wow, you have everything you need!" "What's this little computer thing do?"

"You can cook right here!"

One kid in particular had excellent geography skills. "Yeah, Washington is above Oregon and Idaho is east, then Wyoming. Colorado is below Wyoming. We're right next to Colorado and Wyoming too. Are you going into Iowa next?" (map of western US)

They showed me the back door into the bar to use the bathroom. It seemed half the town was in the bar watching the Nebraska vs. Kansas State football game. (Nebraska slammed 'em). They also told me where the light switch was in case I wanted to turn off the park lights before I fell asleep.

Alex's older brother came by and eventually told him they needed to go home. "No, this guy needs company. I'm sad because he doesn't have anyone to hang out with." It was really nice to have a few little friends for the evening.
Daily - 70.5 miles, 13.5 mph avg. Food box!

Sunday, 10/15
It rained overnight and I pulled up the stakes of the tent and slept in the open, but under the picnic pavilion. I didn't want to have to haul a wet tent along with the 20 pounds of fresh food.

As I was taking pictures of my camp spot, Alex rode up on his bicycle. "Hey, what are you taking pictures of?" He snapped a shot of me and I took this one of him. He rode with me out of town to the highway.

I rode into Crete. It is a nice town, similar to my hometown of Freehold, NJ. Old downtown area, a Nestle/Purina plant on the edge of town. Everyone was very nice, courteous drivers even. When I had asked Alex about Crete he said, "Oh watch out for your bike. Crete is just a bunch of Mexicans and black people shootin' 'em." Makes me wonder if he got that from the news or somewhere else.

There was some light rain about noon. The day before I had been brash enough to take the plastic bag off my helmet. So I stopped in a cemetery east of Roca under some evergreens and taped a new bag on. I also used some of the waterproof spray on my jacket and the panniers. As soon as I left the cemetery the rain stopped of course.

I took some narrow county roads east out of Roca then Hwy 43 north through Bennet. The whole area was rolling but wide open. It reminded me very much of the Brandywine country in southeastern Pennsylvania where my aunt, uncle and cousin, Linda, Barry and Gretchin, live. It was beautiful but exasperating because of the mist, light headwinds and endless hills.

East on Hwy 2, which was essentially an interstate. Four lanes, divided, big shoulder, lots of trucks and traffic spraying the road water on me. I passed the 2000 mile mark at the entrance to Hwy 2.

Evening found me in Nebraska City. No one in this town was friendly to me except for one store clerk. She pointed me to a State park along the Missouri River where I could camp and get a shower. I found the camp as dark was setting in. There were two trailers that looked like they had no regard for the 14-day camping limit. The owners of one camper drove up and I waved and hollered hello. They just stared at me and hustled into their trailer like I was an escaped convict wielding a shotgun.

Throughout the evening and night loud, lifted pickups growled into the campsite and flashed lights at me. They would drive down toward the river, look at the water for a minute and then growl back past me out of the area. I slept with my knife and big bamboo flute in the sleeping bag.
Daily - 77.75 miles, 12.5 mph avg. Passed 2000 miles!

Monday, 10/16 - TRACEY's BIRTHDAY!!!!!
I rode out of the campground and my right Achilles was immediately painful. I slowly pedaled out of Nebraska and into Iowa. Thick dark mist. The shoulders turned to gravel in Iowa. Two lanes, the white fog line right on the edge of the uneven pavement. No room for me to ride really.

I made it 50 miles into the town of Clarinda where I stayed in a hotel room. My gear was soaked. My clothes were damp with the sweat and oil of eight days of riding. I'm not sure what I was running on but it wasn't much.

I was pushing my body and mind. Asking for spiritual help. Calling friends, seeking comfort. I had gone 600 miles in eight days. I was sprinting to my brother's house, my next oasis in the sea of the Midwest.
I'll ask myself for a long time whether the pain was really that bad or if I just needed to pull the plug to keep from going crazy. Yes, I have an injury, but severity is the key for me. "Was it really that bad?" As days go by and the memories of the pain recede I will ask this more and more.