Day 51
Election day! In Fulton library a sign read 'Push to operate' on the restroom door. Will there be 'Breathe' signs soon too? Whoever wins today has got their work cut out. Onward, half on the KATY trail and half on quiet, hilly roads. This is the first state encountered that letters its minor roads, rather than numbering them, which as a Scrabbler I much prefer. The whole way across Misery it has been round, green hills, golden trees, ponds, rivers and pretty houses. Today I lost my top gear; that is to say I left replacing the chain a couple of hundred miles too late and the top cog (the most used) has worn down, so that the chain is jumping. Many of the towns round here have Germanic names and I made a mistake approaching one of them, Wentzville, tonight's destination. Such is the small scale of my map, I had thought the dot depicting it was to the left of the name, when in fact it was to the right, necessitating a further 10 or 15 miles riding. In the dark. With the rush hour traffic. Without a hard shoulder. This took today's tally up to 98 and I was so glad I had ridden those 25 miles to Fulton yesterday. More headaches trying to fathom people's directions in Wentzville, but somehow, ended up in the right street.
Rock and Nahele (not the names they were christened with) were by far the most colourful characters encountered thus far, via the Couchsurfing website. Another couple were also staying with them, The Captain and Tempest, resplendent in a pirate and gypsy hat respectively. All four of them were heavily into re-enactments of historical events and having fun in a variety of costumes, especially of the 'renaissance faire' variety. They didn't let the small trifle of there being no ocean for over a thousand miles bother them when it came to pirate festivals, when they used a land-locked boat, with splashing effects for baddies thrown overboard. The teenage girls present were just as much fun. One of them had a phone permanently glued to her ear, even while she took photos, played a computer game and did stuff on the pc. It was as if she and this other person had to share every moment - even if they weren't communicating. Her mother, Nahele, had confiscated her mobile phone because last month she racked up 10,000 text messages. 10,000... That's over 300 a day, or over 20 an hour (of a 16 hour waking day). She was even known to send SMS's while in the shower. There were also two cats, Omen and Aloysius. Or maybe that was the girls' names. It was a very noisy and busy household, with overlaid loud voices, TV, music, phones ringing AND a screeching parrot. Oh yes, and Nahele ate ice. That is, instead of drinking water, she had a cup full of ice which she crunched all night long. They were all adept at tuning in and out of conversations, and doing and listening to several things at once. This is not a criticism; it's just not what I'm used to.
The food once again tantalised, featuring a chicken casserole with cornbread - and keeping with the renaissance theme - homemade mead. With all the distractions, I was surprised that they requested a game of Scrabble and we played a four-hander. I picked up both blanks early on, producing SAINTED/PAWN and victory was a formality. They were a great bunch to play with, so patient and good-humoured, particularly as they barely knew the rules. Then we switched to cards and a game of 'phase 10', a complicated version of rummy, which I was terrible at. After a few rounds I asked to be relieved, somewhat embarrassingly, as they were in my 'couch'-room. We all went to bed at midnight, including the girls, aged roughly 13 and 15.
Oh, yes, the election result came in tonight... In a house of Democrats, they were pretty pleased about it of course. It seemed to be a landslide, although I don't really know what I'm talking about. All I can say, is that I hope America unites behind their new President, including the press and foreign nations. It would be great to see a narrowing in the gap between rich and poor, better health care for all and a drop in consumption – notably of the gas-guzzling variety. I also hope that America stops using its military power overseas and solves 'problems' using diplomacy alone. Well, one can dream.
I was woken at 5 when Nahele, a school bus driver, had to be up. Then again at 7, when one of the girls came in to wake her Dad, because her bus hadn't stopped for her. Rock whipped up bacon and eggs, and off I went.
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
Columbia – Fulton (November 3)
Day 50
Breakfasted at Ernie's in downtown Columbia, where the waitresses thought the diner was a their own theatre, with their Misery expressions, loud voices across the room and clattering dishes. Overheard an old woman say to her friend how she had read on the internet that Obama had been born in Kenya. The way she spat it out, she might as well have said he was the Devil's own. Took my steed to be shod and a young man here asked me if I needed a lift and whisked me to the laundromat a couple of miles away. He had just driven in from Boise in 43 hours, including a three hour sleep halfway through. It had taken me almost as many days than it had taken him in hours. While waiting for my laundry I couldn't help but listen to a conversation between a wide brimmed-hatted old couple and a younger black man. The old couple were doing all the talking, preaching to him about how Jesus had sat down next to them and said this and that. They mixed Biblical quotes with something about a grasshopper turning into a man, then becoming the lion of Judah and finally transcending into an eagle. The black man, who they called a Negro, listened attentively. While the old man went on in earnest, his wife sprayed each item of laundry and it made a farting sound. I know I'm bad. Maybe one day I'll be saved, but hopefully not before I've had sex with a lot of women.
I did some other chores and walked several miles around Columbia, a well to do, typically spread out US city. My heels were soon sore, as I'm so unused to walking and this must be about the only part of my anatomy that has had an easy ride. At 4 pm it suddenly dawned on me that I was supposed to get to Fulton tonight. I had thought this was a rest day, and in a way it was, but there were still 25 miles to take care of. Back to the bearded young men at Walt's Bike Shop, where a service, including new chain, mended mudguard and toe clip only came to $22! The sky was darkening as I whizzed along a shoulderless two lane road. In the rush hour the cars careered around me without reducing their speed one scintilla and it was exhilarating stuff. I have never been hit by a vehicle on the open road and must be wrapped in a cloud of charming, British invincibility. I enjoyed riding on such moonlit night; with the stars, the succulent-scented, warm air (one benefit of humidity) and the mood of whispering melancholia. Halfway through this journey, Rachel (Robert's wife) phoned to offer me a bed for the night in Columbia and apologised for not being welcoming last night. Not welcoming? I dined in a nice restaurant and slept in a posh hotel, both at her family's expense, and they had all been lovely to me. I nearly went back, but this would have meant another 100+ stint tomorrow.
When checking into a basic motel in Fulton, the elderly couple who ran the place saw my British passport and told me Winston Churchill had made his 'Iron Curtain' speech here and to honour this fact an English church had been demolished and rebuilt here, brick by brick, as a memorial to him. Dined at the Sir Winston Restaurant & Pub down the road, where the menu was a testament to his and other prime ministerial visits (a Churchill Pizza and a Margaret Thatcher Wrap). I had the raspberry chicken salad with a cold pint of dark beer - in a warm glass at least - and very nice they were too.
When I asked a different woman at reception if she could show me on my Fulton map where the library was, she said “Ooh, I don't know anything about these maps.” Took in the Churchill Memorial en route to a cafe.
Breakfasted at Ernie's in downtown Columbia, where the waitresses thought the diner was a their own theatre, with their Misery expressions, loud voices across the room and clattering dishes. Overheard an old woman say to her friend how she had read on the internet that Obama had been born in Kenya. The way she spat it out, she might as well have said he was the Devil's own. Took my steed to be shod and a young man here asked me if I needed a lift and whisked me to the laundromat a couple of miles away. He had just driven in from Boise in 43 hours, including a three hour sleep halfway through. It had taken me almost as many days than it had taken him in hours. While waiting for my laundry I couldn't help but listen to a conversation between a wide brimmed-hatted old couple and a younger black man. The old couple were doing all the talking, preaching to him about how Jesus had sat down next to them and said this and that. They mixed Biblical quotes with something about a grasshopper turning into a man, then becoming the lion of Judah and finally transcending into an eagle. The black man, who they called a Negro, listened attentively. While the old man went on in earnest, his wife sprayed each item of laundry and it made a farting sound. I know I'm bad. Maybe one day I'll be saved, but hopefully not before I've had sex with a lot of women.
I did some other chores and walked several miles around Columbia, a well to do, typically spread out US city. My heels were soon sore, as I'm so unused to walking and this must be about the only part of my anatomy that has had an easy ride. At 4 pm it suddenly dawned on me that I was supposed to get to Fulton tonight. I had thought this was a rest day, and in a way it was, but there were still 25 miles to take care of. Back to the bearded young men at Walt's Bike Shop, where a service, including new chain, mended mudguard and toe clip only came to $22! The sky was darkening as I whizzed along a shoulderless two lane road. In the rush hour the cars careered around me without reducing their speed one scintilla and it was exhilarating stuff. I have never been hit by a vehicle on the open road and must be wrapped in a cloud of charming, British invincibility. I enjoyed riding on such moonlit night; with the stars, the succulent-scented, warm air (one benefit of humidity) and the mood of whispering melancholia. Halfway through this journey, Rachel (Robert's wife) phoned to offer me a bed for the night in Columbia and apologised for not being welcoming last night. Not welcoming? I dined in a nice restaurant and slept in a posh hotel, both at her family's expense, and they had all been lovely to me. I nearly went back, but this would have meant another 100+ stint tomorrow.
When checking into a basic motel in Fulton, the elderly couple who ran the place saw my British passport and told me Winston Churchill had made his 'Iron Curtain' speech here and to honour this fact an English church had been demolished and rebuilt here, brick by brick, as a memorial to him. Dined at the Sir Winston Restaurant & Pub down the road, where the menu was a testament to his and other prime ministerial visits (a Churchill Pizza and a Margaret Thatcher Wrap). I had the raspberry chicken salad with a cold pint of dark beer - in a warm glass at least - and very nice they were too.
When I asked a different woman at reception if she could show me on my Fulton map where the library was, she said “Ooh, I don't know anything about these maps.” Took in the Churchill Memorial en route to a cafe.
Monday, 3 November 2008
Warrensburg - Columbia (November 2)
Day 49
The clocks went back last night and that extra hour helped towards regaining my strength for another biggie. 331 miles in three days. Windless, sticky and well into the 70s today. To begin with stopped at a fast food joint called Sonic, where diners don't even need to drive by a window to order their food – they simply park and a waitress comes to them. I asked a pierced-tongued waitress where I could find a grocery store and she said she'd go ask someone. Had she just been born? The cycling today was first rate : 30 miles on a straight, undulating highway, 70 miles on trails and several through town. The Katy Trail is a disused railway line and most of this section ran through an avenue of trees, past their best, but I'd OD'd on autumnal technicolour over the last couple of days. There were other cyclists and walkers, to whom I smiled and said hello. In return I got small change. It must be a cultural difference, because in a similar UK environment people always say hello back. Then again this is Misery, or 'Missoura', as David pronounced it. Stopping in a leafy enclave, I had the fright of my life when a six inch stick insect tried to hitch a ride on my leg; and later I saw glowworms. A late lunch in dinky Pilot Grove, where even a pre-packaged gas station sandwich proved to be haute cuisine (croissant with chicken, celery and mayo). A bit scary to be alone in the woods when it grew dark, especially as my paltry front light doesn't pick out didly squat and I nearly suffered another fall, then a bolt sprang out of a mudguard and it vibrated for the last 20 miles. Me and my bike both needed a service pronto.
And we were to get one in Columbia, a university town of 100,000. Made my way to Robert's house, son of Judy, tonight's Pixie Pit player. Judy lived way off my route, but as her son lived here, she came up to see him and play me too. Together with her husband, daughter in law and three grandchildren, we drove to a restaurant called Uncle Bill's or Old Bob's, or something, where I was treated to a chicken salad with cranberries and pecans (like Diane in Wichita's salad) followed by an insanely pleasure-giving 'cream silk pie' (chocolate mousse, cream, crumbly yellow pastry). It's a good thing I don't live in America that's all I can say, or my waistline would be forever expanding. In between mouthfuls Judy and I squeezed in a quick game (she had French Toast, bacon and milk). I always feel guilty garnering both blanks, and it makes winning almost a foregone conclusion. I bingoed with WORRIES early on and later played ZITS on a triple word. Judy and her husband worked for a company producing equipment for straightening hail-dented car metal. I didn't even know hail could be that destructive. Robert, a professor of agriculture, had the look of Emilio Estevez, and his children were a tonic. The smallest boy liked to dribble his saliva down his chin and reel it back in... over and over again. All three of them asked me every question they could think of, like what was my name, when was my birthday and how old was I... over and over again. I liked the way their parents let them be, particularly the little one, who walked about talking to all and sundry – boy could he mingle. He had a permanent 'rabbit caught in headlights' expression, while his older siblings had jaded expressions far beyond their years. There wasn't room to stay at her son's house and then Judy told me she'd booked AND paid for a hotel! (I've been calling the state Misery, yet the people I've hooked up with so far obviously are the exceptions to this rule.) It was a thrusting young executive type hotel to boot – and here was me with my bicycle, plastic bags and sweaty clothes. Judy and her husband said goodbye and then had to drive for three hours back to their home in Bolivar, in the south west corner of the state.
The next day was a very welcome day off and for convenience I had thought about staying another night; however I knew it would be out of my price range and checked out.
The clocks went back last night and that extra hour helped towards regaining my strength for another biggie. 331 miles in three days. Windless, sticky and well into the 70s today. To begin with stopped at a fast food joint called Sonic, where diners don't even need to drive by a window to order their food – they simply park and a waitress comes to them. I asked a pierced-tongued waitress where I could find a grocery store and she said she'd go ask someone. Had she just been born? The cycling today was first rate : 30 miles on a straight, undulating highway, 70 miles on trails and several through town. The Katy Trail is a disused railway line and most of this section ran through an avenue of trees, past their best, but I'd OD'd on autumnal technicolour over the last couple of days. There were other cyclists and walkers, to whom I smiled and said hello. In return I got small change. It must be a cultural difference, because in a similar UK environment people always say hello back. Then again this is Misery, or 'Missoura', as David pronounced it. Stopping in a leafy enclave, I had the fright of my life when a six inch stick insect tried to hitch a ride on my leg; and later I saw glowworms. A late lunch in dinky Pilot Grove, where even a pre-packaged gas station sandwich proved to be haute cuisine (croissant with chicken, celery and mayo). A bit scary to be alone in the woods when it grew dark, especially as my paltry front light doesn't pick out didly squat and I nearly suffered another fall, then a bolt sprang out of a mudguard and it vibrated for the last 20 miles. Me and my bike both needed a service pronto.
And we were to get one in Columbia, a university town of 100,000. Made my way to Robert's house, son of Judy, tonight's Pixie Pit player. Judy lived way off my route, but as her son lived here, she came up to see him and play me too. Together with her husband, daughter in law and three grandchildren, we drove to a restaurant called Uncle Bill's or Old Bob's, or something, where I was treated to a chicken salad with cranberries and pecans (like Diane in Wichita's salad) followed by an insanely pleasure-giving 'cream silk pie' (chocolate mousse, cream, crumbly yellow pastry). It's a good thing I don't live in America that's all I can say, or my waistline would be forever expanding. In between mouthfuls Judy and I squeezed in a quick game (she had French Toast, bacon and milk). I always feel guilty garnering both blanks, and it makes winning almost a foregone conclusion. I bingoed with WORRIES early on and later played ZITS on a triple word. Judy and her husband worked for a company producing equipment for straightening hail-dented car metal. I didn't even know hail could be that destructive. Robert, a professor of agriculture, had the look of Emilio Estevez, and his children were a tonic. The smallest boy liked to dribble his saliva down his chin and reel it back in... over and over again. All three of them asked me every question they could think of, like what was my name, when was my birthday and how old was I... over and over again. I liked the way their parents let them be, particularly the little one, who walked about talking to all and sundry – boy could he mingle. He had a permanent 'rabbit caught in headlights' expression, while his older siblings had jaded expressions far beyond their years. There wasn't room to stay at her son's house and then Judy told me she'd booked AND paid for a hotel! (I've been calling the state Misery, yet the people I've hooked up with so far obviously are the exceptions to this rule.) It was a thrusting young executive type hotel to boot – and here was me with my bicycle, plastic bags and sweaty clothes. Judy and her husband said goodbye and then had to drive for three hours back to their home in Bolivar, in the south west corner of the state.
The next day was a very welcome day off and for convenience I had thought about staying another night; however I knew it would be out of my price range and checked out.
Sunday, 2 November 2008
Kansas City - Warrensburg (November 1)
Day 48
A new month and the third thousand. Still don't know how I managed it yesterday and today my body wasn't very happy about riding yet another 85 miles. I hadn't seen a 'welcome to Missouri' sign yesterday and what with all the glum expressions I saw in Kansas City this morning, I'm thinking of renaming this state Misery, at least until it makes a bit more effort to impress me. It was foggy until lunchtime and a lot of cars on the busy highways had no lights. In fact I very nearly witnessed a crash when a car moved across a lane and there was already a car there. Such activity provides a cautionary tale for us vulnerable cyclists, even with our own private lane much of the time. Skirted round the edge of the city and then spun off towards the south east. The sun burned through the fog to produce another warm day, which also had a new, humid feel to it. As I popped into Subway, served by a woman with Doonesbury eyes, I wondered what percentage of the population is employed in the fast food industry. When a toe clip came away and I couldn't fix it, this seemed an opportune time to try out one of the 'cleat' pedals, which Tom in Denver had given me, along with the special shoes. It felt fine and on I went. A few miles later, I came to a red light, put my foot down, only to discover it wouldn't move and down I went. I was embarrassed more than anything else, especially as a woman wound down her window to ask if I was OK. Then it happened a second time, when no one was around, but this time I cut my calf and grazed my arm. The third time I was at another stop light, there were cars waiting behind me in full view of my fall – no one said a word. This upset me a bit and I decided to give up on cleats for good. O)old dogs, new tricks... I put the old pedal back on, which, without the toe clip, my foot slid about on, but at least I wasn't endangering my life.
The countryside in Missouri is very pretty indeed, Mountains are all very well, but I prefer trees and rolling, green hills, the likes of which I saw today. It was like pastoral England with knobs on, with the treacle and toffee apple-coloured foliage in the hazy sunshine. There was a sign promoting a phone number for people interested in car pools. Methinks that particular phone does not ring very often. A good road led to Warrensburg, as dusk descended, a silver sickle appeared up above, and fog ebbed, oozed and unfolded across the meadows and a creek called Devil's Branch. Felt a bit silly asking for directions to Gay Street at a motel. The young girl on reception knew where it was, but couldn't explain how to get there and looked it up on Mapquest. Meanwhile I saw it on a map on the wall. Gay Street intersected with the road I was on. It was really simple and Warrensburg is a very small place. I was about to leave when she came out to look at the map. She couldn't work out where the motel was on the map and said she couldn't understand it because it was the wrong way up and had to take it off the wall. She couldn't tell me how far away the street was either. In short, she was entirely clueless.
Barbara and David, from Warm Showers, lived in another stylish home, which was quite English in its style to me. Both retired (he worked for the parks department and she as a woman of the cloth) they lived with her sister, Linda, she called him by his surname and he called her Barb. She was a livewire, while he was laid back and looked a bit like Elliot Gould. They were now avid hikers and cyclists, had travelled the length and breadth of the country several times – during which they camped. They have made a lot of friends through these endeavours and both have 'trail names' – he's Big Drum and she's I Want My Sherpa. They were amazed that I was still on schedule, as when they went on their long trips (one lasted over six months) they took their time and stopped wherever they liked. This travel philosophy sounded very appealing, as I never have time to smell the roses, or even see the roses. Barbara rustled up a steaming hot bowl of homemade broth, followed by two deserts (apple crisp + spice cake) and all were top notch. I beat them both at Scrabble, then I beat Barbara on her own, while David watched college football. Linda went to bed at 9.30. On a Saturday night. I had a choice of rooms : traditional with double bed or living room with art deco chairs + a bunk bed up a ladder. Obviously I had to go with the latter, although with my three falls today, I was slightly worried about adding to this number – and from a greater height.
We put the world to rights over breakfast. Staunch Democrats, Barbara & David told me there are four tiers of government in the US (County, City, State & Federal) compared to only two in the UK. Candidates at every level have to raise their own campaign funds and what bothers me most about the campaigning here is that almost 100% of it is negative, fueling fear and paranoia. In this county usually only about 20% of the electorate votes, but this election has caught even the attention of even the most apathetic individuals and it is predicted that there will be about a 95% turnout. Barbara said a lot of these people will be voting to either get behind a black man or trying to stop a black man.
A new month and the third thousand. Still don't know how I managed it yesterday and today my body wasn't very happy about riding yet another 85 miles. I hadn't seen a 'welcome to Missouri' sign yesterday and what with all the glum expressions I saw in Kansas City this morning, I'm thinking of renaming this state Misery, at least until it makes a bit more effort to impress me. It was foggy until lunchtime and a lot of cars on the busy highways had no lights. In fact I very nearly witnessed a crash when a car moved across a lane and there was already a car there. Such activity provides a cautionary tale for us vulnerable cyclists, even with our own private lane much of the time. Skirted round the edge of the city and then spun off towards the south east. The sun burned through the fog to produce another warm day, which also had a new, humid feel to it. As I popped into Subway, served by a woman with Doonesbury eyes, I wondered what percentage of the population is employed in the fast food industry. When a toe clip came away and I couldn't fix it, this seemed an opportune time to try out one of the 'cleat' pedals, which Tom in Denver had given me, along with the special shoes. It felt fine and on I went. A few miles later, I came to a red light, put my foot down, only to discover it wouldn't move and down I went. I was embarrassed more than anything else, especially as a woman wound down her window to ask if I was OK. Then it happened a second time, when no one was around, but this time I cut my calf and grazed my arm. The third time I was at another stop light, there were cars waiting behind me in full view of my fall – no one said a word. This upset me a bit and I decided to give up on cleats for good. O)old dogs, new tricks... I put the old pedal back on, which, without the toe clip, my foot slid about on, but at least I wasn't endangering my life.
The countryside in Missouri is very pretty indeed, Mountains are all very well, but I prefer trees and rolling, green hills, the likes of which I saw today. It was like pastoral England with knobs on, with the treacle and toffee apple-coloured foliage in the hazy sunshine. There was a sign promoting a phone number for people interested in car pools. Methinks that particular phone does not ring very often. A good road led to Warrensburg, as dusk descended, a silver sickle appeared up above, and fog ebbed, oozed and unfolded across the meadows and a creek called Devil's Branch. Felt a bit silly asking for directions to Gay Street at a motel. The young girl on reception knew where it was, but couldn't explain how to get there and looked it up on Mapquest. Meanwhile I saw it on a map on the wall. Gay Street intersected with the road I was on. It was really simple and Warrensburg is a very small place. I was about to leave when she came out to look at the map. She couldn't work out where the motel was on the map and said she couldn't understand it because it was the wrong way up and had to take it off the wall. She couldn't tell me how far away the street was either. In short, she was entirely clueless.
Barbara and David, from Warm Showers, lived in another stylish home, which was quite English in its style to me. Both retired (he worked for the parks department and she as a woman of the cloth) they lived with her sister, Linda, she called him by his surname and he called her Barb. She was a livewire, while he was laid back and looked a bit like Elliot Gould. They were now avid hikers and cyclists, had travelled the length and breadth of the country several times – during which they camped. They have made a lot of friends through these endeavours and both have 'trail names' – he's Big Drum and she's I Want My Sherpa. They were amazed that I was still on schedule, as when they went on their long trips (one lasted over six months) they took their time and stopped wherever they liked. This travel philosophy sounded very appealing, as I never have time to smell the roses, or even see the roses. Barbara rustled up a steaming hot bowl of homemade broth, followed by two deserts (apple crisp + spice cake) and all were top notch. I beat them both at Scrabble, then I beat Barbara on her own, while David watched college football. Linda went to bed at 9.30. On a Saturday night. I had a choice of rooms : traditional with double bed or living room with art deco chairs + a bunk bed up a ladder. Obviously I had to go with the latter, although with my three falls today, I was slightly worried about adding to this number – and from a greater height.
We put the world to rights over breakfast. Staunch Democrats, Barbara & David told me there are four tiers of government in the US (County, City, State & Federal) compared to only two in the UK. Candidates at every level have to raise their own campaign funds and what bothers me most about the campaigning here is that almost 100% of it is negative, fueling fear and paranoia. In this county usually only about 20% of the electorate votes, but this election has caught even the attention of even the most apathetic individuals and it is predicted that there will be about a 95% turnout. Barbara said a lot of these people will be voting to either get behind a black man or trying to stop a black man.
Saturday, 1 November 2008
Burlington – Kansas City (October 31)
Day 47
(Here's a photo sent to me by Lesli in Emporia + a better version of the game I played in Fort Collins, Colorado. Please email me more photos.)
Another biggie. Warm, negligible wind and a few small hills to break up the monotony. Had my first taste of beef jerky, which both Becky and Janice in Emporia had provided. It's salted beef, extremely chewy and cleans your teeth at the same time. The Indians made a version with buffalo and as it lasts for a long time, this was their staple diet through the winter. Another Indian tale, told to me by Joel, concerned a white buffalo that some believe will be born one day, occupied by the spirit of the White Buffalo Woman, and when this happens it will spell the end for the white man's tenure in America. There has been a plague of ladybirds for the last few days and today I saw my first turtle, which like most of the wildlife I've witnessed, was smashed up, in a pool of blood.
Until late afternoon the day was going well, that is until I entered the sprawling, heaving hubbub of Kansas City. It went on forever, maybe 50 miles, and of course I had to get right to the other side of it, in the rush hour. I was mad with myself for not going to Lawrence, halfway between Emporia and tonight's destination, although then I would have missed out on the lovely time I had in Burlington. The road was up and down, there was often no shoulder, cars honked at me and I had a terrible time with the huge, unwieldy map I'd picked up at a gas station. It was a good thing I had the zip code because once again there was more than one Skyview Drive. Downtown, now in Missouri, all the party goers were hard at it, this being Hallowe'en, and as is usually the case, the boys and men were dressed in ghoulish costumes, while the girls were all princesses and fairies, and the young women bared a lot of flesh. It seemed a pretty vibrant and exciting place to be, at least tonight, and the skyscrapers didn't disappoint either. Across the vast Missouri River I raced and on up a scary section of highway, where one car whizzed by an inch away, presumably 'to teach me a lesson', as I don't think I should have been there and nearly knocking me down in cold blood is the best way to pass on this information. There were also these thin metal barred sections on the numerous bridges, like cattle grids – except these bars lay parallel to the edge of the road. These sections were only a few inches deep, but the grooves between the bars were the width of my tyres and I had to try and cross them at an angle, in the dark, with no streetlights and my hopeless front light. Anyway I made it - and not only did I make it - I smashed my previous 117 mile record by 20 miles and my average speed was just shy of 16 mph.
I arrived at Sheri's house at 9.30 pm, which was a bit embarrassing, as it was a few hours later than I said I would be there. I had come across Sheri via the National Scrabble Association website, on which she was the named contact for the Kansas City club, except it has since disbanded. Her husband, Dan, made me a sandwich and their two bear-sized dogs barked a lot. Dan taught engineering in a community college and Sheri looked after a baby niece and home-schooled her son Colin. A house of Democrats, in this swing state, and Sheri's daughter worked at the local campaign office for the Obama camp. The candidate for the Governorship is called Nixon, which is an unfortunate name to be lumbered with. Then we played two games, both of which Sheri won, as she was a competent player, although I was only a few points adrift each time. We both played a few bingos, including my WHORTLE (a gamble) and Sheri's CURARIS (a new one to me). In both games In both games I had bingos that didn't fit on the board and I was left with a blanks at the end. Frustrating for me, but good, tense games.
Colin was up at 6 to take the dogs for a walk, then later he would tutoring Colin and other teenage boys in the art of robotics (making and programming Lego devices to perform various tasks) for competitions. Scrambled egg, sausage, orange muffins, and I was on the road once more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
