Night Rider

During the day, Kansas is hot.  Triple digits.  Each night we sleep outside we need to look east to make sure there is a barrier, to protect the tent from turning into an insufferable sauna the moment the morning sun peeks malevolently over the horizon.  For a northerner like myself, the idea of being outside during the hottest hours, 2-6pm, is anathema.  I have developed a sympathy for Dracula.

 

The past few days we have ridden 20-30 miles until noon, and then we find somewhere to hide, such as a library or church, until six.  Then we continue riding late into the night.  It is peaceful.  It is cool.  It is quiet.

 

I do not mean that there is any less noise.  There is still the whistle of wind past my face, the occasional rumble or cars and trucks, the small noises of animals.  I cannot explain the silence of standing still on a night-flat road, surrounded by a cathedral of stars.  I can only describe the sounds that shape that silence, the soft subtle murmurs that are lost in other places, other times.  The sound of a determined wind making its uninterrupted way across an endless field.  The small harsh grate of gravel shifting underneath a foot.  The hush of lungs expanding with air.  The creak of a rear wheel.  The rhythm of your own heart, inaudible and pervasive.

 

Isn't it curious that the less light there is, the further we can see?  Last night I oriented myself to the galactic disk and realized I was, relatively, creeping down a vertical cliff.  Over long hours I watch the big dipper scoop up a piece of Kansas.  Shooting stars track across a trackless sky and I make my steady way toward my destination, a glow on the horizon, 20 miles away.  

 

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Oh, and for those of you who weren't able to send a care package or a letter the first time, here's another address!  We'll probably be there in about a week and a day.

Oliver Mednick
General Delivery
Fairplay, CO 80440

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So far I have gone 2887 miles and am writing in the Jordon Library in Larned, KA.

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 Highlights of the last few days:

• Seeing my first armadillo... almost hitting my first armadillo
• Seeing my first prairie dog, and then immediately seeing twenty more
• Taking a zero day in Newton with a very nice family from WarmShowers
• The next day, being treated to lunch and later dinner by two separate Kansasians.
• and a Pre-Highlight! 
• Today we are going to make a second attempt at 200 miles in 24 hours.  At 6pm we will head out and aim to make 140 more miles before 9:05 am.
  

Evidence of my grandfather's ruffian years

Kansas is hot.  This is also where I found my first cactus

We found a kitchen and made banana bread, yeast bread, dozens of cookies, and pancakes.

I made it to the bike shop on a wing and a prayer before my tire completely blew

Lastly, I don't know if this will work like it's suppose to,
but it's a photosphere of the Viaduct in NC

 

The Hospitality of Strangers

In every guest log we read along our way, almost every person expresses astonishment, gratitude, or near disbelief over the hospitality they have experienced when they spend the night at a fire department, a church, someone's home.  It seems a pity this comes to us as a surprise.  And yet the way our world works, we would never think of asking to stay over at a stranger's house unless something truly untoward happened, like a broken down car miles from the nearest town, at night.  I know that I would hesitate to go to the neighbors' to ask for a stick of butter. 

Before we could discover the generosity of strangers we had to leave our hearth and home and live with only what we could hold in our panniers.  We have learned to ask for water and sometimes shelter, and it is as if the people we meet were just waiting to be able to talk, give, and share.  When I stopped at one random house to ask if I could fill my bottles from the spigot, the lady who answered the door invited me in, filled my bottles with water, gave me two fudgsicles, and hugged me as I left.  Perhaps it is because we look ragged and worn, but whether that plays a role or not would mean nothing if there wasn't a part of the stranger that wants to become host, helper, friend.

Corn to the left of me, soybeans to the right/ Here I am, stuck in the middle with you

Playing pool in the youth center in the Sebree First Baptist

Teeny Turtle

Awesome cyclist hostel in Farminton, MO, all to ourselves

I don't have any specific stories recently that aren't more wonders of hospitality, so here is a general update.

We are getting into our groove now.  For those of you who know your geography, we fought free of Kentucky and the vestiges of the Appalachians, and had several smooth days heading towards the Mississippi.  We crossed to Illinois on a ferry over the Ohio, and crossed the actual Mississippi River on a narrow bridge into Missouri.  Now we are in the midst of the Ozarks, and once those are overcome we will coast into the flatness of Kansas.

While we see Westbound cyclists almost everyday, we have only run into one other Eastbound cyclist, and she only went as far as Illinois.  Despite this we have seen a Michael and a Chelsea in the logbooks, one or two days ahead of us, and we hope to catch up and meet them someday.

Watching the Hobbit at the church in Marion, KY

First sight of the Mississippi

Crossing the Ohio by ferry

I am writing this at a hostel called Al's Place in Farmington, MO, having traveled 2238 miles.

Highlights of the last few days:

• Ma's Bakery in Fordsville, KY reopening for us after we looked through the windows plaintively, and giving us a free baked pie with our paninis.
• Staying in a fairground, a fire department, two churches, behind a bar and in a town hostel.
• The pastor and his wife, Bob and Violet, of the First Baptist Church in Sebree, KY inviting us for a huge southern dinner
• Watching the Hobbit and eating pizza at a church in Marion, KY

My life is a country song- a life of dogs and trucks

The Worst Cycling State

Eastern Kentucky is constructed solely of hills, dogs, and trucks.  I mean no offense to anyone who lives there, but it is a bad, bad place for cycling.  The roads seem to twist in upon themselves to make the uphills twice as steep and three times as long.  The enormous, loud trucks and the loud, aggressive dogs attack you from both sides.  Luckily, a loud, forceful "GO HOME!" with a kick in their general direction will turn back most dogs- it is less effective on the trucks.  Furthermore, there are no grocery stores, only Dollar Generals every 20 miles.

This was some of the hardest cycling I've ever done- physically, mentally, socially... but after three and a half days we hit Berea, a shelter in the storm.  Berea is home to Berea College, one of the few work colleges in the country, and a rather liberal college.  We got ice cream, and went to a cafe and got iced chai and a peach smoothie.  An oasis of sophistication, at least in comparison.
Enough about Kentucky.  And not all the dogs were mean.

A lap dog

Kentucky was also beautiful

Cycling Alone, and Traveling with a Partner

There is a beauty to traveling solo. For one month I was responsible to and for no one but myself.  It was my will that got me up and moving, my choice of when, and if, to eat a meal.  Everything was as flexible as one man can be.  But it was a bit lonely, sometimes.  I had often wondered how I would handle being truly alone, a hermit in the NH woods.  I think I need someone to hear my thoughts, even if we never held a conversation.  When I traveled alone I found myself spontaneously knowing what subject to write about on the blog, and spent the rest of the day fleshing it out in my head before committing it to paper that night.  Slow growing crystals grow larger, more solid.  Published on this blog, I would know that I was communicating, however tenuously, to others.  693 page views as of today.  Like most of society, I have found I need an audience.

Now I have a cycling partner, and when an idea comes to me I usually speak it within an hour, the next time Zander and I meet up.  Thus spoken and communicated, the subject dissipates.  The spontaneously knowing what to write about has dropped precipitously, and the larger development of ideas about broad themes of my journey don't grow.  But I have been having conversations; society no longer ends on the inside of my skull.

Zander is a good traveling partner, with high standards for the food we eat, the roads we travel on, and how often we interface with others.  He is the motive force behind out WarmShower visits, and I greatly enjoy the effect.  We get along and we argue, with injured feelings, bruised pride, and laughter and sharing.  That is living together, and I am glad we are both here.

So far I have gone 1910 miles (almost 2000!) and am writing this update in the Grayson Public Library in Leitchfield, KY

Highlights:

• A bat ran into my head one afternoon
• WarmShowers with John and Patty in VA and eating the best sourdough toast ever for breakfast.
• Spending a zero day with Mich Wiles in KY at his and his family's farm/vineyard
• Cedar Creek's Bear Berry Mead

Zander with John, a WarmShowers host and bread baker extraordinaire.

Cedar Creek Vineyards

Us with Micah Wiles, a good friend

One of the herd

After "Steep Uphill Next Two Miles," this is a sign we could get behind.

Too much watermelon for two little guys

How to send us letters and packages

I know that some of you have been longing to send me a package of cookies.  If you can manage it in the next week or so, you can send it to this address.  Also, you can send letters here. I love letters and will definitely reply to any I get. 


Oliver Mednick
General Delivery
Marshfield Post Office

759 West Washington Street

Marshfield, MO 65706

Also acceptable would be granola bars, beef jerky, any other snacks, good books, beautiful drawings, and the like.

Also, although it might initially seem to ruin the magic of receiving a surprise package, please let me know if you send anything so I can make sure I pick it all up, or at least have it sent along after me if it arrives too late.

Thanks!

Oliver

On the Road Again (with a friend)

After a week of making and eating good food and fixing bikes, I am on the road again.  I am joined by my friend Alexander , who will be with me the rest if the trip.  We followed the Blue Ridge Parkway north for 100 miles, and went up some serious uphills, but in reward we had stunning views and some spectacular downhills.  We are now cutting northwest meet up with the TransAmerican Trail.

Warm Showers

Last night, for the first time, we made use of an online site called WarmShowers.  It is a network built by and for cyclist, where people can offer up their house with the promise of at least a warm shower.  For Alexander and my first time, we got significantly more than that.  On the site you can see where there are houses in your area, and call or email to see if they are available.  We found the house of a woman called Stephanie, and she was happy to host us for the night.  When we pulled in, we learned that Stephanie was actually about a week away, having biked from CA toward her home since May.  Her housemate, Sherri, was happy to host us in her stead.  She told us to come on in, put our clothes in the wash, and think about what we wanted for dinner while taking a shower.  When we came out we found a table with fruit, delicious bacon-wrapped chicken and pepper, and chips with guacamole.  Pizza was later added to the mix.  We chatted and ate, and Sherri mentioned that she had a hot tub.  Our eyes widened. 

We slept in a bed that night, and woke up to find coffee, and travel snacks arranged on the table.  We left early in the morning after much thanking and cheer.  It was our first time using Warm Showers, but I don't know if we can ever top that experience.

A good meal under any terms

Thoughts on Fancy Gear

I am riding my Grandpa's bike, with my Grandpa's panniers.  This has earned me not a few whistles of surprise and admiration, and perhaps a few raised eyebrows that say "and you are still alive?"  For all that, it is a good bike that wears its years well, perhaps better for being built before carbon fiber was a thing- back when durability was the watchword of the bike industry.  But that does not stop me from covetously eying the all-systems-integrated carbon fiber heavy-as-a-butterfly bicycles in the windows of the bike shops I pass.  I myself converted my pedals to clipless and am trying to find a cheap way to convert my shifters from drop tube to bar end.

It can be hard to tell when you are being manipulated by popular opinion, and not following your own values and logic.  To be honest, I did not have any problems with my former pedals and cages.  I could wear whatever shoes I wanted, and slip in and out of them with ease.  But I had heard that clipless was the way to go- it would put my feet in just the right place, I would pedal more efficiently, and a myriad of other convincing and enticing reasons.  I admit, it is nice to snap in to my pedals, and I do find myself pulling up as well as pushing down, but the score for falling down before and after these fancy pedals is as follows.  Cages: 21 days, 0 falls.  Clipless: 3 days, 4 falls.  Alexander tells me this is just because I am new to them, but for the sake of both my wallet and my elbows, I am going to pay special attention from now on what advancements I hear about and then want, and what advancements I Viaduct
 could to be done before I realized someone else already thought of it. 

The following images are me trying to cycle circles around Alexander going uphill, only to eat it because I was clipped in.  The other times I fell were valid, though.

 

So far I have gone 1444.8 miles, and I am writing this from the Watauga Public Library, in Boone, NC.

Recent highlights:

• Stopping for lunch at Christa's, a little deli off the parkway and having one of the best sandwiches of my life.
• Bombing a four-mile hill at 35mph past gorgeous vistas
• Exploring the Craft Center outside of Boone, and convincing Alexander to buy the most beautiful mug.
• All the overlooks on the parkway, especially off the Viaduct
• The holy grail of dumpster finds: semi-frozen ice cream, and loads of it

My First Rest

I made it to Asheville!
It took me 21 days, and 1300 miles.

I am currently staying at my friend Xenia's house near Warren Wilson College, indulging in food and friends.  I will be here for a week, and then hop on my bike again and head west.  This initial southern journey was sort of a test run, a shake-down cruise, to see if the rest of the trip would be possible.  I know that it definitely is, and even as waves of soreness catch up to me even after three days of rest I am excited to get back to cycling.

I will be riding with my friend Alexander Blume for the rest of the trip, and he is a great writer/editor so maybe I can get him to contribute words here.  No large stops are planned for the rest of the trip, but we will visiting as many people as we can between here and California.

The most picturesque spot at all of Wilson.

I didn't give myself a zero day until I arrived here, so my plans for the week include relaxing, delighting in food, showering, seeing friends, and modifying my bike to make it clipless and add bar-end shifters.  Also, Alexander is a big planner so he is making me figure out what the future looks like a little more.  We even have a rough itinerary now.  

An odd thing happened to me when I went for a walk with my friend Xenia earlier.  We went for a two mile loop or so, and halfway through it, as we were descending into a slight valley, I had the distinct impression that I was in fact going uphill.  I love it when my brain misfires like this, and try to analyze what I am feeling.  The impression persisted despite looking closely at the slope and verifying that I was going down.  I stopped moving so as to put my whole mind to the sensation, and then it hit me.  I have not had to work to go downhill in over three weeks.  Normally I just stop moving and pick up speed, but this time I distinctly wasn't.  The feeling lingered, a vague niggling in the back of my mind, for the rest of the walk.

Also, since I got my resupply box, I can upload some of the photos that were on my camera since the beginning.  These span my trip so far.

The first day! Dipped my rear tire in the Atlantic

Helen, my riding partner for the first three days

Our not-very-impressive 'America-by-memory's

On more reason not to trust Google Maps Bicycle Beta (this is a road)(this is also a pond)

Biking with my Triathal-aunt

Trying out other approaches

Visiting DC

Traveling solo through beautiful lands

A Poem

I like to make up stories
About people
Based on their trash by the side of the road.


All
Of my characters
Are drunk.