Diary 7-22-03

I left Kalamazoo in the early afternoon with a full belly, a full tank, but a half portion of enthusiasm. It’s tough to regain momentum, it takes some time to build it up. I thought of all the hills I’d ridden over to get me there in Kalamazoo and the flat lands clear to Colorado. “Well that’s it, There’s no way anything interesting is going to happen. I’ve already dealt with every kind of problem I’ll have to deal with for the rest of the trip. From here on out it’s just repetition,” I said to myself. Silly me.

30 miles south of Kalamazoo, heading fast for the Indiana border I noticed some dark clouds on the horizon and I rode on a little glumly. it’s tough to leave the comfort of friends for the solitude and uncertainty of the road. The dark clouds bubbling over head felt like a mental mirror, boiling around, reflecting my emotions perfectly. “This isn’t cloud 9, I thought to myself, it’s somewhere cloud 3.25”.

I felt a few drops and stopped the ped at the bottom of a slight incline and looked south. I watched as cars headed down the hill running spray in my direction, windshield wipers whipping wildly. I watched as the cloud split the hill in two, dropping a curtain of rain down on the road. Once I passed that curtain it would be act II day 1, this short ride had just been the prelude.

I pulled out all of my rain gear, rain paints, jacket, and bike cover, 100 feet from a wall of rain, but I didn’t feel another drop. I put on my gear silently, and started covering my packs. The sky cracked along a fracture of lightning, dropping thunder and rain up ahead; an ominous oracle.

I got back on the ped and rode into the heart of it, feeling the rain pelt my hands and arms like icicle spikes. Even going 25 miles an hour, its rough riding in the rain. The rain got harder and harder, and I started shaking with the cold of it but I rode on. Even though the sky was weeping, and 16 wheelers were passing me going twice my speed, showering me with mud I started to buck up and I started to laugh, this didn’t feel repetitive at all! This was all very new. What had I been thinking? Boring? It had only been an hour and a half and already I was frozen to the bone, riding into billowing clouds and lucid green fields of corn, it doesn’t get much better than this! Reruns don’t exist except in of I love Lucy, real life is live 24/7.

I kept going, feeling more and more like a knight on a two stroke steed, this is adventure.

Eventually I had to stop, the rain was just too much, and other drivers aren’t nearly careful enough when passing on a rainy afternoon. I stopped, and watched the clouds move away, got back on the ped and followed the,. It was slow going, I would ride back towards the retreating clouds, and eventually I would catch up and I’d be in the heart of the storm again. I’d stop under a tree and wait for it to get ahead of me again, and then run after it, playing tag with the elements.

I hadn’t left early enough to get to my destination camp site though and I checked out my map for a state park, but there wasn’t one for another 60 miles. The sun started to edge down towards the horizon and I started getting antsy. I eyed the areas around me, but there wasn’t a solid patch of woods for miles, I’d have to ask to pitch my tent in someone’s back yard.

When you have to ask a complete stranger if you can sleep on their lawn, it’s important to ask the right stranger. It’s a pretty awkward position to be in frankly. I ran the scenario over in my head a couple times. “Hey there I’m mopeding across the country and I’m filthy, cold wet and tired, uhhhh can I sleep on your lawn?” no, no that wouldn’t do at all, how about “ I was planning to get farter than I did, I wanted to go another 50 miles, but now I’m too wet and too tired and it’s getting dark…” I went over a big bump, and the engine shut off.

I coasted to a stop to contemplate just how bad of a situation this was. I looked at the fuel line to check if I’d run out of gas, but it was full. Act III Scene 1.

I put it up on the kick stand and glanced at the sun again. It was casting long red shadows, and was just two fingers from the horizon. Another 45 mins before it got real dark. I got on and pedaled hard. It sounded good, but it wouldn’t stay started. It was giving a hearty ‘pop’ so it wasn’t a bad spark, it didn’t sound lame enough to be out of gas… I pedaled harder and it came to life. I held the throttle open, to let it get some gas in there, but as soon as I let go, it died. No time to fix it though, so I took it off the kickstand and ran with it as fast as I could and then jumped on when the engine kicked in. It worked.

I rode on, looking for a good looking house, but every one that looked promising didn’t have anyone home. Eventually I figured that I would have to just look for any house that was occupied, it may be kind of sketchy to ask someone to camp on their lawn, but it’s illegal not to ask.

Eventually I saw a farm family all hanging out in their front yard. I pulled into the drive way just as the engine died. “Hey there!” I waved. A 35 year old badass looking farmer with tattoos came over from working on some kind of vehicle. The doges barked at me. “Hey there, I’m Avery, I’m mopeding across the country, I just got here from New York, and I was planning to get down to this camp site but I hit a huge storm, and then my bike just broke down and I definitely cant get there before dark. Could I maybe camp on you lawn somewhere out of the way?” He looked at me, sideways and thought about it. He looked back over at his kids, and asked a few questions. “Which campsite? No you couldn’t get there tonight, it’s another 60 miles. Hey why not, you know you can even stay over there in that broken down camper. My kids use it as a playhouse now. We don’t’ use it at all. It’s a little damp, there was a leak in the roof, but I fixed it. Sure go ahead. If you come out at night the dogs are gonna go crazy though.” “Thanks so much,” I said, with a relieved grin, “that’s fantastic. Don’t worry I’ll keep a low profile. Thanks so much man.” He smiled back “No problem.”

I unpacked my sleeping bag and crawled into the dingiest camper you’ve ever seen in your life. It was moldy and dirty and there was water leaking from the ceiling even though it wasn’t raining. “It’s a little damp, but hey, you don’t have to set up your tent huh?” he said. “It’s perfect. Thanks so much,,” I replied with a grin. And it was.

I was so tired. I wrote in my journal a bit, and passed out.

The table collapsed when I put my bag on it (I fixed it quietly). The roof leaked on me all night. The dogs barked all night long. The door didn’t stay closed and then started making a creepy ghostly rattling. It smelled like mold. Dawn came before its time, and I crawled out, sore and tired, but glad to be on the road.