October 2, 2009

Roll on Mississippi

In the words of Meatloaf, “2 out of 3 ain’t bad.” Except that’s how many I had wrong. Yesterday it was predicted the road to be pedaled would be rainy, windy and have hundreds of hills. Well the windy part was right on the money. 20-35 mph gusts were the order of the day. But the rain stayed away and while there were indeed hills, hundreds was way too low a number. Hundreds was obsolete within the first fifty miles. Or so it seemed...

The day started leaving Hannibal at 8 a.m. The earlier than usual departure was a good thing. Because two miles into the ride came a flat. “No problem” said I, “If you are going to bike tour, flats are a fact of life.” Plus I had a beautiful view of the Mississippi and was across the road from a local tourist attraction. Tom Sawyer something or other.
Flat fixed and I was on down the road. For one mile. Then came an out and out blowout. Not a good thing, for several reasons, the most important being due to the fact I carried but one new tube in the bike bag and it had just joined the endangered species list. So the call was made...

...and once again, in a regular occurrence for these past almost 50 years, Jannie Lou bailed my butt out. Turns out the tire was bad, YES! I had another tire. Again, I begged myself to avoid frustration and enjoy the adventure. But a type A can only put up with so much of this crap. So once Jan was headed back to Hannibal to continue the checkout process I had interrupted, it was time to vent. And it felt SO GOOD. Screaming and swearing are just not recognized for the intrinsic contribution they make to the well being of mankind.

Still I was behind on time. While I continually reminded myself to manage the expectations and not expect to make the kind of time I had in years past, three miles in one hour and forty-five minutes might be good for a wagon train being pulled by oxen but it sure makes for a long day when you’re planning on covering over 70 miles.

And the hills, are you kidding me? This neck of the woods is nothing but an ever-constant climb. Nasty ass hills. Steep dudes. Several times my bubble top grade indicator suggested the climbs were in excess of 12%. (And if you can’t believe a bubble top grade indicator, who can you
believe?)

Finally, after hours of constant struggle (2 1/2) imagine my surprise when discovering I was on the outskirts of Louisiana. The end of my trip is Baton Rouge, just two days into the bike ride and I’m rolling into Louisiana. To be honest there was no memory what so ever of Kentucky, Tennessee or Mississippi. But a closer examination revealed...

...I know Hurricane Katrina had a devastating effect on the Bayou State but 3,800 seemed a bit low.
Turns out I was in Louisiana, Missouri.

From there it was on to Clarksville, a most enchanting hamlet of barely four hundred folks along the Mississippi. At Clarksville, my Adventure Cycling map called for a westward turn. They are vectoring me around St. Louis. The Mississippi will be only a memory until Cape Girardeau sometime next week.



I grew up near the banks of the “Father of Waters”. Catfishing, dough balls, spearing carp, turtle fry’s at the VFW in Andalusia on Friday night. I couldn’t have been less interested. I moved to Colorado to get away from just that sort of thing. But it’s still a cool river, when seen from a distance. Hence Charlie Pride’s “Roll on Mississippi.”