July 14, 2001--Champaign, IL.

Today's ride started by winding around the streets of Springfield. I am always amazed how quickly a large city can become rural once you've followed a single road out of town out here. The weather has been spectacular and the winds have become almost favorable. Personally I didn't feel my best today. My legs were sore from racing friends up hills. A pace line was formed and we traveled through cornfield upon cornfield. As a group we decided that the United States would never run out of corn.
At the 68-mile marker we stopped at SAG that was set up on the edge of a cemetery. It was kind of neat. Andy and I decided that we were tired of the pace line and wanted to ride easy on the way in. We stopped and took pictures of each other riding next to the cornfields.
When we made it into Champaign, I decided to take a ride to the other side of town where the University of Illinois Football stadium is. I performed in 97' with Santa Clara Vanguard in that stadium. I rode into the center of campus and the stadium loomed over the Entire University like a sleeping giant. I rode my bike around the stadium and found a gate that was open. I walked inside the stadium onto the football field and was surprised when I realized that I didn't recognize it at all. I know I played here because I remember the name of the University, city, and the events of that night. While performing in a high-pressure environment where responsibilities are so extreme, one can often lose sight of the superficial details that surround them. In short, I was so focused that night that I didn't even remember what the stadium looked like. I remember lights, and a crowd that thoroughly enjoyed our show.
While thinking about all this, a gentleman on a bicycle rode slowly passed me. I asked him if he would take a picture of me in front of the stadium. He accepted and asked the significance of the picture. I told him that I had performed in this stadium and wanted a picture in front of it on my trip across America. He asked whom I had performed with. When I said Santa Clara Vanguard his face lit up and he said, "I was there, I helped sponsor that show" He had marched with the Scarlet Regiment back in the 1960's and had followed Drum and Bugle Corps ever since. We spoke for about a half an hour about Drum Corps and I shoved off on my way.

July 13, 2001--Springfield, IL.

Before I start today's entry I want to tell a short 'Tortoise and the Hair" type story that happened on this trip. J.D. is an older rider on this trip and has done a few bike trips in the past. He is by no means a fast rider. He takes his time and is usually one of the last riders in everyday. It doesn't seem to bother him because he is enjoying himself and taking it easy. There is a younger rider that we will call Doug whom was known early on as being an erratic rider. He would attack, fall back, and then attack again with no sense of pacing himself. He has become known as a social misfit among the group and really doesn't have any friends due to his mean spirited nature and arrogance. One day in the earlier part of the ride when Doug was riding hard and had a lot of energy, he passed J.D. and tauntingly said, "See ya later old man." The comment was un-called for and J.D. was puzzled that a person on the ride would say something so unkind. Weeks passed and Doug's riding style, or lack of, began to take its toll on his body. He was not pacing himself and was wearing his body out. Doug began to ride much slower and became very exhausted at the end of rides. One day about two days ago J.D. saw a rider in the distance. J.D. wasn't accustom to closing distances rapidly, but he found himself doing so just by riding at his normal pace. When features were discernible J.D. realized that it was Doug in the distance. J.D. closed in on Doug and passed him saying "See ya later sonny!" Doug tried with all his might to close the distance on J.D. but he hadn't the strength to do it. The story has spread like wildfire through the riders, and each rider gets a real kick out of hearing that Doug got what he deserved.
Today's ride started in Quincy and headed out of town. The roads out of town were lined on both sides with thick droves of trees that formed a solid canopy over the road shading the riders as we passed through the natural tunnels of green. The trees cooled the breeze and formed pockets of chilled air that were a welcome luxury to the entire group. I passed through small communities that had structures echoing of a century ago. The old wooden white washed buildings stood gracefully in the humid morning light. Small churches often stood alone by the road with their mouse hole style windows etched with stained glass. Homes had long grassy lawns that were well kept and none of the homes had fences; much the style in rural areas of America. I took a picture of Andy fixing a flat tire on the front lawn of a farmhouse.
As quickly as we had entered the land of trees and small villages, we exited into large tracks of cornfields. On either side of the road, corn stalks stood eight feet tall and moved lightly as the breeze caressed them. I passed miles upon miles of corn and rice fields on the strait and narrow road to Springville. Just two days ago I crossed lands that flowed up and down like large waves of land. Yet today the cornfields stood as smooth as the surface of a small lake in the early morning hours.

Just after noon, Andy and I made our way into Springville where we visited the State Capitol building. The building stands gallantly amongst the more modern buildings that surround it. We then went to the home of Abraham Lincoln where he lived before he became the 16th president. I toured the home and touched the same guardrail he touched when he climbed the stairs in his home.

July 12, 2001--Quincy, IL.

This morning I awoke and packed my gear. I opened the blinds and witnessed every cyclist's nightmare; rain! I threw my rain jacket on after breakfast and headed out with Andy. The sky was solid a leaden mass that showered us consistently as we rode on the rain saturated road. The back tires of our bikes kicked up a long stream of water that extended fifteen feet behind us. If one of us were to ride behind the other we would get a stream of water and road grit in the face. The rain continued for the first 25 miles and let up though the roads were still wet. The coldness of the wind rushing past my body made this stretch of road miserable for me. A few times mud covered the road from a surrounding farm and the white clay mud would shoot up and stick to our legs.
We hit the first SAG stop in the small community of Knox Mo. As we biked down the main street a small beagle dog chased us wagging its tail and begging for our attention. When we stopped our bikes the wet dog rolled over on its back and looked at us playfully. While several people were paying attention to the dog a man walked out of the main bar and walked over to the abandoned gas station where we were having our food. He walked right into the middle of us and said, "I am the Mayor of Knox and I would like to welcome you to our town. It's a great place to live and a great place to raise a family." He was wearing army fatigues and we were really not sure if he was the Mayor or the town drunk. He seemed very warm and interested in what we were doing, asking riders many questions. I couldn't really see quite what this small town had to offer. The small town was much like the zillions we've passed along the way. The roads were unimproved, many buildings sat abandoned and in ruins with broken windows, peeling paint, and overgrown underbrush. Regardless of whether he was being completely honest, he was a delightful person and offered some comic relief for his short visit.
Andy and I pressed on because standing in one place to long today make the body freeze up. The rolling hills of today were not nearly as severe as yesterday. We rode on through more back country till we came to a much larger freeway that would take us to the Mississippi River. The drivers seemed to be much more hostile at this point and we watched our step through this stretch. Finally we could see the tips of the suspension bridge that crossed the river in the distance over the trees. As we entered the bridge I realized what a milestone this was on the trip. The shoulder disappeared and Andy and I took the right lane over the bridge. The bridge climbed and descended. On the decent I screamed "Art Valarde" at the top of my lungs and gave several hollers, some with such force that my front wheel left the ground for a moment. Andy was yelling too. We pounded our fists in the air and rolled into where the Illinois sign was. The first picture is of the bridge we crossed over the River. The second is of the sign seen when you enter Quincy from the bridge on Route 24.
We rode easy through the town of Quincy and looked at the delightful homes that echoed of times passed. Most homes were in a very old Victorian style. Some were in a more gothic style that seemed almost intimidating yet eerily beautiful.
If I had to choose a word for today it would be "soggy." From what I hear we are to see more rain in the next few days. We are long overdue for some rain on this trip.

July 11, 2001--Kirksville, MO.

Before I start writing about today's ride I left a very significant part of yesterday's ride out. As Andy and I rode into the old town part of Chillicothe we passed some old buildings and came to what had once been the main square of the town. A large building stood in a center plaza with an old-fashioned bell tower. I rode to a stoplight that had recently turned red near the old building. As soon as I had stopped and put my foot down the bell tower began to play music. At first it just sounded like a pretty medley of rhythmic bell patterns. But I shortly realized it was playing "Climb Every Mountain" from The Sound of Music. I thought about the words to the song while it played and about all the terrain I had covered from the beginning of my journey to that point. I must admit my eyes began to sting as the song played on. The power of music is amazing.
While briefing us on today's ride the staff called it "the day of a thousand hills." The rolling hills began abruptly at the beginning of the ride and only became more severe as the ride progressed. Just like yesterday morning the sky threatened bad weather but the clouds ended up being a blessing, not a curse. We climbed hills through the radiant rural back country of Missouri. Trees surrounded us on both sides for long periods of time before emerging to find a spectacular scene of wide open farm land with rolled bails of hay lying scattered about long fields of green grass. Often while passing homes, dogs would run out along side us. This was much to the dismay of several riders whom have had bad encounters with dogs in the past. There is a difference in demeanor in dogs that are curious, and dogs that are angry. Most today were curious and often ran to the road wagging their tails and barking as if they wanted us to stop and pet them. Some dogs would chase, and others would lounge lazily on their front lawns, watching us all go by, but much too comfortable to give chase.
Along the way there were structures of yesterday that have long since been retired and left to decay. These structures often included old wooden barns and small homes. They seemed to be left standing to fall at their own leisure. They stood as a monument to the history of the land and people that once existed here and started the early farming in this area. Some were still fairly well intact like this one, but others were collapsing and were nothing but forgotten piles of yesterday's labor.
The air was humid once again today. The colors were beautiful but I had to wear my glasses because I kept riding through swarms of gnats that would stick to my wet skin and get stuck briefly in my eyes.
Today's hill climbs were very difficult. Just as one climb ended the road descended, and climbed again. I never got discouraged; I just took it for what it was and attacked the next hill. I have heard through the grapevine that a few riders gave up today and rode the van to the hotel. You would have to set my bike on fire and strap a hand grenade to my head before I would miss one moment of this ride.
While riding into Kirksville the homes suddenly became much more expansive. Large areas of lawn would stretch back to shady areas with large modern style homes often with two and three car garages. The shift between the two worlds was abrupt. All day we passed tractors and dirty pickups. But on the way into Kirksville I counted three BMW's.
Today's ride was an endurance trial. I feel spent, but I love that feeling. I accomplished the day of a thousand hills today.

July 10, 2001--Chillicothe, MO.

This morning started in St. Joseph Mo. The sky was filled with dark storm clouds to the west and a glowing eastern sunrise that gave rise to a splendid array of colors that had a brilliant radiance in the morning light. The storm clouds in the west hovered high in the sky as occasional sparks of light illuminated the lower portions of the gray pillars. Many of us were unsure whether we were to take our rain gear or not. The promising eastern sunrise dawned hope for good weather while the western sky loomed with an intimidating demeanor. I decided that even if rain were to occur, the rain would be warm enough to be tolerable.
Andy and I shoved off in the humid mid western air for the town of Chillicothe. The sun moved slowly behind a blanket of clouds. I was thankful for the cloud cover for protecting us from the sun. The morning air was moist and thick. The wetness of the air could be felt against the skin as if we were riding our bikes through a warm cloud. We rode through rolling hills with dense assemblies of trees. Green grass lined the road that stood as tall as my waist. We did pass a few cornfields but the properties that we passed today were mostly ranches with large grazing fields for horses, raindeer, and cows.
Along the way we passed though several small communities. The home pictured is very characteristic of the homes in the areas we passed through. All were white and had large porches with rocking chairs for lounging and passing the days. I took a picture of this house in particular because if you notice, under the American flag, is a full sized Confederate flag. This flag as different meanings to different people. But you don't see ANY of them on the West Coast. I remember seeing many of these in the south during my Drum Corps tours. But this was the first one I have seen on the trip. While taking this picture I stood in a driveway across the street and was surprised when I saw a man sitting in his rocking chair on the porch. I waived and said, "Don't see many of those flags in California," With an arrogant smirk on his face he replied with, "Bet'cha don't." Honestly, I am surprised this flag is still flown anywhere in the US.
A little further along we had a SAG stop in an Amish community. This community was very traditional. In front of the small town stores were ties for horses that stood along side parking spaces for cars. The Amish seemed friendly when waved to, but extremely timid. I stopped a horse and buggy with a young lady in it to ask if we were going the right direction. The attractive young woman driving seemed very intimidated but directed me the right way. I was as polite as I could be, but I assumed that other passing travelers have not been as respectful.
We finally made our way into Chillicothe and found a local sandwich store. As usual we parked our bikes outside the door by large windows when we went inside the sandwich store so that we could keep an eye on them. Small town people are very curious and often stop and stare at the bikes. I am sure that not many of the people in this town ride bikes that look quite as sporty as ours do. People walking down the street stop and stand in the middle of the walkway studying the interesting looking handlebars, tiny peddles, and slim racing tires that look flimsy in comparison to a traditional bicycle. Often middle aged working men are very intrigued by the mechanics of the bikes and strike up conversations with us about them. Today was no different, Andy and I had all the people in the sandwich shop asking us what we were riding for and where we were going.
I had Andy take a picture of me tucked into my new Aero-bars so that the reader could get an idea of what I was writing about two days ago.

July 9, 2001--St. Joseph, MO. Free Day--no update

July 8, 2001--St. Joseph, MO.

This morning when I woke up I discovered a flat tire on the front wheel of my bike. I discovered it right before I was supposed to meet by buddies to ride. I hurried and fixed the tire so that I could still ride with them. They allowed me to fix my flat so that we could all begin together.
The ride began in Topeka where we wound around city streets till we came to a road that led out of town. The entire environment changed through Topeka. Homes began to take on a more colonial look. It began to look much like my travels through the south. Though there were several different types of homes within the same block, all had brick porches with large round white pillars holding a roof over them. Sidewalks were old, cracked, and often overgrown with weeds and grass. Heading out of town the scenery was much different from that of the middle section of Kansas. The hills were more abrupt and there were no large wide-open spaces with crops extending as far as the eye could see. When there were cornfields, they were not nearly as expansive as mid-Kansas and they were lined by thick green trees that usually sat enclosing a marshy land. The air was humid again today. A high cloud cover blocked the sun and kept the temperature from being unbearable. The bridges that we crossed today were even built in an older style than the traditional federal approved guardrail commonly seen on most of American highways today. The guardrails on the bridges had decorative concrete slabs with rusty metal bars extending through them as protection for pedestrians. We still saw farms today, but not all were fully operational. Some even looked so picturesque that they could have been vacation homes. Much of the ride consisted of rolling hills passing through small villages and communities that were still sleeping during the early Sunday morning hours. Though the cars in the driveways were modern, the homes were built in a much older style and made me feel as if I was in a different time and place. The most common color for a house here is white. The communities we passed had very decorative buildings and often had a Central Park with a gazebo. The buildings seemed to have been built with a gothic influence and each seemed to be set forth as a prominent feature within its surroundings. Cemeteries were also prominent and had the same remotely medieval quality to them. Many homes still had leftover decor from the 4th of July. People seem to be more patriotic out here. Homes were adorned with colorful ribbons, flags, lights, and banners professing each household's allegiance to red, white, and blue.
Today I used my new pair of Aero-bars. These are handle bar extensions that allow the rider to rest the elbows on the handlebars. The Aero-bars also have bars that extend forward and curl up so that the biker can grip the bars from in front, leaving the cyclist in a position similar to a praying mantis. This position is much more aerodynamic than any other position on the bicycle. The bars allow a cyclist to cut through the air and increase speed often by 2mph with minimal effort. At the forty-mile marker I got a flat tire. I told Andy that I had everything that I needed and so he continued on. It took me about 7 minutes to fix my flat and get on my way. By this time I was far behind Andy. Realizing that tomorrow was a rest day I decided to push myself and find out just how well these new Aero-bars worked. I tucked myself into the bars and worked my legs as hard as I could sustain them for a long period of time. Racing through the back country I noticed quite a difference in my effort to speed ratio. I crossed the Missouri River and still could see no sign of Andy. When I came to the border of Missouri I took a quick photograph, offered a moment of silence, yelled "Art Valarde" and sprinted on the way Art would have wanted me to. After twenty-two miles of gunning for him, I saw Andy's yellow jersey in the distance. He was still a long way in front of me but I was closing in fast. The road wound around, climbed and descended, and made its way through the lush underbrush, green-rolling hills, and dense wooded forests. Finally I was ready to take him. He knew that a rider named Aaron had been behind him for a while but he was astonished when my green Cannondale passed him rapidly on a significant hill climb. When he realized the rider passing him was me he yelled, "All right!" We rode together the rest of the way into St. Joseph. I was pleasantly surprised at the significant difference the Aero-bars offered. I also thought about the fact that Andy has Aero-bars too.