July 21, 2001--Niles, OH.

The fog wasn't as thick this morning. The ride today was once again on country roads that were lined with homes, trees, and the not so occasional cornfield. We also passed a few feed lots located near the road. The smell of the feed lots reminded me of some of those days in Kansas where cows were what we smelled all day.
Many of the roads were very bumpy. We entered a small town that had streets paved in an old style with red bricks from curb to curb. Bricks are hard to ride on sometimes because they are extremely bumpy and road bikes are unforgiving on harsh surfaces. While riding two abreast, Andy and I heard his bike make a loud 'Ping!' over a bump. The 'Ping' was the all too familiar sound of a broken spoke. Andy has had endless problems with his wheels on this trip due to broken spokes. We stopped and checked the situation out. His back wheel was so bent that it wouldn't even spin passed the break pad. The wheel would just stop at that point. Andy was livid but luckily he had his cell phone with him and the mechanic wasn't too far from us. With a few swift kicks to the wheel the mechanic had us on our way for the moment but he said that Andy should replace that wheel set immediately. Wheel sets get expensive. Here is a picture of the mechanic taking a look at Andy's wheel.
We continued on with his wobbly but rolling wheel and hit the first SAG stop where a lady had her BBQ grill out and was making burgers and hot dogs for the group. She said that she does it every year for the group and really loves it. I didn't have a burger because I don't like to eat heavy in the middle of a ride. But those that did eat said that the burgers were tasty.
We followed our route sheets and they let right to a construction sight that blocked the middle of the street and dropped the street into a 20-foot deep trench that was a muddy mess. We ended up walking through people's back yards to get around it.
Andy and I are determined to make these four days all into centuries so we chose a road that lead off the route and followed it for some extra miles today.
Andy stopped for a moment to check his wheel. Cornfields surrounded us on each side. I was taken aback by the sound of absolute quiet. We ride through cornfields all the time but we have the wind rushing past our ears and hear a constant whishhhh of the wind. The lonely road was void of traffic and the two of us were all alone. All there was to hear was the calming rapt of the cornstalk leaves in the gentle wind, and the overwhelming serenity of complete silence. I often forget what silence is like when I go about my daily life. There is no silence in the Silicon Valley of California. Noise is constant because the valley never sleeps.
We returned to the route and finished our third century in a row. I was so exhausted I just came in the room and slept for an hour.

July 20, 2001--Wooster, OH.

This morning we began once again with a thick fog that carried with it the coolness of the night air. Shortly after starting we were once again on lonely roads surrounded by trees and waist high grass. The morning fog formed a ceiling of cloud that hovered about 30 feet off the ground. Though much of the day was spent chopping away in a pace line, the scenery was more exquisite than I could get away with ignoring. Large dark groundhogs waddled across the road in a frumpy saunter that resembled small bags filled with water rolling quickly into the green grass. Some areas we passed were heavily wooded and the trees shaded the road making for pockets of cool air as we passed through the tubes of greenery.
We didn't pass through many towns like we did yesterday. We did however pass through the town of Fredrickstown where the local high school had a large sign that read "Home of the fighting Freddies." My fathers' name is Fredrik and when he was younger he was called Freddie. I attempted to take a digital picture of the sign to post today but I was angered when I discovered my batteries were dead. Fortunately I had my disposable camera with me and I got a picture.
I was amazed at the amount of land each home had. We passed very expansive homes that were well cared for and had lots of acres around them.
I was also upset when my odometer stopped getting a signal from my wheel at mile marker 101.5. Now I have two things to take care of tonight.
The ride was filled with lots of climbing. By the end we were all very tired and most of us are taking naps.

July 19, 2001--Marysville, OH.

This morning was magical. The ride away from the hotel was the beginning of four days of centuries. We immediately turned onto a road that lead us through heavily forested areas with occasional clearings for homes set back from the road. About five miles out from the hotel we hit the Ohio State line and I did my normal ritual, screaming all the way up the road.
The morning fog engulfed the land like a blanket. The sky was covered in a thick layer of gray and the sun was only a dimly lit white disk rising in the eastern sky. Thick damp air drenched our clothes and beads of water hung from the hair on my arms. The thickly forested areas soon made their way to a more open section where cornfields lined the road. The fog made it impossible to see how expansive the fields actually were. All sorts of creatures curiously looked on as we passed on the quiet roadway. Every so often a rabbit would stand on its hind legs and appear suddenly out of the long grass on the side of the road. They would look, sniff the air, and disappear quickly back into the greenery. Many playful domesticated dogs ran out to great us. One particular dog was not accustomed to running on wet grass and when he would change direction suddenly, his paws would slip out from under him and he would fall for a moment, recover, and chase again. None of the dogs were vicious though. They were just extremely excited to see some life on their lonely roads and ran to us with their tongues flailing and their tails wagging. The fenced in farm animals would stand or lay quietly and lethargically watch us pass with our bright colored jerseys and bikes. Here is a picture of Andy with the fog behind him in the field of Soybean plants.
The rolling ride passed many small communities that were extremely poor. Makeshift homes were made out of old camping trailers parked inches away from each other and fitted together with plastic tarps for roofs. Children dressed in shabby pants, thongs, and no shirts ran about the streets and the yards playing and completely ignoring us.
The second SAG stop was at a church in such a community with a cemetery located in the green rolling hills next to the church. While at the SAG the Church began playing an obvious recording of harmonic religious songs played by electronic bells. Something seemed to be awry with the recording. The recording was out of harmony and sounded absolutely repulsive. We all laughed out loud, but the workers tending the rose garden outside the church didn't seem to notice what we thought was so funny. They continued working without looking up.
While riding through the small town of Woodstock Andy and I came upon a group of young boys playing in the street. Three of them had bikes. I slowed and asked, "You wanna race?" the boys eyes lit up with excitement and they began bickering over whom of the 6 would ride the three bikes. Andy rode on shaking his head and laughing. Three were quickly chosen and off they went. I gave them a sizable head start, then switched into Lance Armstrong mode. I passed the first two with great ease but the third one was older, and fast. His speed combined with his head start beat me to the stoplight by five feet. All the boys cheered their friend on and he basked in his victory with great personal enjoyment as he smiled through his fast and deep breaths. Riders that came through that town after us said that the boys were on the edge of town waiting for riders with their bikes, charged with enthusiasm and excitement. I felt good for making their day because the meaning of life is joy.

July 18, 2001--Richmond, IN.----Free Day, No Update

July 17, 2001--Richmond, IN.

Today's ride started with a breakfast omelet at the Omelet Shoppe restaurant. This was the closest restaurant on the route so many cyclists stopped to have their meals there. One cyclist asked for a non-smoking table and the middle aged waitress replied with a southern twang, "Ain't no non-smokin' tables here. Y'all want non-smokin' y'all go sit on the curb but ya ain't libel to get served." We sat down and ordered off the menu and took the waitresses abuse. I found it rather humorous. I asked for toast and she replied "Wholewheatorrye?" When I asked what she had said she replied with a taunting "Am I talkin' too fast for ya dear?" Others thought she was abhorrently rude, but I could see that much of the antagonism that she portrayed was her way of making a mundane job more exciting. She didn't seem to be trying to make people mad. She seemed to be scanning for individuals with a similar sense of humor to bounce jokes off of and form a brief but fun relationship with. She often ended her sentences addressing individuals with 'dear' and 'honey'. I thought she showed serious individuality and was not about to take anybody's BS.
We pressed on after our very tasty omelets and hit route 40. The ride was in many respects uneventful. The weather was cool but very humid. A glowing haze hovered motionless in the air making long distance visibility difficult. During the ride I pondered the progress we had made through the trip. At the beginning I would look at the itinerary and be completely overwhelmed by the amount of miles we had to go. Now we are looking at only 12 riding days to the end. On one hand I feel sad that the whole thing will be drawing to a close shortly. On the other hand the excitement of a goal accomplished awaits me in the not so distant future. Of course, the feeling of moving toward a goal is often more exciting than the feeling of elation once a goal is accomplished. But even so, we must move toward obtaining a final product. Sometimes I wish I could slow time and spend a few more moments on the road feeling the different textures of the places we pass. Surely I could meet more interesting people like the waitress from the Omelet Shoppe. I would also be bound to run across more people like the old lady in Elko, NV that offered her humble wisdom on the meaning of life itself. I have gained more of what I feel life is about for me on this trip. I remember many of these feelings from my time in the Corps. Sacrifice and difficult times, build strength and depth of character. Complainers can ride the SAG wagon; I would rather feel the pain of a tired body and hardened muscles than know that I didn't make it the entire way.
I am riding with some very interesting individuals. I enjoy the different points of view that we have. I will never be like Jeff the Admiral, and he will never be like me. We all have separate interests away from the bike, but our love for working hard to complete a once in a lifetime goal is what fuels the vacuum that brings us together. We know each other well, and we can compensate for each other's weaknesses on the road. Sometimes we prey upon each other's weaknesses to beat them in their weak spots, but before you know it, the tide will turn and that same rider will pass you on your's. It is a friendly competition that the stronger riders have, and it all revolves around the thought of and the awe of accomplishing a dream.

July 16, 2001--Indianapolis, IN.

Today's ride was to Indianapolis. It was a 73-mile day so we decided to take it easy and see the sights. The scenery began to change as we rode down the road from the hotel. We did pass a few cornfields but they were much smaller and were surrounded by trees. The farther we peddled the more trees and greenery surrounded the road. Trees lined long green lawns that extended back to homes off the road. We passed more small towns that only had a single stoplight hanging on a wire between buildings that lined four corners of the main intersections.
Our first point of interest was a stop at the Roark warehouse. Roark is a metal company that is mainly a contractor for the military, building parts for jet airplane engines. A small subdivision of the warehouse builds high quality titanium racing bicycles. They had several on display and for demo. I rode one and it was so responsive, tight, and most of all extremely light! Many people on the ride are considering investing in new bikes now that they have ridden the ones at the factory.
After spending about an hour at the warehouse we pressed on, riding and talking through the green country roads. We spent so much time in the factory that many of the slower riders had passed us up. We rode by them having fun and playing jokes on each other. Much of the ride today was spend fooling around and laughing out loud.
Along the way we passed a velodrome. A velodrome is a racetrack for bicycles that is the same distance around as a running track. However on the curves the track slopes at a 35% angle to allow the cyclist to turn at high speed with less likelihood of loosing control. The velodrome was open to the public and luckily we were the only ones there. We each took a few laps around it and were enamored by the energy required to keep speed consistent on the curves. I curved at about 31.5 mph and I was giving it all I had.
After the velodrome we continued on into the city of Indianapolis. At first we rode down streets with beautiful large homes. Each home was very modern and they had different flavors. They looked very expensive and they had lots of land around them. As we continued on, the roads began to have more potholes and were not as well maintained. Expensive homes with lots of land quickly became older homes with overgrown lawns with broken down cars in front of them. Before long we came to the hotel that we were originally planning to spend our free day in. The accommodations are so poor that the entire group vote to bike to the next city tomorrow and have the free day in Richmond Indiana instead.

July 15, 2001--Crawfordsville, IN.

Today started with a trek through the city of Champaign. Much of the first part of the ride was shaded by trees that stood on both sides of the road and reached out toward each other. My body felt okay but the saddle had become painful. While riding through the endless corn and soy been fields I kept trying to find a more comfortable way to sit on my bike. The bike has become an extension of my body. It feels so natural to me even though I am currently feeling pain from the saddle. There are a few 'tricks' that us cyclists use to help the saddle problem. I have been using them all but there is still no avoiding some pain due to extended periods of time on the bike. I am looking forward to Indianapolis where I will spend a whole day off the bike. I hope that helps.
Today Andy and I took a leisurely pace on the route. It was Sunday and we rode through sleeping towns with little traffic. These towns still had remnants of the past including derelict buildings and rusted old cars with weeds and brush growing through all the cracks in the old machines. We crossed the state line into Indiana and found that not much really changed, contrary to many of the abrupt shifts in atmosphere and landscape texture that we had seen earlier on in the trip. Andy and I thought this sign on the border of Hillsboro was funny. It was obviously a very old sign that needed some maintenance, but the members of these communities seem to get things done in their own time. One small town's police department was set up in an old gas station. The pumps were gone but the garages still remained. It seemed like an inconvenient location for a police station.
One thing I try to do is wave at the cars going by. People are very friendly the farther you get from big cities. I am sure cyclists are not a daily sight in these parts, so waving, in my opinion, may help to set people at ease with us. While getting lunch today a man in front of us turned around and asked "Where you two on route 136 this morning?" I said that we were and he said, "You two waved at me and my daughter this morning." He asked about where we were going and what we were passing through for. He was very friendly and the whole conversation started because I lifted my arm and waved at a truck passing by.
Andy and I often ride two abreast. We can go ten miles without saying a word but it is simply the company of another person that is important. We share stories and laugh at things we pass on the road that strike us as peculiar. The road directions sometimes get complicated and we are glad we have each other to catch the information that the other may have overlooked. One of us may be in the middle of telling a story when the other has to say "turn left here." We've come to know each other fairly well.
John, the rider I have referenced before in this journal, was fooling around the other day with another rider when he fell off his bike into the bushes. He laughed, brushed the leaves and dirt off himself, and got back on his bike, forgetting all about it. The next day he woke up with terrible painful rashes on his legs and arms. Apparently he fell into a drove of poison oak and didn't wash it off quickly enough. His arms and legs now glow pink with crusty calamine lotion.