The Awkward Pose

Start:  Salem, IN

Finish: Markland, IN

Weather:  70 degrees, cloudy

Miles:  79

Distance to date: 1,849

Greetings from Switzerland County, Indiana, the birthplace of American winemaking!  Could I make that up?  Switzerland County is in the southeast corner of Indiana, tucked amidst many turns of the Ohio River.  It was first settled in 1800 by a Swiss immigrant who thought the steep hills facing south would make good vineyards.  He established the first commercial vineyards in America and produced wine that Thomas Jefferson drank.  The industry tanked during Prohibition, but has been resurrected with micro-vineyards.  There are wine tasting places all along the banks of the Ohio that look quite nice.  Unfortunately, they are all wasted on me.  Now, if it were beer…

The day began with overcast skies and a boring 20 miles along a too wide highway between Salem and Scottsburg. Each of those towns have lovely squares, though, as do most of the Indiana country seats.  Unlike town squares in Oklahoma and Texas, where the courthouse occupies a central block, in many Indiana towns the courthouse is set right in the intersection of the two main roads.  The roads turn around it, with the commercial buildings in four L’s defining the town square.  It is very nice because the courthouses,
which are in every conceivable style and often have tall towers, can be seen from great distances since they are on axis with the main roads.  The one in Salem is a beaut.

Past Scottburg the road got tighter and rolling, the farms got more picturesque, and the sky showed spots of sun.  By eleven it was a pretty day and I rolled into Madison, IN, on the banks of the Ohio
River, an antebellum river town with an incredible assortment of Italianate architecture.  It was one of the earliest towns to pursue historic preservation of an entire area; the downtown is the largest historic district in Indiana and one of the largest in the US.  The town is absolutely beautiful.  One striking thing to me was the mix of northern and southern styles.  Many of the prominent buildings, three story brick with tall narrow windows and articulated cornices, could sit just as comfortably in upstate New York, which experienced economic prominence in the mid-nineteenth century as well.  But the smaller dwellings are mostly shotguns, long and narrow with full width front porches; traditional southern forms.

After the blue plate special lunch at the Hammond Family Restaurant, which I chose because it clearly predated preservation mania, I cycled on to Vevay, a smaller town of the same vintage.  The twenty miles between the two towns was a wonderful ride with tall hills (remember its Switzerland) to my left and a drop-off to the Ohio on my right.  There were few buildings between the road and
the river, I assume due to flood plain issues, but there were dozens of RV parks with trailers parked for the season along the shore.  Vevay’s preservation is less precious and the town is less affluent than Madison, but I liked the more casual feel of the place very much.

My resting place of the night, the Fairway Inn, is an exceptional value.  It is located across the highway from the BellaTerra, a riverboat casino that consists of a simple boat tied to an immense tower..  My, how we can contort a concept. My motel must cater to gamblers who don’t want to pay for swank rooms. It is probably steep on the weekends, but on a Monday night, they are glad to
see even me.  As I am in the middle of nowhere, the only place to eat will be at the casino. Hope they have one of those huge buffets!

Courthouse Salem, IN

Ohio River  Madison, IN

Mansion  Vevay, IN

Start:  Jasper, IN

Finish: Salem, IN

Weather:  65 degrees, cloudy

Miles:  61

Distance to date: 1,770

The great bicycle days are the ones where you have no idea what lies between point A and point B, and find all sorts of interesting stuff along the way.

I got up early this morning and left before a gorgeous sunrise over the Indiana farms.  For two hours I rode through glistening fields with the moon descending to the west and the sun brilliant in the
east.  Being Sunday morning there was virtually no traffic and the pavement was smooth.  By around 8:30 a few clouds began to appear, the dramatic shadows disappeared, and within a half hour the sky was a solid grey dome, the kind of overcast that only occurs in the East.  Everything seems like the East now.  I am rarely out of sight of a house, there are lots of services, the farms are small, the trees plentiful.  It is all very domesticated.

I passed through French Lick, which has a grand old resort that began around springs but now is a casino.  It is a huge and
elegant place circa 1920’s, with many guests eating breakfast on the veranda.  Since I don’t exactly have resort attire, I ate at the Rainbow Café where I had my first ever breakfast that was served with an appetizer course.  They bring you biscuit and gravy as a starter, and then eggs, bacon, fried potatoes and toast.  I am not a huge fan of biscuits and gravy, but these were the best I ever had.  I am pretty sure I was the only one in the place on a major bike ride; the rest of the patrons were hefty from so much country food.

Fortified with calories to burn, I rolled through more bucolic farmland and past many country churches with congregations coming and going and socializing.  I past many elaborate houses – a French Chateau, an English country house, and a limestone hunting lodge concoction.  There are people with money around here and they indulge their fantasies.

I knew there were highway motels in Scottsburg, but when I rolled into Salem, I discovered the Salem Motel with a lot more local color, so I decided to make it a short day and stay here.  I took a McDonald’s break to use their WiFi and spent an hour sitting next to a local family of wife, husband, and eleven year old granddaughter.

My heart was both warmed and broken by this struggling family as they ate their thin hamburgers, debated whether they had enough change to buy a second packet of fries, and quizzed the girl on rudimentary multiplication tables.  The grandmother had no front teeth but was full of questions about my trip.  She had a bike with a tow trailer that she considered very speical and wanted me to get a rig like hers. The granddaughter was precocious about my netbook and did not have the social skills / impulse control we expect in eleven year olds.  She was totally perplexed by the idea of a vacation, could not believe I stayed in a motel every night, and worried what I would do when I ran out of money.  I told her I saved my money in advance to go on the trip, but her grandmother said the girl did not understand saving.  They were poor people, perhaps the poorest I have met, yet I loved their curiosity and spirit.  A different sort of folk than those who live in the fantasy mansions.

Castle Knoll Farm, Outside Paoli, IN

Start:  Princeton, IN

Finish: Jasper, IN

Weather:  75 degrees, cloudy, afternoon thunderstorms

Bike Time: 4.5 hours

Miles:  49

Distance to date: 1,709

Today was a short cycling day. I left late, around 8:30 and arrived in Jasper by 2:00 pm, even after losing an hour for the time change.  With thunderstorms in the forecast I did not want to push on, and good thing I didn’t because when they came, just after my visit through town and a late lunch, they were fierce.  I got to watch them from beneath the porch roof of my quaint room at Camelot Inn, a formerly fashionable place that suits me very well.

My bike has developed an annoying condition – a very slow leak in the front tire.  I noticed it two days ago, and changed the tire on the road to Carmi, IL.  Then yesterday I noticed that I needed new air every two hours or so, but did not want to change out the tube until I got more spares, which I did at the Wal-mart in Princeton.  This morning I did a thorough maintenance on the bike, changed the tube again, inspected the inside of the tire and the rim and got a solid thirty miles before I noticed the tire going flat, again.  I pumped up until I got to Jasper, disassembled everything, and still cannot find anything wrong.  Perhaps I need a rim liner, though I really don’t know for sure.  The bike shop in Jasper was already closed for the weekend, so I will just shoulder on, pump as often as I need and change the tube if I have to until I get to a
place with a bike shop, which will probably Cincinnati.

There is nothing I can do but take a Zen attitude about this undiagnosed problem.  Clearly, the Surly wants more attention than I have been giving, and if I have to take more breaks to pump the tire, that gives me more chance to take in the surroundings.

My room at Camelot Inn in Jasper, IN reminds me of my grandmother’s house

Start:  Carmi, IL

Finish: Princeton, IN

Weather:  90 degrees, sunny

Bike Time: 5 hours

Miles:  54

Distance to date: 1,660

A visit to New Harmony, IN is inspiring, informative, thought provoking, but ultimately dispiriting.  The bucolic tree lined streets, the sedate architecture, the bountiful gardens, the charming downtown
with cafes and drug stores, the cheerful  people tootling around nirvana in their golf carts  all speak to a level of cultural refinement absent from the material world I have been riding through.  The community represents so much that is worthy, but so little of it translates beyond the twelve block area of the utopian experiment that the town is more of a tourist curiosity than a viable model for how we might lead more meaningful lives.

New Harmony was founded by Rappists who built the town out of nothing between 1814 and 1824.  The Rappists believed in a strict interpretation of the Biblical Rapture that required they build three communities, ten years, ten years, and five years apart.  After arriving from Germany they built Harmony, PA, then Harmony, IN, and then returned east to create Economy,
PA.  They shared many of particular traits of American bred religion of the nineteenth century.  They were celibate, like the Shakers and extremely industrious, like the Mormons.  In their ten years in New Harmony they built a very profitable community and exported goods all over the world.

In 1824 they sold the town to the utopian philanthropist Robert Owen, who invited a series of prominent educators and scientists to live there.  Within two years his personal role was
curtailed (he was a poor manager and forgot to do things like get the crops in on time) but the seeds of an agriculturally highbrow community were set, and have played out for close to 200 years.   In the 1970’s the preservation bug hit New Harmony and it crafted itself into a period destination, though not so thematic as Plimouth Plantation or Williamsburg, VA.  They added exemplary contemporary architecture and landscape design, and have developed a focus on spiritual retreat that reinforces many of the founding utopian concepts.

It is all very nice, if a bit precious.  My primary interest was to see the Athenaeum, a 1979 Richard Meier building that is considered one of his masterpieces (along with the Getty in LA).  It won the AIA 25 award, so my exceptions were high.  It is a captivating piece of sculpture, all white planes and stairs galore, and the tour guides stress a ‘steamship’ metaphor for the building, though in truth steamships did not churn up the
Wabash; the building is a cool abstract concept upon which the steamship partie is applied.  My problem with the building
is that there is nothing in it.  It is literally 20,000 square feet of reception desk, museum store, projection theater and scale
model of the original town.  Where is the Athenaeum part?  When compared to the pristine structures of the early settlers or the equally simple yet evocative Chapel without a roof by Philip Johnson (1960) Richard Meier’s building just seems
gimmickry.  Cool? Yes.  Appropriate?  No way.  The building is showy, but it lacks any meaning beyond wow.  In that respect I suppose it represents our age as well as the sturdy and serviceable buildings of the past represent theirs.  Perhaps the building is really ironic, in which case the praise is probably
deserved.

I had enough capital A architecture for one day, and there is no place appropriate for a cyclist to stay in New Harmony, so I rolled out of town, had an incredible lunch of catfish fillets, baked beans, cole slaw and Kentucky Silk pie, and pedaled thirty miles to Princeton.  On the way I passed
several tiny towns and hit my brakes hard in Poseyville where there is a dead-on late period Louis Sullivan bank.  I thought he only did them further west, and research tonight showed
that I am right – the bank is a 1924 knock-off by Shopbell, but it is still a stunner.  Capital A architecture where I least expected it!

The day was glorious, the landscape lush, the corn taller than me and tight to the narrow shoulder.  I was so mesmerized by how the stalks stand on such narrow bases, that I actually dismounted and inspected the tiny web of ‘feet’ that support the main stalk about 3-4” from the ground.  The balance of a corn stalk is balletic.  It is plant of total grace.

Athenaeum, New Harmony, IN, Richard Meier, 1979

Boseman Waters National Bank Poseyville, IN, Shopbell, 1924

Feet of Corn

Start:  Cape Girardeau, MO

Finish: Carmi, IL

Weather:  85 degrees, overcast morning, sunny afternoon

Bike Time: 11 hours

Miles:  114

Distance to date: 1,606

In one short stretch of bridge this morning I crossed from the West to the East, and from the South to the North.  The Illinois side the Mississippi River was much as I remembered –long stretches of flat, marshy land with flooded fields and elevated roads.  But otherwise it felt like the East. People
drive faster and they wave less, there are fewer churches and nicer houses, more manicured lawns and less stuff on them.
The level of affluence in rural Illinois is a notch above any place else I’ve been, and several notches above Missouri.

It was a perfect day for cycling and Illinois is a perfect place for cycling, so even though I did a century day, it had none of the strain of previous centuries.  After crossing the mighty
Mississippi in the early dawn light and pedaling along the river flats, I took a gamble on an unmarked grey road on my map and turned right at Reynoldville.  I rode for a dozen miles
or so on the most beautiful stretch of my trip, Old Cape Road.  It started winding around Layla Lake, then climbed through a dense deciduous forest that had a huge variety of trees, until it leveled out in tall walls of corn fields. The road deposited me just outside of Jonesboro, the pinnacle of home cooked food with at least five independent restaurants around the town square. I chose JR’s place since it was the most crowded and enjoyed an amazing breakfast of pancakes and bacon for under
$5.00 while overhearing local farmers settle the problems of the world (stock market not good).  Jonesboro was the site of the third Lincoln-Douglas debate, so I spent some time visiting the debate site, which was interesting.

From Jonesboro I cycled through Anna and Vienna and headed up towards Harrisburg.  Along the way, a man stopped and told me about a bicycle rail trial for Vienna to Harrisburg and gave me directions on how to access it.  I asked if it was paved, he said not exactly but that is hard pack and much preferable
to the highway.  I followed his directions, rode on it for a few miles (through a neat but scary rail tunnel) but got back on the highway at the next opportunity.  I can’t stand riding on caliche – all that dust.  I stayed on US 45 for the next 30 miles.  Sometimes the bike trial was right next to the highway, but I far preferred the road to the trail.

Illinois is awash with Historical Markers. I saw the site of archeological remains, the crossing of General Clark (before he was Lewis and Clark) and the grave of King Neptune, the Navy Mascot pig who raised $19 million in war bonds in WW II.  Although I stop for all historical markers, I do pass on a few local culinary specials.  The store advertising Tuna and Bologna Salad did not get my lunch trade.

In Harrisburg I stopped at the travel information where a uniquely useless clerk was unable to give me information on local motels.  Wouldn’t you think that was basic to her job?  Finally she said there three, but had no names, numbers, or addresses.  I visited the very cool collection of period structures at the tourist center, including the original Poor House for Harrisburg, and then went in search of the motels, each of which turned out to be full.

It was almost four, but I decided to push on to Eldorado (pronounced with a long ‘a’, the Hispanic influence around here is nada).  The City of Eldorado web site said there was a motel.  Not so. I fortified myself with a quick early dinner (Subway) and then peddled 26 miles more on to Carmi, where I finally
found a basic place.

Truth is, I have not ridden much in the late afternoon and it was very lovely today with long shadows cast over the fields, the road was good, the terrain gentle, the land green and lush.  Even with my third flat to stop and repair, I got into Carmi well before sundown, invigorated by the lushness of Illinois.

Site of Lincoln- Douglas debate  Jonesboro, IL

Tunnel Hill Bicycle Trail outside Vienna, IL

Start:  Piedmont, MO

Finish: Cape Girardeau, MO

Weather:  85 degrees, overcast

Bike Time: 8 hours

Miles:  81

Distance to date: 1,492

I have crossed the Mississippi many times, and in each location the land eased out into a long, flat plane, miles of forecourt before the main event.  So, I thought today would be a long, easy
descent to that Ole Man River.  No way.  Southern Missouri just kept slapping up at me, hill after hill.  Cape Girardeau sticks out into the flow of the river like a polyp, and I guess whatever ground
is beneath it defies erosion.  But I made it to western shore and have a nice room in the only motel left in the old part of town, within walking distance of the historic (read neglected) downtown.

Riding through Missouri I find myself thinking a lot about stuff.  Every town here has a Wal-Mart, lined with aisles of stuff.  Knowing that I would be short on services today, I stopped in the one in Piedmont to pick up energy bars, and I am pretty sure there was enough flat screen TV’s on display to
provide one to every resident of the tiny town. Even if a pandemic of TV buying occurred, Wal-Mart would have them replenished within 48 hours.  The store was jammed with goods, and it wasn’t even a Supercenter (see how well I know my Wal-Mart classifications).  Within a short shelf life, all of that stuff will get moved out of the store and into people’s
houses, or cars, or yards, which are already brimming.

Along rural Missouri people live close the road, and their stuff is everywhere.  Sure, there are the trailers with careless yards of tires, refrigerator hulks and dead RV’s, and there are the rural Grey Gardens folks, pathological hoarders whose yards are stacked with stuff they can neither find nor live without; one expects to see those oddities in the rural woods.  What is really remarkable, though, is the standard issue ranch whose garage has been turned into a room, with a double wide metal carport in front, and four vehicles, and a tracker, and a stack of bikes, and plastic toddler toys, and a love swing, and ceramic pots, and a stone wishing well and three barking dogs behind a fence and satellite dish on the roof.  And that is not all, because every one of these small towns has rows of rows of U-Storage buildings, for all the stuff that doesn’t get scattered around the yard.

Even I, pedaling everything, have more than I need.  I wanted some Neatsfoot Oil to soften my saddle.  Two or three ounces would have been fine, but the smallest size was pint, so that is what I am carrying. I haul four liters of water, though I have never dipped into the fourth one.  I carry at least three extra tire tubes and energy bars.  My extra baggage is determined by contingency needs that give me comfort.  I never want to run out of water, or tire tubes or energy bars, but if my tire blows, which can happen, I have no back-up.  It is my calculated risk. Are such calculations valid for the stuff that I see along the Missouri highway, or stuck in the garage turned spare room, or
locked away in a storage rental?  Our stuff is choking us.

So with all this excess baggage filling my brain, it was lovely this afternoon to come upon the Bollinger Mill, a State Historic Site with the oldest covered bridge in Missouri and a stately, pre-Civil war mill along a small waterfall.  The pristine simplicity of the mill and the bridge settled my mind and provided a counterpoint to the chaos of the contemporary dwellings.

By 3:30 pm I rolled past the typical confusion of a major Interstate intersection at I-55.  I discovered there was one
remaining motel left downtown, tired but clean and run by Indians, as most of the non-chain motels are these days.  It
was only a short walk from the motel to the historic center of Cape Girardeau, a charming downtown with muralled levee and walkway along the Mississippi River.  City Hall sits high on a bluff with a commanding view of the river.  It is all rather grand, and once upon a time was much livelier than it is
today.  I found an excellent barbeque joint to satisfy my latest craving – rib tips and cole slaw and baked beans, and that squishy white bread that only barbeque places serve with a straight face.  This is a very satisfying place to spend the evening.

Bollinger Mill and Covered Bridge, Burfordsville, MO

Looking South, the Mississippi River at Cape Girardeau, MO

Start:  Mountain View, MO

Finish: Piedmont, MO

Weather:  85 degrees, sunny

Bike Time: 7 hours

Miles:  76

Distance to date: 1,411

I am writing in the post Zephyr Café stupor of chicken fried steak, cole slaw, salad bar and incredible peach cobbler a la mode.   I finally I found some country food worthy of the Ozarks – it was fantastic.

Today was a terrific day for biking, sunny but not too hot.   I logged 50 miles on the wide and loping US 60, and then got off for a final 25 miles along Highway 34, the kiddie coaster version of what I did yesterday.  The countryside was scrub oak forests dotted with logging plants; big tin sheds with open walls, lathes spewing saw dust everywhere.  The seemed ideally ventilated for a nice day like today, but I wonder how they weather the winter?

Missouri gets low marks for historical markers (have not passed one yet) but very high grades for amusing signs. One for an ice cream stand that says ‘Kids – scream until your dad stops the car’, a whole series that state “MoDOT SUCKS (MoDOT is the Missouri Department of Transportation, in a dispute with a local land owner), and another series of white real estate style signs in people’s yards with bible verses.  My favorites though are the Adopt-A-Highway Signs.  Sure,
there are the usual stretches sponsored by the Rotary and the Boy Scouts, but Missouri has lots of specific stretches, 0.6 miles, 1.2 miles, etc. and they are often dedicated to individuals, “In honor of William Harding from this beloved
family.”  Does someone really want an anti-litter sign as their memorial? Finally, there is a full 100 mile stretch adopted by the Citizens Against Trash.  I haven’t paid any dues to that organization, but I am a citizen and I am against trash, so count me in.

People in Missouri are more reserved than in Oklahoma or Colorado.  Not unfriendly, but not first to start the chatter either.  Today I went into a tiny catch-all store – DVD’s and snacks and soda and liquor and ammo and pizza and bait.  I got a soda and chocolate milk and leaned against the ice cream freezer guzzling.  When that didn’t satisfy I went back for a
snack cake.  Only then did the shopkeeper, a middle aged woman with Maureen Stapleton eyes, look up from her soaps and engage me in what I was about.  Let’s face it, I don’t look like the average Dr. Pepper and tackle customer.  In Oklahoma people just burst on me with questions about my story, but it took this quiet, ‘Show Me State’ woman some time to warm.

Perhaps what I love best about Missouri are the rivers.  After the dry creeks or trickling streams of Colorado and Oklahoma,
Missouri has real rivers, with currents and eddies and deep green water.  It is wonderful driving over them and looking
into their penetrating depth.

Penetrating question of the day: If a pawn shop goes out of business, is that a leading economic indicator or a poor one? I saw several defunct pawn shops today and wonder what  it means.

Black River Bridge  Piedmont, MO

Black River  Piedmont, MO

Start:  Ozark, MO

Finish: Mountain View, MO

Weather:  75 degrees, cloudy, rainy

Bike Time: 10 hours

Miles:  102

Distance to date: 1,335

“Goes and flows of angel hair           And ice cream castles in the air        And feathered canyons everywhere      I looked at clouds that way.”                  Joni Mitchell

Today was a magnificent collage of clouds and hills, the most challenging day of cycling by far, and also the most exciting.

I went to bed last night to one thunder storm, and woke to another, so I stayed in my motel in Ozark until about 7:30 am when the sky cleared.  It was odd making such a late start, but
since the temperature was a pleasant 70 degrees, I had no rush to beat the heat.

I rolled out of Ozark against the Monday morning rush hour traffic of drivers who wished they were me.  Just as the traffic eased along narrow Highway 14 an enormous bullet train of a cloud pressed low in the sky, moving the same direction as me but two or three times as fast.  It fed on the atmosphere above the tree line and below the upper clouds, like one of those giant snakes from Dune, its black underbelly pulling a gusty wind in its wake.  The highway signs rattled, the world grew dark.  And just as quick it sped past and all was light again.

I did not get rained on by that incredible cloud, but I did several other times during the day, mostly nice sprinkles that kept me cool.

I followed thin black roads today, Highway 14 east and then Highway 76 east, which run parallel and south of US 60.  As the crow flies, I saved about 10 miles.  As the calories burn, I doubled my output.  My route followed a northern section of the Ozarks, which are not really mountains, but a large, crenelated plateau, an accordion of peaks and valleys.  For the first few hours I made very poor time and thought I was just sluggish, when In fact I was crawling up and up and up.  Suddenly, I hit a 3 mile, very steep downhill, and for the next 60 miles it was up and down and up and down and up again.  The road had no shoulder, but very little traffic.  On the downslides I hugged the middle, head down, and gripped the Surly wide for balance.  I hit 25, 30, even 35 miles per hour time and again.  Then, on the up I choked into low gear and spun the pedals, barely maintaining five miles per hour.  Some inclines were so steep the road shot up in front of my face like a giant wave cresting high above my head.  Some series of dips were so twisty I felt I’d cycled into a David Hockney landscape, the earth so skewed I lost my bearing perspective.  The ride was exhilarating and exhausting.

Along the way were many beautiful farms, lots of cows and horses, and a dense section through the Mark Twain National Forest.  The hillbilly aspect of the Ozarks is prevalent, and I passed a fair number battered trailers with snarly dogs and discarded refrigerators that might have been set pieces in The Winter’s Bone, but most of the houses along the road were standard issue ranches and all of the drivers were courteous
and cautious in approaching and passing me.

By 4:30 I met up with boring US 60 again, but was glad that the last 16 miles were easy.  I rolled into Mountain View and the sweetest little motel, tucked in a corner of a sleepy downtown that still has a few actual stores, and a pretty good, very cheap, Mexican restaurant.  Thirty bucks for a period room right out of the 1950’s, less than ten for a hearty feast.  The next time you are in Mountain View, MO, I highly recommend Malone’s Motel.

Cloud Formation over Sparta, MO

Malone’s Motel, Mountain View, MO

Start:  Neosho, MO

Finish: Ozark, MO

Weather:  100 degrees, sunny

Bike Time: 7 hours

Miles:  77

Distance to date: 1,233

I was an efficient cross country cyclist today.  I went to bed last night with dramatic thunderstorms; fell asleep staring at the water stained ceiling tiles of my shoddy motel room, but woke refreshed and still dry after eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.  The morning air was still and humid, but within an hour the moisture dissipated and it became dry and hot – how unusual! The ride was pleasant and uneventful to Monett where I stopped for breakfast.

Fast food along the highway was the only Sunday morning option so I stopped at Braum’s.  The egg, bacon and cheese bagel was grotesque, so I augmented it from their grocery section with cottage cheese, yogurt and some macaroons.  Actually, I ate the full dozen macaroons.  After thirty miles, I suppose I was hungrier than I thought.  Gearing up outside the store I looked through the window and saw an aging gentlemen in jeans and plaid shirt, cowboy hat on his head, lifting the corrugated lid of a Braum’s breakfast deal – an ice cream scoop of eggs, a packet of micro-browned potatoes and a Styrofoam of coffee.  There was something tragic in the sight of this noble man eating such unappealing food.  It made me appreciate all the terrific café’s I have frequented along the trip – may there be many more to come.

Route 60 is a wide shouldered road, which is good for cycling, and has a very regular rumble strip to separate me from the traffic.  I spend several hours each day looking at the shoulder and by this time, have come upon some unusual stuff lying there.  S-hooks.  The shoulder is full of S-hooks.  I think they pop off the leather straps that secure tarps to open trucks.  I have seen dozens.  Then there is change, pennies galore and even the stray dime.  I have yet to pocket any, by the time I notice them I have rolled on, but there is a pile of coin out here on the shoulder.  Mostly I eyeball the many obstructions that
land on the side of the road, wood and metal and rubber, broken glass and plastic.

Of course, the road kill is the most unsavory thing along the shoulder.  I have seen two adult deer corpses, plus one fawn, many raccoons, a few foxes, and one coyote that must have exploded on contact; the poor chap’s limbs were everywhere.
The most prevalent of all road kill are the armadillos. Sometimes they remain shell side up, like ancient crustaceans washed out of a fossilized sea.  But most of the time they are flipped.  They look so forlorn, violated of their natural protection, their soft underbellies baking in the sun.  Sadly, today was a bumper day for armadillos.

Although Route 60 feels safe, it has an Interstate scale and the sun beats down without mercy.  So I sidetracked in Billings and rode along farm to market roads, weaving north and east along narrow, tree lined pavement and stretches where the corn was so close it practically tickled my nose.  Eventually I landed in Clever, on the outskirts of Springfield.  Who knew that Springfield, MO had exurbs, but here it is, farms subdivided into brick starter homes, a spanking new high school, and Sunday Open Houses galore.  Once out of town the state highway was a winding roller coaster of hills and turns and great fun to ride.  I landed in Ozark by 2:00 pm and checked into the American Inn of the Ozarks.  Nothing fancy, but it is cool and quiet.

Sunday Morning in Missouri

Start:  Claremore, OK

Finish: Neosho, MO

Weather:  105 degrees, sunny

Bike Time: 8.5 hours

Miles:  95

Distance to date: 1,156

Today presented a series of unexpected charms.

They began at the continental breakfast bar of the Will Rogers Inn, where I ran into Connie, whose husband runs and a tire shop and who insisted I take her number in case I hit any problems along the road.  “He would love an excuse for a day trip to Missouri.”

With that insurance, I cycled through the town of Claremore, Will Rogers everywhere, and struck out on dear old ’66.  I took a detour to visit the Tepee Park in Fiyol, a worthy excursion for anyone who loves folk art. There is a garden of teepee sculptures, and the main event, at over 40 feet tall, is quite spectacular.  Not really a tepee as we think of it, more a vertical homage to all things Indian.  A penchant for folk art must run through that area, within a mile of the tepee park I saw a chain link fence adorned with Styrofoam cups that spelled out ‘JESUS’ and a Mona Lisa painted on the side of a barn.  The
return back to Route 66 was along a lovely country road with a full line of trees along one side, which kept the morning sun at bay.

Vinita was having a Saturday street fair with sidewalk booths and a fire hose sprinkler snaking down the middle of the pavement.  After a serious breakfast with some scrumptious pancakes alongside my bacon and eggs (it is grand to be so hungry) I headed on to Afton where I came upon a Route 66
service station turned Packard Museum.  They had an incredible array of beautiful Packard’s, including a 1917
jitney that had been customized to a motor home back in the day, a 1938 coupe that is the only one remaining, and the last Packard ever made, a 1958 sports coupe on a Studebaker chassis.  The folks hanging around the shop were chatty and completely devoted to Route 66.  One guy had 98 Route 66 tattoos on his body, including Mator from the movie Cars and the Pops bottle in Arcadia (which I featured in my blog of 8/4/2011).  He is a big guy and not shy about shucking his shirt, so I saw quite a few of them. The Packard folks took my picture, which should be on their blog, www.aftonstationblog-laurel.blogspot.com.  Check them out!

Unfortunately, shortly outside Afton I left route 66 behind.  In Missouri it joins the Interstate in several portions, and I don’t
want to ride on any Interstates, so I am now on US 60, heading east through southern Missouri, in route to my next major stop, New Harmony, Indiana.  US 60 is a better road with a good shoulder, but since it does not parallel an Interstate, it has many more trucks.  Again, the topography changes at the state
line.  The broad horizon and vast ranches of Oklahoma are behind me.  Missouri is undulating straight stretches of shallow swales, up to three miles long.

Neosho, the first town of any size in Missouri, is hopping tonight.  After stopping at several fully booked motels I found
a room in a clean but basic place (no Internet access, so I am borrowing from the Super 8 next door). Who knew, but there was a revival in town!  Maybe it is taking place in the Cowboy Church and Arena I saw on my way in this afternoon.
You know that the place is for real; I could not make that up.

Tepee Park  Fiyol OK

Packard Museum  Afton, OK

Cowboy
Church and Arena  Neosho, MO