We would start to find our rhythm in Kentucky. Where Virginia tested and taunted us, Kentucky was where we would start to find our groove.

 

 

Day 7, Wednesday, May 31, 40 miles to Middlesboro, KY / Rest:

After crossing the Cumberland gap, we were into Middlesboro Kentucky before noon, and decided to call it an early day.

We splurged on a motel room, kicked back and relaxed.

 

Day 8, Thursday, June 1, 111 miles to West of Somerset, KY

 

Day 9, Friday June 2, 88 miles to Glasgow, KY, Appalachians left behind:

In two days we were over halfway across Kentucky, where we reached Glasgow, a great little town. Heart of America for us in all the right kinds of ways.

In David’s words:

“That evening, when we reached Glasgow, we went to the police station to ask where we could camp. When we entered, a fireman happened to be chatting with the officer at the front desk. The fire station was next door. The two men looked at each other and then at us. Then the fireman asked for our story.  Both silently took it all in. 

The two men looked at each other. An unspoken meeting of the minds.

“You can spend the night in the holding cells downstairs.

This was a first, a campsite with bars. Cozy, quiet and secure.

Later that evening, as we were walking back from a big restaurant dinner, several fireman were milling around outside the firehouse, including the friendly guy who had set us up in the holding cells. He asked how we were doing, introduced himself as Dale and introduced his co-workers. They then showed us around the firehouse, let us try on their gear, and invited us slide down the fire pole.

 

Around 2 AM, we woke to strings of exploding firecrackers and hoots and howls of laughter. We had been set up as entertainment for the night shift.

These guys were OK though. No harm, no foul.

The next morning, they even cooked us a pancake breakfast before we headed out.

Dale asked us to send them a postcard when we made it across so they’ll know we made it safely – which we did.

As we rode out of town, Mark and I agreed that a town like Glasgow was the sort of place we’d like to settle down someday.”

David’s Glasgow has turned out to be Berkeley, California. My Glasgow, Cambridge Massachusetts. Home is where you find it and you know you’ve settled down when you’re not going anywhere else. That took me 25 + years to figure out, but I’m a slow learner.

Curiously Glasgow was the area where some of my relatives had settled over 200 years earlier. The more adventurous headed north to Illinois after a generation or two. First and foremost of those would be Barbara Buchanan. 

A contemporary of Abraham Lincoln, from the same Kentucky neighborhood, Barbara was one tough, smart cookie.

Probably illegitimate, Barbara made it to Springfield Illinois at age 8, with the first wave of settlers in the spring of 1820. Born dirt poor, she died matriarch of a prosperous family. 

My favorite family Barbara story is her killing rats by biting off their heads. You gotta do what you gotta do.

Day 10, Saturday June 3, 101 miles to Hopkinsville, KY

Day 11, Sunday June 4, 109 miles to Cairo, IL

While David and I never made it as far north as Springfield Illinois, we did touch the southernmost tip of Illinois at Cairo. We rode across the Ohio Bridge from Wickliffe, Kentucky.

Black swarms of mosquitos chased us off our campsite at the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers.

We found refuge in a Cairo motel. In a moment of inspiration, or lack thereof, I gave myself the most extreme of haircuts. I shaved my head.

To this day I’m not sure exactly why. In those Nixon-era days I had cast my lot with the freaks and looked the part. Perhaps I’d had enough of the grief that my hair attracted.  

Perhaps it was the absurdity of it all. 

Perhaps it was simply to get a reaction out of David, to whom I hadn’t given a hint of what was coming. 

In any case, David was indeed stunned when I emerged from the bathroom the baldest of bald. It was a Zen and most successful, humorous, non-verbal, moment.

The world seemed to get the joke. 

Early the very next day, on a long empty stretch of Missouri road, a couple of rednecks in a pick-up truck slowed down along side us, looked us over, and sped off. 

 

We feared the worst, as they made a U-turn up ahead and looped around for a second pass.

The pickup slowed way down, matching our labored pace.

The guy on passenger side leans out the window only a couple of feet away yells in my face, “Why don’t you get a haircut!”

 Then they drive off laughing uproariously, never to be seen again.

Score one for the rednecks.

Day 12, Monday June 5, 75 miles to Poplar Bluff, MO

 

Day 13, Tuesday June 6, 107 miles winding through the Ozark Mountains to Willow Springs MO:

The next two days are from David’s Journal:

“Through Missouri and Kansas, Mark and I were starting to find a rhythm on the road, steadily bicycling more than a hundred miles a day through the constant headwind.

We’d awake before dawn, get in about an hour of bicycling, then stop at a coffee shop for a trucker-size breakfast—usually ham and eggs with pancakes or hash browns, or both.  Then we’d put in a few more hours and stop for lunch upon reaching a town, and look for a market or cafe. 

We had developed insatiable appetites. We would each guzzle a 1/2 gallon of milk and devour a loaf of bread – and then we’d have lunch.” 

 

We’d then need about at least a half hour to digest, so we’d kick-back, usually in a park, for an afternoon siesta. Soon enough, though, we’d be back on the road.”

“After mid-Kentucky, I thought we were supposed to be in the plains. But Missouri’s been hilly (green and clean, I must admit), and the map says we will hit a range of mountains called the Ozarks tomorrow. Ozark Mountains? Never heard of them before. Starting tomorrow, we’ll learn about them fast.

Yesterday, after a late start at 11:00 AM, we cycled 75 miles to Poplar Bluff and  today 107 miles to Willow Springs.

Poplar Bluff was probably one of the most unblemished towns we’ve passed through since the Appalachians. Seems like a town out of the nineteenth century.

The Kentucky Fried Chicken and Colonel Sanders on the way out of town reminded us, that it was 1972.  Spent yesterday night in a huge old house which had rooms for rent for $3.00 a night ($1.50 each). Fairly large rooms…

Today ended nicely, too. Found a big patch of lawn near a fire station in Willow Springs. Met the owner of the land, and he was more than happy to make sure that everything was Okay for us. Ever since the strange night in Hillsville, there’s been no hostility from people. People have been truly hospitable. Sometimes the only problem has been that they are over friendly. Arriving in town, tired, hungry and thirsty, we don’t waste any time when we arrive at a store. We mean business. Food + water = survival. But then before we know it, we’re often surrounded by people, interested, and asking every possible question one could think about as to bicycling. Actually, it’s kind of cute. Once lunch gets started!

 

 

Took a walk this evening, and over the hill a baseball game (local teams playing each other) was in progress. Probably half the town of Willow Springs (a few hundred people) was there watching it. After finding a nice spot to sit along the first base line, I felt just like one of the townsfolk. As it was, though, the tiredness from the day and the not being used to late hours (gad, almost 9:00 PM) anymore, zonked me— after a couple of innings, I made my return to camp. Now it’s time to bid adieu to Tuesday. Adieu.”

 

Day 14, Wednesday, June 7, 105 miles out of the Ozarks, into the Plains, to Halltown, MO:

 

“Raced over the Ozarks in three hours and learned that the northern Ozarks are not really mountains after all. Perhaps relative to the upcoming Plains they can be considered mountains, but anywhere else, there wouldn’t even be a name for them. Made it 85 miles into Springfield before 2:00 PM. Relaxed there for a couple of hours, making use of the second laundromat we’ve used since the start of the trip.

Finished the day in Halltown, 20 miles west of Springfield. This town is very small with a population of only around 100. Thanks to a new friend Glen, we are settled down on the porch of an abandoned church for the night.

The roads and the winds were in our favor today, and the 95-100 degree heat didn’t bother us. We will be  heading to Kansas tomorrow on historic Route 66 . If the winds are behind us, we coast. If the winds are against us, we struggle.”

 

Next: 3. Kansas and the Plains