Tag: cross country bicycling

Day 29 – Greenville, IL to Terra Haute, IN

Mary and the Hippies

It’s a chilly 39 degrees in Greenville as I bid goodbye to Cheryl, and make my way through the sleepy little college town. The sun breaks the horizon as I pedal through campus, bathing the road in front of me with brilliant orange sunlight broken by trees showing just a hint of fall color.

It’s a little later start than I usually like, but Cheryl was insistent on making breakfast in the morning, and I didn’t want to make it too early for her. The breakfast is wonderful, and I enjoy her company and conversation before saddling up and heading out onto the quiet road.

Today I meet US 40, which will be my path for the rest of the journey across the nation. Not that I will follow the exact current route of US 40 all the say, but I’ll follow the general path, often getting off the current route and following an older version of the highway.

Old roads are the lifeblood of a culture and society as the society grows. They connect one little tribe to another, one village to another. In our world today, it’s easy to lose perspective on just how important roads were in times gone by. Today our “roads” are telephone wire, cell towers, internet routers, and TV screens. These are the things that connect us today. But for thousands of years prior to the last 100 years or so, it was all about roads.

US 40 is called “The Old National Road”. It’s called that because it’s “old” – an old concept. Up until a few decades ago, it was just called “The National Road”. But then highways started getting built all across the nation, and a vast system of interstate super-highways replace those highways… Now, “The National Road” is just a historical idea.

The National Road was the first nationally funded road in the nation, funded in 1806. US 40 was one of the “highways” designated and designed in the early part of the last century to accommodate the automobile, and when it was designed, it used the path of the National Road, as well as several other “roads” to make its way from the west coast to the east.

For much of its current path across the nation, US 40 is the same highway as I-70. If you look at a map, you’ll often see that I-70 and US 40 are both the same road, but parallel to that highway is another highway, usually called something like state highway 140, or highway 144, or something like that. Generally, this is the “old” version of US 40, and when I-70 got built, then just moved the name US-40 to the new highway, and gave the old highway a new name.

There are a few places where the new I-70 highway just paved right over the old highway, and they became the same – there is no “old” version of the road. There aren’t many of those, though. For logistical reasons, it was best to leave the old highway there until the new highway was built – gave folks something to drive on while the new highway was under construction.

When I was a boy, my family would drive from Kansas up to Wisconsin to visit relatives. In those days, the Interstate Highway system was just a dream starting up. I remember my dad was always engineering new combinations of highways he could take to get us up into the backwoods of northern Wisconsin where his family lived. We’d always start by following US 69 north, then we’d start inching our way east onto other roads as we went. I remember very clearly him talking about the giant ribbon of construction that we’d meander past all the time as we went north. A new interstate highway system, where there were no stoplights and you could cruise along without traffic or anything else.

That ribbon of construction became I-35, running from Kansas City to Minneapolis. In later years, we’d follow that interstate for most of the trip. Running alongside I-35, US 69 is still there. I see it now and then when I drive that highway, and remember those days half a century ago when it was the “main” highway, relegated now to the status of a secondary road, it just happens to run alongside the “real” highway.

I’m thinking of that as I ride along an old highway this morning. In Mulberry Grove, I ride briefly on “old 40”, before turning off again to stay on what I think is highway 140, and crossing under I-70. Here I encounter the first of many little “road moments” that I’ll have in the coming days as I make my way toward the east coast. I’m pretty sure 140 is the “old 40”, that was replaced with the “new 40” which now owns the name of US 40. I-70 is really the main highway now, having replaced US 40 a few decades ago.

So I’m on the “old old” highway, as I make my way along the twisting blacktop into a bright and beautiful autumn morning sun. There are old curbs on this road in places, and the only traffic is local traffic making its way to the bigger and newer highways. The sun is starting to warm the air a bit now, and my fingers are finally feeling a little less frozen.

Rounding a bend, and crossing a little creek, I’m taken by another little “road moment”. Here I am, on the “old old” highway, and 20 yards to my right is a very old one-lane bridge crossing this little creek. I suspect this old bridge – nearly covered now in growth from the creek – was where the highway crossed the creek when it was first laid down nearly 100 years ago. It’s the “old old old” version of the highway. Just a narrow single lane.

I smile, take a sip of water, and decide to enjoy a granola bar beside this old old old place. Has anyone even noticed this in the past year? The past 10 years?

I doing research and writing this story, I’ve come across other folks who like to research and write about old US-40. Frank Brusca administers a web site where he posts all things US-40 here. Matt Murphy is a fella from out east who posts on his blog about the eastern part of the road here. If road history is an interest, I’d recommend checking out their sites.

Stopping for lunch at Joe Sipper’s Cafe in Effingham, I realize it’s likely to be a longer day than I expected. In my mind, today’s ride is going to be just a little over 100 miles, and I’m only halfway there at noon. It’s a nice little cafe, and while I sit and eat, I watch a great big wind building outside – looks to be from some flavor of east and southeast.

A quartering headwind to face for the second half of the day. Delightful.

 

 

 

 

In the town of Greenup is an old covered bridge. While I’m riding on “old 40”, I veer off 40 to get onto Cumberland Road to cross the covered bridge. I’ve decided to try and check out a few covered bridges along my route, and this one in Greenup is easy since it’s very close to the road. After a few pics of the old bridge, a granola bar, and a selfie, I head on up the road, snapping a selfie looking backwards at the bridge as I ride along the old road.

It’s early afternoon when I meet Mary. She’s cycling from Annapolis to Denver. Amazing coincidence. I’m from Denver, cycling to Annapolis, and we meet as she rides from Annapolis to Denver. We talk a lot about routes, and I give her my best advice for roads she should consider or not. We hang out and chat for a bit, exchange email addresses, and head on down the road. Mary’s roughing it a bit more than I am. She’s carrying more gear, camping part of the time. She’s having the version of this adventure that a 25 year-old seems, while I’m having the 60 year-old version of the adventure…

Mary’s journey seems to be a “coming of age” story. She’s recently completed big milestones in her life, and this journey might be her way of transition into her next chapter. Maybe it’s her way of discovering what her next chapter needs to be. In any case, it’s a young person’s journey of discovery.

I’ve really not met that many other cyclists as I’ve been riding, and I’m not quite over the serendipity of meeting Mary along the road, when I spot what might be another cyclist coming toward me on the road. I stop and wait for him at the top of a little rise, trying to put the image together as he slowly makes his way up the hill. It looks like a 5 gallon bucket, with a bicycle strapped to the back of it, all sorts of junk hanging off the sides, and a hippie standing on the pedals pushing it up the hill.

He stops to chat. Soon after comes his buddy, followed a few minutes later by a gal. They’re all on similar machines, dressed in rags, big smiles on their face.

These folks are headed to Colorado as well, though they’ve just begin their journey in Indianapolis. We chat a bit, and I tell them about Mary who’s just a few miles in front of them. Mary’s traveling faster than these folks are, and I can’t imagine that she didn’t pass them. As we talk though, I come to understand that they really just started riding for the day an hour or so ago.

Hmmm. Late sleepers. Seems they were up late last night in the campground, making merry and making music with other folks there. It all kind of fits together, and I’m really taking a shine to these three. They’ve fashioned bikes out of old clunker machines. With 5 gallon buckets duct taped on to their handlebars, sleeping bags roped to the back of their bikes, and fiddles or mandolins tied to their stuff, they’ve struck out on their journey west.

They’re hippies, on the modern-day version of the VW microbus. Long hair, ragged clothes, the scent of a recent j wafting from them…

We exchange stories, and I give them my best advice on routes to CO. They really don’t know what routes they want to take – they’re just headed west, hoping they’ll be able to find their way as they go. We snap a couple pictures as we part, and I wish them the very best.

Really. They’re gonna need it…

I stand there and watch them meander down the road, my first thought that there’s no way they’ll make it. They’re so ill-prepared for the journey really. They have old clunker bikes that aren’t maintained and will probably break down in some way, not to mention that they weigh a ton. They know nothing about how to fix them or take care of them. Their clothes flap in the wind and get caught in bicycle parts. Starting their days at after noon, when the wind is high, they’ll be lucky to make 30 or 40 miles a day. They’ve done zero preparation to be in shape to ride, and don’t even know what route they’ll be taking.

I contrast them to Mary, who’s pedaling steadily toward Colorado with both purpose and planning on her youthful quest. I can’t help throwing myself into that mix, contrasting all of us.

I suppose we’re all on a journey, aren’t we? We go out and get in our car and drive to work in the morning, and maybe it can be a bit of a journey. We all have different notions of what we might find on the journey, why we’re there, and how we travel. Who am I to criticize another person’s bike or pack?

Mary seems to have purpose and drive. She wants to find something, though maybe she just hasn’t figured out what yet. She prepared herself for a journey, packed well for it, and is making her way methodically across the country. She’ll find her next purpose in life, I’m sure of it. When she gets to Colorado to spend time with her folks, I can picture conversations where they share big dreams and ideas, and plan ways to make that happen.

My hippie friends are on the same road with Mary, just a few miles back. (Well, by now Mary has gained a few more miles on them…) Their target isn’t as pinpointed as Mary’s – they just know they want to get to this state called Colorado. Their route isn’t as well thought-out as Mary’s – they just know they need to keep chasing the setting sun. But for now, they share this road we’re on.

I share it with them too. They’re all young, and headed toward something that must feel like the “heart of life”. They see big things that life probably holds for them further down the road. They’re headed toward the middle of life.

Finally, as my hippie friends disappear down the road, I turn my back and climb back into my saddle, coasting down a little hill before turning the pedals and finding that nice steady cadence I like to maintain as I ride. I think the wind has died down just a bit for me.

The middle of life is behind me, not in front of me. I must be one of the luckiest guys on earth, able to pedal my bike along this road, meeting folks like Mary and the hippies as I go. I’m at an age where I only survive this sort of ride with a lot of fitness preparation, and the planning gnomes in my tiny little brain insist that I have my route planned, and that I’m aware of alternate routes in case of a problem. I’ll use this magical little plastic card in my pocket to buy a warm shower and a soft bed every night.

More than anything else, I feel lucky that I don’t have an ounce of envy for Mary or the hippies. I took the time to have misadventures when my body was built for it. I spent many nights sleeping on the ground in those adventures. I had my moments of hippie-ness, and I spent my time in purposeful pursuit of far-away destinations.

I think there was a time when I was looking for the biggest or best or longest or tallest. I’m learning to find good and nice these days, and liking it very much.

I can look at my hippie friends and wish them the very best. I’m not optimistic they’ll make it very far, but wherever they make it to, it will have been an adventure for them. I’m sure Mary will make it to Colorado, and that she’ll do much to change the world in good ways – I wish her all the best too.

I like the direction I’m going in life, and I’m happy to have met them on this road, headed in a different direction. Not that I don’t have destinations in mind, or aspirations, or expectations. I do. They’re just different at this point in life. More relaxed I suppose, with the middle of life behind me now.

I’m a happy man, and a lucky one…