TRIRI - 1987

(The Ride in Rural Indiana)

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In June of 1987 I went on my first bicycle tour, The Ride in Rural Indiana. The tour started and ended in Bloomington, making a loop through southern Indiana in 6 days, and was sponsored by the Bloomington Bicycle Club. Because the tour was camping in Vincennes on Thursday night, I had decided to stop then and miss the last 2 days. This way, Carla wouldn't have to drive to Bloomington to pick me up, and if I was getting tired, or didn't like the tour, I could stop early.

Sunday, June 21

Carla and I arise at 6:00 am sharp in the Bloomington Ramada Inn. I am nervous with anticipation, as I have been for several days. The feeling is sharper as the event comes closer at hand. We get away about 6:45, and head for Hardees. There we see a bike on a car top, and a heavyset man inside with biker's shorts on. I order two plain biscuits and a small coffee, Carla orders a gigantic coffee - I'm sure it's larger than her bladder. I eat only one biscuit and am ready to go. We arrive at South High School about 7:20. Several cars are already there. We see a U-Haul van that is obviously to carry our baggage. I take my duffel bag over for loading as Carla starts clicking off the first of hundreds of pictures. I see Tom Meyer, introduce him to Carla, and he's about as friendly as he is capable of being. We go over and take a group picture of all 63 riders, and hear a short talk from Joe Anderson, the tour planner. He tells us two people broke their collarbones last year - just what I wanted to hear! Finally we're told to head out. I wait for several riders to go by, then I mount my bike and take off.

We exit the parking lot and turn onto Henderson Street. Carla is standing in front of the van and waving at me. This really gets to me, and I almost cry, as I'm flooded with my love for her. The feeling lingers awhile, but of course I continue pedaling. I gradually get into the ride. People are starting to spread out, but I seem to be keeping up with most. I start noticing the things on the road - a discarded pair of underwear (just like I'm wearing, as a matter of fact), a car jack, two dead frogs, both bellies up, one huge. We pass a church with cars in the lot, and I suddenly realize it's Sunday. I see all kinds of wildflowers, Queen Anne's Lace, daisies, and those smaller ones that look like miniature daisies, but mainly ones I can't name - blue ones, red ones, orange ones. I hear birds singing - the "caw caw" that I guess is a blackbird. My front wheel runs over an earthworm. Now I seem to be riding alone. I know there are riders both ahead and behind, but I cannot see them. I start to wonder if I'm off course, but I know I'm really not. This does make me more aware of the signs painted on the roads, the "Dan Henrys", and at each major turn I know I'm OK. I cross a bridge and see two riders stopped. She waves "Hi"; he has his back to me, taking a leak. Soon we arrive at Avoca Fish Hatchery. Several riders have stopped, and I join them. It's a scenic little rest area, several picnic tables, lots of shade, and a water fountain. I walk around, take a few pictures, and get a drink. I talk to the man we saw at Hardees. He also checked out our van, but didn't see my bike because it was laying down. He's quite friendly, and tells me about a ride in Michigan, one shorter and more level than this one, that the kids could handle. When I leave, I see the biggest hill of the day. I really struggle getting to the top. The sun is out, and it's starting to get hot. I'm riding again alone, but I like it. I'm gaining confidence that I won't get lost. Soon I see a McDonalds cup by the road, and I know I'm approaching civilization. As I come to the rise of a long hill, I see a "Bedford" sign and a golden arch in the background. It's at the intersection of several State Roads, and traffic is busy, but I pull into the lot OK. A couple of other bikers are already inside. It seems as though the other customers look at us as if we're weird (maybe they're offended by the B.O. - I am). I have a medium diet Coke and a cheeseburger, then I write awhile, then have another cheeseburger for good measure. It's starting to cloud up again.

About 11:50, around 34 miles, on Tunnelton Road, I'm passing a golf course on the left. We're on a really pleasant country road. At the end of the course, at the corner, is a driveway, and stone fence. Right at the corner is a big Maple tree, and it's real shady, so I stop. I write a little, and two bikers pass me. Then Joe Anderson, the trip director, and his son Jeremy, who is about 13, stop too. We take pictures of each other and chat awhile. When we leave, I decide to follow them for awhile (I know they know where they're going). It seems we have a lot of long, gradual downhills, which is great. My mind is in overdrive, not working, just coasting along. It's like a form of meditation; thoughts just slip in and slip out of my mind on their own. I don't even really know what I'm thinking about unless I stop and think about it.

At the old bridge over the White River ("Built 1913-Vincennes Bridge Co.") we stop and enjoy the scenery again. Have a drink and take a leak. Joe and Jeremy throw rocks at a dead fish as I replenish my riding bottle with water from the spare in my rear case. Some other riders come up, and I decide to move on. We're now only about 6 miles from Spring Mill State Park. The last miles are uneventful and easy, as I realize I've made it. At 1:20 I enter the park.

The campground where we are staying, the "youth campground", is just a big open space in the woods - a few tables, no trees. No where to hang a hammock or clothesline. Several tents are already up. I put my tent up near the back of a "finger" of this open hand. I hope all the stops are not this basic. I have come 48.1 miles today by my odometer, 46.6 by the tour map.

After setting up I go to the camp store. I have an oatmeal cookie and a diet coke. I talk to a couple of riders while I eat. One is a teen-age boy eating a pint of ice cream. Then I go to the pool for about an hour. The cool water feels wonderful on tired muscles and sweaty skin. I get wet, get out, cool off, warm up, and start over. After leaving I go by the campground restroom and shower and wash out my dirty clothes. Then back to the campground and set up a clothesline. This isn't easy, as we have no trees, and everyone has already been inventive. Also, a lot more people have arrived and my tent is surrounded. Finally I manage a short line from a sign to a small tree. I write as I listen to two guys discuss the fine points of adjusting front brakes. This sounds very important, and is something I have never thought about after riding over 1600 miles.

The weather has been constantly changing all day. Now (about 5:00), the wind and clouds are really whipping up. I get inside the tent as it starts pouring. I write a little while, and the rain dies down. I realize the most important thing I have not brought is a cover for the bike. After while I hear someone say that almost everyone is down at the shelter house. At 6:00 tonight is our catered meal. So I walk down there in light drizzle. Some people are talking and a lot are just sitting around. I sit down and chat a little with a few people, but never really get anything going. At 5:30 the caterer arrives with fried chicken, potatoes in cheese sauce, mixed fruit, and raw vegetables. (I had better burn off a lot of calories on this trip!) The meal is great. I glean from talking to people and listening to conversations that most people have brought virtually no food or cooking equipment. They just hit restaurants along the way. I wish now I hadn't brought so much food and cooking equipment, and had brought a bike cover and pump (surely though, I can borrow a pump). After eating I go back to camp, get my bike and notebooks, and try to find a picnic table where I can write in privacy. I have to go several miles, but I find a place by a lake and write quite a while. My back and neck are tired - I hope I sleep well tonight. The ride back to the campground is all uphill, worse than any hill on the ride today. I get back and the two tents beside me belong to 4 or 5 middle aged women, already complaining about the tents, the ground, etc. Acting like teenagers, talking constantly. Hope I'm not by them tomorrow. I read awhile, walk down to the restroom one last time (I hope), come back, roll out the sleeping bag, and put a little air in the air mattress. It's not bad in the tent. Sky is pretty clear, but thunder off in the distance. I get out my tiny radio and listen to Bloomington for a little while. Total miles today - 53.7.

Monday, June 22

Last night we had severe thunderstorms starting about midnight, I think, when it got right above us. The ground shook when the thunder hit, then a few minutes later, lightening and thunder simultaneously. It scared all of us to death. The tent stayed fairly dry considering - a few drips, but I stayed dry. There was a puddle in the corner come morning. Everyone was up at 5:00 am. No one cooks or eats, just tear down the tent, pack up, and go. Several besides me, however, think this is crazy, and we take our time. I did have a bowl of Grape Nuts, but no coffee. I decide to ride to the park Inn, where I mail my first letter, buy a paper, and decide to have breakfast. I sit about 15 minutes (there are 12 waitresses and no other customers), finally get mad, get up, and leave. Suddenly I realize I'm probably the last person to leave the park. This shouldn't matter, but gives me a sense of panic, and I ride fairly hard. It's very cloudy, and I'm really hoping it will clear up so my tent and things can dry out. At about 7 miles I see another rider ahead, and feel better. I catch up to him at Mitchell, and see a few other riders coming from town, where they've had breakfast. I ride a little farther, and stop at Ted's Cafe, because I want a cup of coffee. I also have some whole-wheat toast. All the riders I caught up with are now ahead of me again, but not so far, as I have eaten quickly. However, I don't see any riders for a long time. At about the 20-mile mark I stop at Bethel Church, take a few pictures, rest, drink, and take a leak (the usual routine). I also tighten my mirror, which has been jiggling, and the lock mechanism on my new storage box, which I discover, has worked loose. As I leave, the baggage van drives by; the lady driver slows and asks if everything is OK. I tell her I just started late, thinking she means that I'm way behind everyone, but she says several riders are behind me. I'm not worrying so much about time now - what's the hurry? I'll be there in plenty of time. I also realize by looking at today's map that we go through West Baden and French Lick, and a lot of people will stop there. I've seen both, so I may ride straight through. The sun is moving in and out, it's still cloudy, but looks as if it could clear up. At the Nature Preserve at Lost River I catch up with the guy we saw at Hardees yesterday. We talk a bit, and I ride with him a mile or so, then I go on ahead. It's quite hilly, but I can't coast downhill too fast, as the road is rough. I pass 6 or 8 more riders, then arrive at West Baden. I wasn't going to stop, but I do at the dome and take several pictures. I go on to French Lick and stop at Druthers. It's about 11:00. I would have preferred Hardees, but didn't have much choice. I'm just not in the mood for a salad, so I order a double cheeseburger and a huge diet Coke. It's the greasiest hamburger imaginable, but I eat it. The sun is out again. If it stays clear, maybe I can get to camp and get everything dried out.

Just out of French Lick, we are taking State Road 145 for 13.6 miles. The first 40 minutes is all uphill, not steep, but steady and tiring. The sun is out good and it is real hot. I find a shady spot on a service road to Patoka Lake, which is now on both sides of the road. I inspect my chain - looks like last night's rain washed away a lot of oil (something else I should have brought). I'm getting pretty tired, but not exhausted. I'm probably only about 10-12 miles from the campground. It's about noon. Before leaving, I find a beat up penny in the gravel (a good omen?) I ride on. It's really hot, and I feel the need for water more frequently. I think I'll never get to Patoka Lake, when finally I see the sign for State Road 164. I know it's only 5 miles now. I enter the park at 1:04, and the campground about 1:15. Again we're in a big open space, but at least it's a regular camping area. We do have to put about 6 people per site though. It's surprising how many riders are not here yet. I get my duffel bag and hurry and put up the tent and clothesline. The tent dries in about one minute, after all my worrying about it. I put the sleeping bag on top of the tent - it only has one damp corner. The guy next to me, with a fancy bike, is saying he had one flat during the day, and two after arriving. It looks like he's overhauling the bike - both wheels are off, and tools are everywhere. I'm wondering what to do, go swimming, or what? When, all of a sudden, it clouds up, the wind picks up, and it looks like it's going to rain any minute. I really can't believe it. I get everything inside, then go inside myself. I eat an apple, then later a can of Beanie Weenies. The rain starts. Several people have not yet arrived; several more are just setting up. The women, who camped beside me last night, unbelievably, are setting up next to me again. I don't like this, but I guess I'm lucky I got set up and dried out when I did. It rains on and off for a while. Someone says the van is making a shower run to the beach. I had just about given up on a shower today, so I grab my stuff and go to the van. People are stuffed in like sardines (there are no seats). The shower is WONDERFUL. Lying in the tent before, I almost dozed off and I felt like I was too tired to ever ride again. Now I felt refreshed. When I get back to camp, I hang out the clothes I washed in the shower, and cover the bike with the painter's drop cloth I had bought in West Baden. It works, but may not be usable again. Some people are going to drive to a restaurant tonight. It's 5:00, I think I'll just stay here, write, find something to eat, and turn in as early as possible. The rain continues... I eat a bowl of Grape Nuts and write letters to Jenny, Josh, and Carla. It's almost 7:00, still raining lightly. This I don't mind if it will just clear off and stay pretty tomorrow.

I meant to keep exact records of money spent, but usually forget to write it down when I spend it. However, here's the best I can do right now:

Sunday Monday

McDonalds $2.25 newspaper $.50

3 cokes 1.50 coffee & toast .77

oatmeal cookie .50 plastic sheet 1.35

park fee .50 tape .83

Druthers 2.30

Park fee .50

Snack bar 1.75

Total 4.75 8.00

Today was more than I like to spend, but I guess I had a couple of unusual expenses.

8:15 - I take a walk around the campground, and pick up tomorrow's route. 55 miles to Lincoln State Park. The air is cool and nice, the sky clear now to the west, cloudy to the east, so maybe it will clear off tonight. I talk to Tom Mayer for a little while. He's pretty much a loner, so he probably likes to talk to me. The bike club is the most social aspect I've ever known about him. I'm feeling like quite a loner myself tonight, as a lot of people are out talking. I'll turn in soon. I'm pretty tired, and hope I feel recovered tomorrow.

Tuesday, June 23

As is everyone, I'm up at exactly 4:55. It's as if there is a universal biker's alarm that goes off in the unconscious. Probably something to do with those little electronic speedometers they all have. Today looks pretty nice - blue sky coming as far as I can tell. Today I heat up the sterno stove and have 2 cups of coffee and 2 packages of grits. Everyone is moving fast again. I'm not so fast, but more efficient today. As the water heats up, I'm organizing and putting away. After I eat and have the tent down, only four tents remain up. Several more are still packing. At 6:20 I'm leaving, one of the last, but I'm not worried - most of the riders will eat breakfast at the restaurant just outside the campground. I was tired last night, but today I feel rested - slept well last night.

I pass the restaurant, and lots of bikes are outside. I stop at a boating store and buy a can of WD-40, and spray my chain. Immediately, it seems like the bike is riding easier. I feel great, riding easy and loose. I pass several riders. At 7:25 I'm in Birdseye. An old man walking down the street yells, "Where you headed?" I yell back, "Lincoln State Park!" I finally see the small post office, stop, and mail letter # 2, have a drink, and ride on. I dropped the letter in the box at 7:27 - pickup was at 7:30. It's a gorgeous day as I ride from Birdseye to Possum Junction, where I stop at the service station and general store. I have a carton of orange juice and a chocolate chip cookie. There are lots of riders here. I hear one talking about going through Birdseye and an old man stopped them, was performing tricks with a string, and telling stories. They thought he was neat, but thought they would never get away. From the description, I can tell he's the same man who spoke to me. I take a picture of the Possum Hollar Store. Before I leave, a local man asks me how many were riding. I told him about 65, and some were riding over 100 miles today. He thought for a moment, and said, "I reckon I'd druther drive it in a car." I use the bathroom, fill the water bottle, and take off. It's about 8:15. This is the best day yet, by far. The roads are great, no traffic, weather cool and pleasant, but I know it will be hot by 11:00. When I'm almost to Bristow, I stop at a small cemetery, possibly a family cemetery, very old, and starting to look uncared for. Everyone buried in the 1890s, it looks like. I take a few pictures, a drink, a leak, and move on.

At Bristow we leave road 145, which has been good, and go onto a country road. It's shady, smooth, hilly, and no traffic - fantastic riding. Just as I imagined when I signed up. Wildflowers all along the road, birds singing (I hear an owl and a bobwhite). At 9:25 I come to The Huffman covered bridge, an old one and very picturesque. I take a picture and rest a few minutes. A few riders were there when I arrived. They leave, and a fairly large group arrives - Bloomington people, including Tom Mayer. I chat with them a few minutes, then take off. After about 3 miles I get to Highway 545. This last stretch has been the highlight of the trip.

545 is as horrible as the last road was good - no shoulder, and lots of semis. I'm riding in constant terror. Shortly I get to Fulda (sounds like part of the female anatomy). I stop at St. Bonifocius Catholic Church, look inside (very pretty), take pictures, get water, and talk to some other bikers. I sit under a shady tree and make a few notes. Then I take off; it's starting to get hot. Just before Fulda I saw a full-grown deer by the road, stiff and covered with flies. It's about 5 miles to St. Meinred. I pedal hard, and it's mostly downhill, seems like I'm there very quickly. When there I stop at a small grocery. They make a great sandwich for 90 cents, and I buy a few other goodies. At the Abbey I find a bench by the pond and eat. I can actually see the fish feeding in the water. This is really an idyllic place - maybe the next best thing to Australia or Tibet for finding oneself(?) I almost feel like napping. I've come 41 miles, only 14 to go, and it's only 11:00. I think I'll rest up good here, and ride easy the rest of the way, as heat is becoming a factor. I look at my watch - it's 11:00 and I wonder if Carla has my letter yet. I ride up to the Abbey and lock my bike to a tree. I feel a little foolish doing this here, but you never know. I take a few pictures of the Abbey cemetery, with a crucifixion scene at one end. After one shot, a cardinal lands on a tombstone. I can't resist taking another shot, as the bird is the only color in the scene. (The photo will probably be a disappointment.) I think this might be a good place to practice my Taekwando form, it's fairly secluded, and anyone seeing me would probably figure I was doing some esoteric religious rite. I start through it a couple times, but feel awkward and foolish. I decide to hit the road. It's 12:15.

It's getting hotter, the traffic's bad, and I just want to get there. I arrive at Lincoln State Park about 1:00. The lady at the gate says the youth camp is "on the right." She doesn't tell me that it's unmarked, or that it looks like a service road (gravel), so I ride all over the park looking for it. Having no luck, I head back to the gate. Just as I get there, our baggage van arrives, so I follow. She drives to the primitive area, and I find out they have changed plans. She explains where the youth area is, so I ride back to tell other riders about this. About a dozen are there, and they follow me to the primitive area. This is the most "normal" camping area we've had, still 4 or 5 per site, but there are trees and picnic tables. I get to help unload the van, a new experience. Then I select a place with two trees my clothesline will reach, sort of in the sun, and start the routine. My wet clothes have been in a plastic bag, and they're smelly, so I wash them again. It doesn't help much, but I hang them up. I thought this park should be real interesting- should I swim, practice my form, sight see, shop, see the play tonight? I change into my swimsuit; wash out the clothes I was wearing, and put them on the line. All riding clothes are now on the line, wet. Please dry. I practice my form and one-steps, then go to the beach. The water is warm, but feels great. I don't want to get out, so I make up yoga-aquatic exercises. I must be in a half-hour. I get out, check my wet towel, which is hanging on a banister outside. Still wet. I swim awhile more, and get out again. The towel is still wet. I decide to call Carla. She answers the phone, surprisingly, but apparently not surprised. It's good to hear her voice, but she seems matter of fact (I probably do too). We talk a long time; finally Jennifer has arrived, so we have to hang up. I decide my towel is not worth waiting for, if I'm going to do anything else, I better get with it. I go take a shower. The water is red hot, and you have to hold the handle down with one hand. Sand is all over the floor from the beach. I go back to camp, and an older man, alone, is set up next to me. We haven't said much. I ask him about his (fancy) electronic speedometer. This opens up the floodgates - he goes on and on. I decide to go find a secluded picnic table and write, but first I go back to the beach for a coke. I discover there's a little grocery store there. I go in, and it's at least 110 degrees. I ask the clerk how she stands working there and she says, "They tell me I'm lucky - I have my own private sauna!" I buy a can of Beanie Weenies and Gator Aid. Then I ride to a nice spot, and just as I stop I remember I left the can of soup and cola I had earlier out on the table at camp. Then when I look in my bike bag for my small notebook I write in, I remember I left it out too. Now I imagine it's been found and someone is reading it, so I rush back to camp. So much for the shower. Everything is still on the table untouched, so I decide to just write there. As I start, the old man comes over and starts talking again. I feel bad not encouraging him, as I haven't done enough of this. Yet I want to get today's notes written up. I write a little while, and decide to go back to the beach, about 6:15. It's supposed to be open until 7. When I get there, there's only one guy and his little boy swimming, and they leave right away. The lifeguard tells me they actually close at 6:45, so I only have ten minutes. I mainly just wanted to cool off, so I head back. The old man (Paul Murphy) has gotten me a copy of tomorrow's route, 60 miles, our longest day yet. It should be flatter though. There isn't actually as much to do here as I expected. It's a nice little park, nice beach, similar to Shakamak. The Lincoln Boyhood Memorial is just outside the park, and I haven't seen it.

I'm in a much friendlier group tonight. Besides Paul Murphy, two married couples both very friendly. One couple was on their first tour, and we had a lot to relate to with each other. They are the two riding 10 speed, all terrain bikes. They admit it's hard going. I also met a divorced guy who had asthma problems. I described Jenny, and he pointed at himself, and said, "That's me". He said he divorced his wife because she had 2 cats (I presume she made a choice). He couldn't believe we had 3 cats and 2 dogs. He said we should loan them out for one month, and see if we noticed a difference. At any rate, besides isolating the agents, and trying to stay away from them, he thinks exercise is the greatest thing you can do. It's why he took up biking and running.

An older man, Joe, (who has a bell on his bike) has been missing up until a few minutes ago. Everyone was very worried. At the place where the two routes parted (today was the day with the optional 100 mile ride), he decided at the last minute to take the long route. He's got to be well over 65. It's now 8:30, and people are starting to turn in. Hardly anyone is going to the Lincoln's Boyhood play, because it doesn't end until 11:00. Most of my clothes are still wet, but I think I can put one set together. The sky is clear, I think I'll leave the fly off the top of the tent tonight.

It seems that everyone now knows I'm writing a journal, they see me writing all the time. So I have just explained what I'm doing. Writing seems to just want out more everyday. I'm glad.

Wednesday, June 24

I got the least sleep of any night last night. At first I was drifting off to sleep, and was aware I was drifting off to sleep. I did sleep awhile, but woke up and felt wide-awake. A radio was playing country music, not super loud, but just loud enough to drive you nuts if you can't sleep. I looked at my watch at 11:45. At 12:15 I grabbed my flashlight, put on my slippers, and decided to tell whomever to shut the damn radio off. There are no lights on, and it seems like it's coming from an area next to ours, rather than in ours. Seems hopeless, so I give up. I do take a leak, so the entire effort isn't wasted. The music continues to bother me, but sometime I finally fall asleep.

At 4:48 the camp arises like a honeybee army on red alert. We go through our regular routine. I go to the pit stop and take care of the days most important business, something that's gone amazingly well considering my change of routine and diet. I have coffee and instant oatmeal for breakfast. After getting the tent down, I realize I have taken no pictures of the site, so I snap a quick one of my bike and the place where my tent was (maybe it will magically appear on the film). I put on my clothes, and have to wear wet socks. The rest of my clothes have all dried. About 6 I'm on my way out, my earliest start yet. I mail letter # 3 in Dale around 6:30. I've been in Dale before - sat in the car 1/2 hour one day, waiting to meet someone (part of a fraud investigation). At exactly 7:00 I'm in Selun (sounds like a town whose name gives exact time, but misspelled!) The song, "City of New Orleans" is running through my mind. As I consider this, it switches to "Morning Has Broken", which I've sung every morning so far, I think. I make it my theme song. I can hear the semis on I-64, which is parallel to State road 68, the road we're on. But mainly I hear the birds sing. This must be the BobWhite capitol of the world. I keep seeing detour signs, road closed ahead, but I know that won't stop us bikers.

Then I come to the cause of the detour - they're putting in a drainage ditch. There's an earth-moving machine leading two dump trucks, and a 15-foot ditch, very muddy, clear across the road. I wait, and a few more bikers arrive. When the trucks are loaded and drive away, a worker tells us the riders ahead of us climbed down and across the ditch, and handed the bikes to each other. I can't imagine that this works. We try to figure a better way, but no one can, so we plough ahead. I fare better than most - the guy behind me was in mud halfway up to his knees. My shoes are a little muddy, but worse, there's some mud on the chain and derailleur. I clean as much as possible with weeds. Then I use my only rag (something else I should carry) to clean the wheel rims, then the chain and derailleur. Then I spray everything with WD-40 (thank goodness I bought it). When I ride off I hear a noise that worries me, but soon it goes away. A few miles on a bunch of us stop at the Pantry in Lynnville. I have 2 oatmeal cookies, orange juice, and apple juice. One guy is changing a tire (this goes on all the time - more on this later). Just out of town we pass Lynnville Park. It says something about camping and "observatory", which intrigues me, but I don't stop. Normally I would, but the mud escapade has ruined my attitude. We stay on SR 68, a good ride, little traffic, fairly picturesque, but nothing dramatic. There are riders ahead and behind me, just in sight, which I like. Just before we cross Highway 41, there's a rest area with a little shelter house. It's too good to resist, so I stop. I rest, drink, write, pee, the usual. I see now there's a pretty church, Mt. Tabor United Methodist, in the background, so I take a picture. A bunch of riders go by. None of them stop, but what really amazes me, hardly any of them see the park or me; they're riding hard, heads down, wheel to wheel. This is too intense. What's wrong with them? Why are they doing this anyway? They remind me of everyday people, always in a hurry to get somewhere, but never arriving.

I arrive at Haubstadt at 10:00. It's 80 degrees, and we've come 37 miles. A bunch of us stop at the Scot Lad grocery store. I have a quart of orange juice, and buy 2 apples for later. It's starting to seem hotter now. We head out. I ride awhile and stop at Cynthiana. John Garnik, who rides at about my speed (we pass each other frequently), stops too. We chat, he asks about Vincennes. He takes my picture in front of the town hall, which looks like an ice cream stand. Out of Poseyville, another rider comes up, we talk awhile, mainly about the detour (he turned back, and went around on I-64 - much smarter). Then he rides on ahead. The heat hasn't gotten as bad as expected. It's overcast, but nice. Very good riding weather. At 11:50 I see the New Harmony city limits sign, and by 11:55 I'm in the city park. Several people are already setting up. The women I was near the last 2 days are setting up, so I set up nearby. We are actually getting on well now. Also John, the older man I was by last night, sets up next to me. After drying the tent, I put everything inside, grab my wet clothes (boy, are they gross), and head out to search for a Laundromat, which I find. The soap machine is broken, so I bum 2 capfuls from the only "regular" customer there. Then I try to pay her, but she declines. Another biker whispers to me, "You really ought to pay her", and I think, "What business is it of yours?" I feel the second offer to pay for a small favor is an insult. I write while the clothes wash and dry. New Harmony (the town) looks real neat, lots of little shops, and the park is about 2.5 miles away. I'm not sure what to do first, but today, something is in order. It's great to have clean clothes!

Getting back, I'm wondering what to do next. Some people have started using a hose hooked up to a water faucet to take a "shower" in their swimsuits. (There are no showers here). The alternative is to ride 3 miles to New Harmony State Park, and shower at the swimming pool. The problem with this is, you get sweaty again coming back. I had thought the state park was where we would be staying, and where all the historical stuff was, but not so, it's all in town. So I change into my swimsuit, have someone hose me down, and lather up. The cold water feels great. After rinsing, I go back and get my bike, and hose it down, to get the mud off from earlier. I'll have to be sure and remember to oil it again. I put on clean clothes and walk downtown, which is only about 4 blocks. I browse in a shop, and get a couple of ideas for presents for Heather, Jenny, and Carla, but don't buy (might find something better later). I go in the first historical looking building I see, "Dormitory # 2" , from the commune days. I don't look around much, but I get directions around town and buy Josh a sundial paperweight. I'm beginning to think this place isn't as great as made out, I'm not having much luck finding anything. I'm trying to find the visitor's center. I finally find this building that looks like a fancy water plant, but there's a bike outside, so I go in. Pictures and displays all around, but only one person, a very attractive woman with a Southern accent. "How may I help you?" she asks. I explain that I'm trying to figure out what New Harmony is all about, and that this building is weird. She says it was designed by an architect named Owen, whom I assume is a descendant of Robert Owen., of commune fame. The air conditioning is broken, and I'm starting to get hot, so I cut her off and leave. I've spotted what is obviously "the village" anyway. I walk around, see some old log buildings, much like Spring Mill, and my favorite, an outdoor church - just brick walls and an open sky, and a huge alter that looks like a mushroom. I browse some more, then go back to the first shop and buy small presents for Carla, Jenny, and Heather, putting it all on Master Card. Luckily the lady asks for no confirming ID, as I have none. Now maybe I have enough money to make it home. I then go to the Green Room, a restaurant reputed to have great sandwiches made with homemade bread. I go in, and 2 bikers, a man and wife from Indianapolis, invite me to join them. They've been very friendly the whole trip, so I do. We are having good conversation. Turns out both are on the Pritikin diet. They are both pharmacists who work for Eli Lilly. They tell me Pritikin was diagnosed for leukemia over 20 years ago, before he even started his system. I feel better hearing this. I have ordered a hot turkey sandwich, the first real food I've had all day, and iced tea. Both are delicious. The couple leaves, and I order some bread pudding and water, and write for quite a while. It's now 4:43.

I leave the restaurant and wander back to "the village". Across the street from the roofless church is an area fenced in with a high wooded fence. The sign at the gate says, "This gate opens into a memorial garden for Carol Owen Coleman. Visitors are welcome, parents with children, in particular, and their dogs. We ask you, however, to respect these grounds by keeping them clean and enjoying them quietly." This is very intriguing. I go into a circular garden full of exotic, full leafed green plants. In the center is a circular water fountain, with water gurgling up through the middle. On one edge is written, "Carol Owen Coleman's Circle of Life". I'm thinking it's nice to have your life be important enough that something remains to inspire others when you're gone. It's real peaceful and nice here. In a few minutes 2 other bikers arrive, and we talk a long while. It seems they're not real happy with the tour, although they love the scenery. They think the tour is disorganized (I've heard this from others, but have nothing to compare it to). They think the Bloomington Bike Club people are cliquish and are not making outsiders, particularly lone individuals, feel welcome. I've had the same feeling, but attributed it to my own anti-social behavior. They have other gripes about the planning. Then a couple other bikers arrive. A couple from Bloomington, but not in the club, who are always very friendly, are in the group. The lady starts talking to me about tomorrow being my last day, finds out I have a daughter in Bloomington, and so on.

All of this has led me to a thought about my own socialization, and I'm sure it applies to others. First day: nervous, cordial, unsure, and not real out going. Second day: loosen up, remember a name or two, start thinking a few certain people are OK. Third day: Feeling pretty good, enjoying myself a lot, a few people are almost friends, others not as bad as I thought, pretty good group. Fourth day: have met some real good people, they're not all as snobbish as I originally thought, it's too bad we may not see each other again. Fifth day: that's tomorrow! I can't predict the future.

After leaving the memorial garden, I walk around the block and see the sign "Poet's Corner". I can't resist taking a self-portrait. There's another sign nearby that says the building and grounds are for working artists. (Is that me?) After this I walk back to the front of the memorial garden and copy down the inscription on the door. Then I walk over to the roofless church. No one is inside. I go over to the balcony benches to the side and write. It's breezy enough to be comfortable. The cornstalks in the field before me are weaving and rustling. It's almost as if they're talking to one another. Right now it's 5:56. An old couple walks in. They keep trying to line up a picture of 3 trees out in the courtyard. To this lady, the color of these trees and the correct angle, is more important than world peace. Finally, her husband gets the lens focused. Just as he releases the shutter, he farts.

I walk back to camp. There's not much to do there, but it's getting cooler, and I've pretty well seen town. As I come in the women next to me are at the picnic table eating pizza. I take a picture so Carla will know she had nothing to worry about. (If Cheryl Ladd were there, she has nothing to worry about). Out of the blue, one of them asks what I do for a living. I say I'm an investigator. They all start laughing, and say, "Boy, were we wrong!" I asked what they meant. They had been guessing what I did. Their guesses? 1. Former priest 2. Rabbi 3. Didn't know, but felt I was into yoga and meditation. Interesting?

I go over and oil the bike. The guy named Steve, who I met right before taking off Sunday morning, comes over and starts talking to me. Funny, when I met him I felt we really hit it off, and thought we might "pair up". I've hardly seen him since, but he's very friendly tonight.

Today we covered 59.6 miles officially, 62.0 by my odometer. This is my most miles in a day ever. Strangely, it felt like the easiest day so far, mainly, I imagine, because it was so much flatter. Tomorrow is 70 miles, sounds like a challenge, but it should be flat, and I'm going home. I should have incentive.

Thursday, June 25

As usual, at 4:50 the tent zippers start announcing the beginning of another riding day. I am up before 5. I feel the immediate need to have a bowel movement, so I head down to the bathroom - no paper. I can't think of a good alternative, so I go back to the tent. I start coffee water, then start putting things away. I have a large bowl of Grape Nuts, 2 cups of coffee, and finish packing. By 5:30 several riders are leaving. Suddenly I think that I do have paper - writing paper. So I tear out 3 or 4 pages and head back to the bathroom. It's good to know it's good for something besides writing on. I guess we can express ourselves in different ways. I put the duffel bag in the van before 6. Even though the longest ride is ahead today, a big part of the trip is now over for me. I feel sadness thinking of this, so I get on the bike and head out. It's 6:05, and looks like a beautiful day. I hear an owl hooting in the park.

The first 10 miles today, to Poseyville, is a backtrack of yesterday's route. It is a nice, pretty ride though. Besides, isn't the same road at a different time, from a different direction, a new road? I turn onto SR 68. Tall corn is growing on both sides of the road, and again I breathe in the strong smell of living corn. For some reason, I'm singing "Abraham, Martin, and John" at the top of my lungs. I see a rider ahead, but he finally disappears in the distance. Most of the riders are behind me, as I saw their bikes at a restaurant earlier.

Poseyville is only 10 miles, but it's 12 more to Owensville, so I stop at a "Quick Stop" and break my last $10 bill to buy some apple juice. I'm pulling back onto the road again before 7. I cross over I-64 on SR 65N. This is definitely heartland USA - I smell the sweet fragrance of cow manure as I glide down a hill. "He's So Shy" was playing on the radio at the store where I stopped and now I can't get it out of my mind. Damn civilization! At 7:53 I'm pedaling into Owensville, home of my former in-laws. I've come 22.3 miles in less than 2 hours. I see a few riders off on a side street, leaving a cafe, it turns out. I go in and have a large OJ and wheat toast. Two farmers are at the table next to me. They're talking mainly about killing bugs. I wonder if this is a case of the treatment being worse (or making worse) than the problem? The farmer's version of planned obsolescence - today's pesticide never good enough tomorrow? And when did farmers stop working with nature and start trying to suppress it? Two more farmers come in, they're about my age, and look alike. At 8:15 I'm pedaling away again.

I'm riding on County Road 250S. A lady in a T-Bird pulls along side and yells, "Hi". I answer the same. Still smiling, she says, "There's a big Doberman ahead on the right!" "Thank you", I yell, wondering why I'm thanking her for this terrifying bit of information. I speed up, but no dog. Dobie must be having breakfast.

I'm in Princeton at 9:00, having come 35 miles, about halfway home. It doesn't seem possible, it seems like we just started. I stop at McDonalds, where several other riders have stopped. I have a large OJ, plain biscuit, and have my water bottle filled.

Now riding on Shiloh Road, I'm on a long downhill glide, my head low over the handlebars, the air so cool and renewing. I wonder again if this is anything like parachuting. I stop at a little bridge. Birds are singing all around, and I hear the drone of insects. This is a shady, cool, pleasant spot - I could stay here awhile. I walk a bit to wake my feet up. Some riders pass, then one stops and says, "I need to use the restroom". I think, "That's an interesting way to describe pissing in a meadow under an open sky". I ride on, and soon I too need to use the restroom. I'm taking a leak on what I think is Queen Anne's Lace. I notice all the flowers are covered with ants and flying insects. At 10:20 I'm in Hazelton. A group is stopped at the little grocery by the Post Office. I join them and have 2 bottles of grape juice. Only one lady works here, and she is swamped, as many riders are having her make sandwiches.

I ride the last 15 miles with Steve Moore, from Speedway. He chatters constantly, but pleasantly. All I have to do is throw in a few "Is that rights?" or "You're kiddings?" and he keeps right on going. The scenery becomes more monotonous (familiar?). We see watermelons laying in the fields. We've been clipping right along, which may be why my left knee starts to have a sharp pain with about 10 miles to go. We take a water break, then ride a little slower. At 11:55 we are in Vincennes. At 14th Street I say goodbye, and break off the tour route and head home. In a few blocks I stop and write a few notes for the last time. I savor the feeling that something good is ending, and I anticipate seeing my family again.

Afterward

What did I learn from my week bike tour? Was it a significant experience, just a vacation, or even a positive experience? Several things happened to me during this week:

I fell in love with my bike. I've had the bike 3 years, and had no complaints, but I had never made the demands this trip put on it. The bike was dependable, faithful, and forgiving. I saw others having different types of problems, I had none. From this, however, I also acquired a desire to take better care of the bike, and to learn how to deal with road emergencies if they do arise.

I learned how to write. Not grammar or punctuation, but always before when I tried to express myself on paper, not much happened. By keeping a journal everyday, which was built from scribbled notes I made on the road, something was unleashed. Instead of trying to think of something to say, I had to control myself in order not to write more.

I learned that I am a social being who can have confidence in himself. I think most of us are so set in our "normal" social situation that we don't think about this. It's kind of scary to know you're going off for one week with 62 other people you've never met. How will it go? It was fascinating to watch the social developments within the group, not only those I was involved in myself. I learned that physically I can ride long distances for several days in a row, and not only survive, but enjoy it.

Finally I learned anew that I am married to a very special person. My wife encouraged and supported this trip from the beginning. The idea of keeping a detailed journal of my experiences to mail her each day was mainly hers, and gave a coherence and purpose to my trip. She proved that her love was with me, even when we were physically separated.