Indianapolis to West Virginia

Every summer, Reid usually works for a leadership organization in Washington DC. And every year he gets to develop relationships with peers from all over the country. One of these friends is Kevin, a man I've never met, but who attends "The" Ohio State University in Columbus. Apparently, everyone who goes to this school is absolutely obsessed with it. From all of the hype, Reid really wanted to make sure we got to spend a little time exploring Columbus. So we decided that the 170 miles between Indianapolis to Columbus could be done in two longer 85 mile days.

On June 19th, we woke up in Indianapolis feeling refreshed from a night of air conditioning and made our way to the little town of Lewisburg, Ohio. It took us all day because we got a little caught up finding a notary and buying groceries in Indianapolis. But all in all, the mostly flat Highway 40 was a pleasant thing to ride. Outside of Indianapolis, we ran into a five mile long rail trail in the right direction and enjoyed the blisses of no cars.

We rode from Indianapolis to a little town called Lewisburg, OH. We got in just before dark and rode straight up to the police station to see where it was lawful to camp in this dinky town. We had tried calling the station earlier to let them know we were coming and to have an idea of where we could camp before we got there. No one answered, so we left a voicemail. No one had called us back by the time we got there. There was a different number posted on the police station, so we gave that a shot, and an officer made there way down to meet us. The officer was incredibly nice, but she didn't quite know what to do with 
us. A few phone calls later, the police chief made his way down to figure out where to put us. "Well I can't let you sleep in the park 'cuz it's against the law"

"And I can't let you sleep outside of the police station 'cuz people will talk"

"But you could  sleep at the firefighting training facility under the water tower. It's down a long dirt road. No one will see you."

So the chief escorted us out of sight to the water tower. 

It was, by far, the weirdest campsite yet. The water tower was painted like a giant hot air balloon and remained illuminated by spotlights the whole night. Just after eating our regular burrito dinner, the sky looked like it was about to open up. Lightning was all around us, so we moved away from trees, waterproofed our lives, and cuddled in our tents to fare the storm. And it was a good one too. It was the first of many thunderstorms to come for us, and  my first legitimate east coast summer storm. 

Soggy and damp, we emerged the next morning from our tents, still laughing at our camp spot. We ate oatmeal under the "air balloon" and started to make our way to Columbus. This was a long, hard day for me. Some days you just feel weak, like every pedal is a big push. I hate it when I begin a day like this, because the beginning of a ride should be fun and should be strong and full of hope. But when you get in the saddle feeling cranky and crabby, it's not a good sign. I pushed through it. Hit a high point of cranky about 20 miles from Columbus. And the poor boys put up with me. 

We finally got in to Kevin's house around 7:30 pm. Kevin is actually working in DC for the summer, so his roommates welcomed us in, and then pointed us in the direction of good pizza. 

You can always trust a good college town to have great local pizza, and Hound Dog Pizza on north High St. was just that. We relished in the time to sit and enjoy each other's company while not on a bike, drank some 90 Minute Dogfishhead, and ate gourmet slices of pizza. We were happy. 

We slept well and took a slow morning before heading out on errand runs. We took a fantastic river bike path to a local coffee shop called Luck Bros. The coffee house had smooth espresso, gourmet doughnuts, and perfect bagels. While we were there a few employees and one other customer were intrigued about our journey. The owner, Mr. Luck, let Reid and I ride his chopper bicycle around the block. It was such a hoot. Peter, the customer who befriended Reid, was super passionate about Columbus and wrote down a list of "must do's" for our time in the city:

1. Try Jenni's Ice Cream (supposedly voted the best ice cream in the country)

2. Eat a sandwich at Commonwealth Sandwich Bar

3. Go to this grocery for food…bla bla bla

We definitely did the first two. Jenni's was DELICIOUS, much like Ici in Berkeley, but a little more expensive. And after getting groceries for the next leg of our trip, we met Peter and his girlfriend for a dinner of sandwiches at Commonwealth--which came with (probably) the best sweet potato fries we have ever had. 

We had two weird coincidences in Columbus which made this world feel very small. The first was at a little community market we went to in the  Clintonville neighborhood. One of the workers inquired about our trip and said that a few months back a couple traveling by bike had come into the market. The couple had started their trip just for fun but had turned it into a bicycle advocacy project. Brant asked if they had left them with a blog so that we could read about their story. The employee came back with an old market newsletter with the couple's blog address published on it, and it turned out to be our old housemates, Megan and Stiven, who had left last January to bike towards the East Coast. SMALL WORLD.

 The second incident was at dinner with Peter and his girlfriend. I asked what part of San Diego and what high school Peter had come from. He brushed it off saying he went to a small school, thinking I would have no idea where it was. I don't know much about San Diego but I have a few really good friends in college from there, so I inquired further. Turns out, he went to Santa Fe Christian, which is where many of my old friends had gone. So they there we were, 2000+ miles away from home, knowing the same people. It was great.

 The following morning we headed east towards New Concord, Ohio. We  rode HWY 40 all day, hit a few random bike lanes along the way, picked up some roadside peaches, and got into town around 6pm. The police said we could sleep in a city park up by the town's reservoir. The road to the reservoir was gorgeous, no cars, just pristine country landscape.

The unused city park was isolated and a perfect campspot. After dinner, the Brant and Reid refreshed themselves by swimming in the reservoir. 

The next morning we made our way towards West Virginia. We took a detour off of HWY 40 because, in that part of Ohio, it merges with Interstate 70. The detour was absolute magic. Rolling lush countryside, bucolic pastures, old red barns, and nearly abandoned country towns. We enjoyed our ride so much we couldn't believe how many miles we had logged when we saw a mileage sign telling us we had only 30 miles to our destination, Wheeling, West Virginia. 

    We climbed more hills than we had climbed all trip coming into Wheeling. The hills reminded us that we were getting close to the Atlantic, marking the beginning of the Appalachians. We came into a river valley ten miles outside of Wheeling on a horribly maintained part of HWY 40. We bumped and clunked over potholes, got honked at and yelled at by quality individuals, and eventually made it to the great Ohio River. 

St. Louis to Indianapolis

     We left the Katy Trail like sad kids who have to go home after the blisses of summer camp, faring the world of automobiles and other fast, loud things.
     Not long after departing the Katy Trail did we have the treat of riding on an unopened, brand new freeway. The freeway was set to open for cyclists the following day before motorists would have it forever. We had heard this from a suburban bike shop a few miles off the Katy Trail. While we were cycling through the road construction, Brant and Reid decided to ask the construction workers if we could ride on the new freeway today, as it would eliminate some extraneous mileage and would be pretty awesome. Hannah and I had our doubts as the boys chit chatted with the men in orange hats. Within a minute, Reid was waving Hannah and I down the onramp, and we were all flying into the open space of a 4 lane freeway with no cars. It was AWESOME.
     We took a left and made our way down a rolling street, lined with stately houses with lawns the size of a football fields.

     We made it to Clayton, a metropolitan suburb of St. Louis. We stopped for a cup of coffee at a little cafe called Half and Half. A waiter, in an obligatory blue v-neck shirt, greeted us with some great menu recommendations and questions about our trip. It was a great introduction into this fabulous city. After we cooled down and felt rested, we made our way towards REI to fix our stove. We were flying down a hill only a mile past the cafe and eyed a beautiful public pool. This pool was smack in the middle of the Clayton financial district. With two towers marking huge diving platforms, Brant and Reid were sold. We skidded to a stop and pulled out our suits and swim trunks. The boys went and asked the front desk how much the pool cost, and came back with their tails between their legs.
     "You have to be a Clayton resident to get into the pool."
     We packed our suits back up, and inched our bikes down the sidewalk. As we were about to get on the road, a young dad and his kids stopped us and asked where we were coming from. And Reid responded with, "Well, we were going to the pool, but you have to be a resident. But we biked from California."
     And the dad responded back, "Anyone who biked here from California can be my guest!"
So we turned around and introduced ourselves, and  then thoroughly surprised the lifeguard at the front desk. We paid our dues and suited up, and spent the next three hours jumping off the 5 meter platform and  getting to know Kevin and his children. 
      Kevin invited us to come over to his house for pizza afterwards. So we biked on over and played soccer with Harry and Alex in their backyard. We  ate St. Loiuis style provolone pizza with their big family. Many neighbors came over to see the hoodlums who had rolled into their neighbor's yard. 


I think we could have stayed with this wonderful family for hours longer, but we were supposed to meet our warm showers host in the Tower Grove neighborhood of the city. So we said our goodbyes and navigated our way to the south east. The sun was setting and the city streets were quiet. We rode by the infamous Washington University. And then ventured into St. Louis's magnificent Forrest Park.  The park was filled with people walking with their blankets and pillows to an outdoor movie outside of the Museum of Art. It was beautiful. 
    We met our hosts, Dana and Jerry, at their house around 8:30 pm. Dana and Jerry welcomed us into their home with cold water and fresh peaches. They live in a great old neighborhood called Tower Grove, named after the huge community park only one black away. Their house was a three storied, classic St. Louis house. But Dana and Jerry were anything but typical. They met playing ultimate frisbee (Dana manages the entire St. Louis ultimate frisbee league); they are urban bee keepers;  they ride their bikes everywhere, love to cook, and are ultimate community movers and shakers. They got us all set up with beds and towels and told us that the giant spa like bathtub was a "must do." 

    After the Katy Trail all of us were covered in dust. Our bikes and bags were covered with the white hue of old limestone, and if we were in California, everyone would have thought we had just returned from Burning Man. Dana gave us micro fibre towels, and we hosed and cleaned up our messy selves before sleep. 

     The next morning we all shared a wonderful meal of fresh coffee and  pancakes from-scratch with peaches and blueberries before heading off to the big Saturday farmer's market in Tower Grove Park. This felt like Disneyland to Brant and I, and we splurged on peaches, fresh homemade popsicles, and fresh bread. The market was right next to the park's wading pool and old art deco bathhouse. We got our toes wet and sipped lemonade in the humid St. Louis morning. 

     We all walked home to meet up with Jerry and a neighbor girl, Emily, to bike down to the Arch and to the infamous "City Museum." Dana had told us that if their was anything to spend money on in St. Louis, it was this place. The old shoe manufacturing warehouse from the turn of the century,  was purchased around 2002ish by a local artist. This guy had a vision, I don't know exactly what that dream was, but this museum kicks booty--with caverns, labyrinths, suspended airplanes connected by wire tubes, a schools bus floating off the roof of the building, and a 7 story slide. Oh my goodness, it was perfect chaos. We all played like nine year olds, and went home utterly pooped. 

     The next day was errand day. Brant and I took the MetroLink train to the western part of the city in search of the REI, and Reid and Hannah took the MetroLink to the airport. Sadly, we had to say goodbye to Hannah, who flew home to visit family and to start preparing for the upcoming school year. With her bike all packed in a cardboard box, we stepped off the train and waved goodbye to our dear companion and friend. Sad day.

     We continued on our journey, and found Whole Foods and Trader Joe's along the way. We came back prepared for our next few days of riding with a fixed stove and good grubs. 

     The next morning, after eating bagels and cream cheese with eggs, we packed up, and left around 8:00am--headed to cross the great Mississippi River and to venture on into Illinois. We moseyed out of St. Louis on a bike path that ran north along the Mississippi and took us across the river on the old pedestrian bridge called "The Chain of Rocks." We got across and into Illinois, and before we knew it we found another bike path that took us exactly where we wanted to go for 20 miles. It was great. There is nothing like not riding your bike in traffic. It's so peaceful. We have all discussed this: when you ride your bike in traffic you have to spend a ton of energy and stress on protecting yourself from cars, and when you are on a bike path, you get to save that energy; you get to enjoy the landscape and the conversations of those around you. And for that, I am ever grateful for the moments and miles we get to log off the road, and for those people and advocacy groups who make bike paths happen. 

     We biked about 80 miles and camped at the Vandalia Lake Reservoir.  With our crew dwindling to just the boys and I, our daily milage picked up. Mostly because  we have to get Reid to the east coast so that he can fly back to Davis to start his masters program in public health on August 5th. 

    The following day we pedaled the most miles I have ever ridden in one day: 106! We pedaled from Vandalia, Illinois to Tera Houte, Indiana. And I was totally proud of myself. We landed in Tera Houte just after a thunderstorm, and the campground we pedaled to was deep in tall trees and forrest and the moisture in the air made the place feel like a giant swamp. We were all pooped, so we made burritos, took showers in the camp showers, and laid down for bed. Not even five minutes after hitting the pillow, did a Raccoon start dragging our bread bag away across the campsite. Reid watched our bread bag scoot across the dirt in the dark and he knew something was wrong. Seconds later, both Brant and Reid had their bright headlamps out to scare the raccoon and retrieve the stolen goods. We hung our food up at a raccoon safe height and continued on with our sleeping. 

     The next day we had 72 miles to pedal to our dear friend, Louis, in Indianapolis. Brant and Louis studied together at Cal Poly, and Louis just moved to Indianapolis for a job as an environmental engineer for an up and coming algae wastewater company based in the capitol city. 

     The outskirts of Indianapolis were quite unpleasant, but all was well once we got downtown. Louis's apartment overlooks the Indiana Pacers' stadium and is literally right downtown. Louis was stoked to show us his new city. He doesn't own a car, so he has learned the city by bike and wanted to show us one his favorite neighborhoods, Fountain Square. So we took showers, put on fresh clothes, and biked on down to the square. We ate dinner at a hip little diner, and scarfed some gourmet pizza's and craft beer, laughing and catching up. By the time we were finished it was after ten, and the "duck pin" bowling alley on the second floor was closed, so we did what was best for us, and went home for a good night's sleep. 

     It was a great way to experience Indiana. I never would have imagined Indianapolis to be full of so much culture, art, and good food. But it just goes to show that there is life outside of my Californian bubble. Not to say that I want to get up and move to Indianapolis, but there are a lot of good things going on there. 

     That is one of the greatest aspects of this trip. We are going through a part of the country that I really had no interest in seeing. I have always had a great interest in seeing The South, in the Great Lakes, and in the East Coast, but I would have never gone out of my way to see Kansas, Missouri, or Indiana. In doing so, I feel like I have seen a new side of America, and have found much of it to be quite beautiful...

The Flattest Missouri Passage

Way back in Kansas, a fellow cyclist enlightened us with information about a famed 230 mile long rail trail across Missouri, The Katy Trail. So we left Lawrence headed for the the long awaited Kansas/Missouri border, in pursuit of the trail and a respite from trucker traffic. 

From experience, we were bent on hitting as little of the metropolitan area as possible to avoid heavy traffic and excessive turns.  On the way out of town we could not avoid the gravitational pull of the local coffee shop, La Primera, and their delicious cold brewed iced coffee.  We both filled and emptied ourselves before continuing on down the country roads.  The first of which we found to be unpaved, despite our hosts assurance that it would be blacktop the entire way to Eudora, KS.  In that stretch, we encountered something that I had always heard of but never seen, ditch weed.  This is hemp that grows wildly in the drainage ditches of the rural midwest as a reminder of the lifted ban on growing it during WWII--such an interesting piece of history.  Due to the presence of a munitions factory on the border, and a lack of paved county roads, we were then forced south, then east, then north again, before heading in the preferred direction of east through Olathe, a suburb of Kansas City (which is split between Kansas and Missouri).  This took us on a roller coaster ride of quick ups and downs that weren't well spaced enough to enjoy any significant amount of coasting.   In Olathe, lanes were added to the road, the shoulder narrowed and the trafficked worsened.  At one point, it got so bad that one eager motorist accelerated to a red light almost hitting multiple children in the cross walk.  He laughed.  Lauren immediately retorted "That's not funny," meanwhile the father was busy memorizing his license plate.  Shortly thereafter we hit the border.

The Missouri border felt  like a giant wall of humidity.  Even though the heat wave had broken, we started dripping from every pore again.  Hungry, we found ourselves eating a lunch of peanut butter and jelly just off of highway 150.  Fearing the infamous chigger, a microscopic bitting bug that lives in the grass, we sat on the gravel shoulder of a small side road.  The push continued down the soon shoulder-less  highway towards the small town of Greenwood.  Unfortunately there was no public pool.  We inquired with the local police as to whether we might be able to camp in the city park, the short answer was no.  The search continued, leading us to an antique store that touted a good cup of tea.  In search of air conditioning we ventured in.  One of the curators welcomed us with, "Y'all aren't here to buy furniture," to which we responded " We are here for the tea".  We had missed the tea hour by a day.  The other curator, an older woman, began to inquire about our trip.  When we informed her of our discontent with the local police's hospitality, she offered us her yard… and her doughboy pool.   She suggested that we kill some time until she got off work.

We arrived full of food and drink, set up our tents, blew up our sleeping mats and pulled the cover off of the inflatable doughboy and enjoyed the unsuspected continuation of the Great American Pool Tour.  

The next day we headed north towards Highway 50 in route to Sedalia, our gateway to the long awaited Katy Trail.  Rail trails are a relatively new phenomenon, where obsolete railroads are converted into bike, pedestrian and sometimes equestrian trails.  Other than the obvious benefit of being on a dedicated multi-use pathway away from the traffic of highways, railroads can only be graded to a maximum of 1-3%, a much more gradual and consistent grade than would be expected in Missouri's relatively hilly, Ozark, landscape.

Our arrival to Sedalia was late as we found a wonderful local cafe in Warrensburg, called the Blackadder.  Slowly we sipped our lemonade and ate our delicious locally sourced sandwiches in its eclectic ambiance.  Our waitress, a homesteader from Kansas City, took interest in our story, offering cookies with our bill.  Eager to push onward Reid and Hannah decided to move on while Lauren and I took a nap.  The remaining 28 or so miles seemed to take forever as we trudged along on poorly shouldered highway 50 with a continuous headwind.  With our convenience store ice breaks, this stretch ended up taking about 4 hours.  This put us in Sedalia with only about 20 minutes before the local pool closed.  We scouted a quick route then made a final push through town towards the watery oasis on the other side.  The main road, still highway 50, proved to be worse within the city limits, with many guttered obstacles and aggressive drivers.  Forced onto side streets I began moving faster loosing time and Lauren in the distance.  I arrived 1 minute before closing and was greeted with a shrug and a "sorry" from one of the teen lifeguards.  However, within about 30 seconds one of the other wildly tan male lifeguards, Jacob, took an interest me, describing my look as being "outta state".  He and I talked a bit before he coerced the manager to let us take a shower.  Elated I went to the street to find Lauren pull up in tears, pushed by exhaustion and the knowledge that the pool would be closed despite her efforts.

In the midst of my shower, Jacob said that I might swim for 5 minutes before a pool party began, and I was obliged to continue our pool tour.

The camping was at the Missouri state fairgrounds that boasted 2500 campsites, 99% of them empty.  The fee was $10 per tent per night, but only $18 per night for the monstorous RV's adjacent to us which stung a little bit. We clearly were not in rural Kansas anymore.

In the morning we made our way towards the long awaited rail trail.  When we linked up we were immediately taken by the quality of the path, its associated signage and the seemingly endless canopy of trees.  The earie quiet of our highway seclusion lead to more fluid conversation and carefree riding.  Reid also took note that "the wildlife on the Katy trail isn't dead."

The trail is dotted with historic rail stops and depots paying homage to its industrial past.  By a town called Booneville, which would be considered a metropolis in this part of the country, was where we finally met the great and muddy Missouri River.  Our days originally planned destination was the sleepy community of Rocheport, an easy 50 miles from our start.  Unfortunately everything other than the Rail Side Cafe and Bike Shop is closed Monday and Tuesday.  After struggling the get the cafe attendants attention and order some much needed refreshment it was decided to move onward another 6 miles to a Katfish Katy's campground.

The ensuing stretch of trail was bordered on one side by the river bank and on the other by great limestone bluffs.  These were filled with various caves and outcroppings including one homestead built right into the cliffside.

Camping was by the river and was sparsely populated.  After rinsing off the Katy Trail's white gravel dust, leaving us looking like we had been to Burning Man, I inquired with a family as to whether I could barrow a fishing pole so that I might try to catch one of the many feeding carp in the adjacent man made jetty.  They oblidged, but did not offer me any bait.  Searching for something to temp the hungry fish my brother offered me a bit of corn husk and I found a chestnut shell.  As it turns out the chestnut shell did not float, despite my best efforts.  To assist me Reid tossed down a small piece of wood, this did float, but did not catch me any fish.  I continued to cast out for about 5 minutes before I looked down at the flat piece of drift wood that I was standing to keep myself from sinking into the silty bank when I saw the belly of a snake distending from beneath my footing.  Eyes now bulging with fear I quickly jumped back to watch the snake quickly slither and swim into the depths of the eddy.  This left me sufficiently scared of what lied below and Reid laughing hysterically.

Ultimately I decided that this was not the ideal place to fish from, and convinced Reid to accompany me out to the jetty to enjoy the sunset.  With Hannah in tow we scampered down to the jetty where Hannah found a small frog that seemed like it might be just the bait we needed.  Hooking him below the jaw I was only able to make several casts before a prehistoric Shortnose Gar struck and was hooked.  His long sharp toothed snout and aggressive nature had me once again reeling in fear.  With the picture snapped and the now high and dry unhooked Gar writhing in anguish, Hannah simply reached down, let out a small squeal and threw it back in.  We headed in after a few more unsuccessful casts with a new frog, I returned the pole with some bait and I went to bed significantly demasculated.

The next morning we headed out towards the small town of Portland, MO, knowing that we had to stop in the capital of Jefferson City to replenish food supplies.  We made good time and Lauren and I jaunted across the river on the newer pedestrian bridge when we realized that Lauren's singular broken spoke from several days earlier had become two.  It had become apparent that in our hast to leave San Luis Obispo that we had overlooked the final tensioning of Lauren's rear wheel causing them to start dropping off like flies.  A detour had to be planned to a near by bike shop to make the repair, and finish the job that had been left undone about 1000 miles too long.  We found the town's original bike shop with its original owner and got permission to use a truing stand and a tensionometer.  Fortunately I had over ordered the required spokes by 8.  The swap was relatively easy and the job was finished in the amount of time it took Lauren to find some coffee.  With restored confidence we headed towards the grocery store for refueling.

Reid and Hannah had continued down the trail towards Portland during our ten mile detour to monopolize on cooler temperatures and a cloudy sky.  By the time that we returned to the trail we found a lone female bike tourist sitting eating her lunch.  Chatting ensued and we found out that she was an Australian named Julia who had been drifting around the country for the last six months and was headed in the same direction.  Happy to pick up another companion we continued our journey east.

With local knowledge in hand, Julia led us to the town of Tebbets which has an unattended bunk building to house cyclists.  The key can be found hanging on an adjacent telephone pole.  INside there must have been a hundred or so bunks, a fridge, microwave, bookshelf, bathroom and bike repair area. Signs indicated that it was appropriate to leave a donation if you intended to stay for the night, which only seemed fair.  While returning the key after our perusal of the bunk house, a gentle man came out of a building labeled as a bank trying to lure us in with "ice cold beer."  It actually sounded pretty good, so we wandered in through a strange memorabilia into a back room full of older men and a lot of cigarette smoke.  After confirming that the only beers available were light beers, we promptly left.  This established our days thirst for beer.

Reid and Hannah called us stating that Portland not only had no camping, but had no food either forcing them to move onward to the next town after their nap.  Lauren, I and our new friend Julia pushed onward.  The heat and desire for beer had us stop in the town of Mokane.  I visited their 2 bars and general store and found the same selection of domestic beers that did not entice us anywhere we went.  Discouraged, we made the final push straight through our original destination of Portland to the metropolis of Bluffton.  He we found Reid waiting for us in just his bib at the trail road crossing, he told us that he had found a place to camp and that the curator, who purportedly had a dark beer in hand, had offered us corn on the cob.  Excitedly we ventured to the single building that stands as downtown Bluffton, the Rendleman Home B&B.  Doug, the owner, immediately provided us a hearty greeting and informed us of the $7 per person fee.  When we inquired as to whether or not he had beer available, which had us all sigh, but our spirits were lifted when he followed up by telling us that he had a dark homebrew that he would share with us.  We all settled on his porch and he returned yielding 5 chilled glasses containing crude oil black beer, we were so glad that it wasn't Busch.

In anticipation of the inevitable release of beer, Doug informed us that we needed to bring a bucket of water to the outdoor toilet to flush it.  We then picked vegetables from Doug's garden, made burritos and the camping packet of chocolate moose that Julia had picked up at the Tebbets bunkhouse which required being beaten by two forks simultaneously.  The outdoor kitchen/ shower was shared with the frogs as we jovially winded down.  The rest of the evening was filled with stories of bike rides, beer and food.

The next morning was filled with the same oatmeal and coffee making that we have become used to, but this morning was different because Reid located 3 Justin Beiber fan shirts sized for small girls at Doug's yard incarnation of the Bluffton flee  market.  We departed later in the morning knowing that fewer miles had to be covered and that Julia would depart of crew about halfway through the remaining 20 miles before we left the Katy Trail for good.  All was well until we briefly left the trail for a local supermarket that Doug had recommended for restocking.  When we re-entered the trail Reid discovered his 9th flat.  He and I shoed the girls on while we repaired the tire.  Much to his chagrin the culprit was a piece of truck tire wire, a well known foe, mostly commonly encountered while highway riding.  Once repaired we caught the girls at a converted caboose eating ice-cream and snow cones, Julia's mouth blue with raspberry.  A short five miles later she was gone, a not so distant memory of the lone female cyclotourist.

At the end of the day we found a small brewery in the town of Augusta.  We spent a good number of hours here eating, drinking, laughing and carrying until the establishment closed at 7 pm.  Fortunately for us Klondike State Park, which was recommended by Doug, was just a short 2 mile swerve down the trail.  The last 200 yards seemed to be straight up the hill, but it was worth it as the facilities were fully equipped with nice showers and a full kitchen, though shared with the local fauna.  Once the $10 camp fee was deposited we turned on some Bob Dylan on Lauren's iPhone.  Some cyclists approached the adjacent campsite, which was a welcomed rare sight.  The only greeting that one of them could muster was to "turn down that music, and keep it on your side of the wall."  Apparently they didn't want to hang out when the told us that we could party while they went in search of food.  We were fast asleep before they ever returned.

We woke early for the last day on the trail.  Much earlier than our neighbors who had told us that they were preparing for a grueling 50 mile ride.  As we finished packing up we were approached by a ranger patrolling by bike, he took down our names as a point of protocol and took interest in our story.  He moved onto the adjacent campsite to do the same and received a complaint about our noise.  The ranger returned and agreed to show us the alternate exit from the campground and along the trail until he parted with us at the next park.  His company was welcome and he provided some good insights into the local culture.

As the Saint Louis spur and the end of the trail got closer and closer we encountered scads more trail users and more shade than we could wish for.  At the overpass of highway 364, our route across the river, we stopped for a moment to remember the some 200 miles of automobile less riding.  To draw out our time off the asphalt we helped repair a passersby tire then made the ascent to the road way.  We would miss the Katy Trail, dust and all.

Hot, sweaty, windy Kansas, and a little bit of fried chicken

     Alright, so we have made it to Lawrence, KS, "the blue dot in a very red state." She is full of coffee shops, kids getting their PhD's, and farmers markets.  However, despite all of the red, we have found Kansans to be entirely hospitable, caring people, and we have loved experiencing the heartland culture and what it contributes to the cultural diversity that creates the U.S.
     With that said, we have had some hard days in Kansas. I don't know if any of you have been watching the national weather report, but as Brant likes to say, "We're riding the heat island of America." The U.S. is a colorful range of warm colors, the California coast being yellow, Nevada and D.C. being orange, and Kansas/Kentucky/Missouri colored firey red. Most days have hovered above 100 degrees. Yesterday we pedaled 72 plus miles in what got to be 106 degrees. We used to be able to get most of our mileage done before noon, but without a tailwind, that has been hard to accomplish. Instead, we find a shady green space to nap in around noon and continue on to finish our mileage into the afternoon. After thoroughly baking ourselves in the heat wave sun, we try and find a public pool to take a refreshing dip before heading to bed.
     We have been to so many public pools now that we have deemed the U.S. part of our cycling trip "The Great American Pool Tour" (#thegreatamericanpooltour). And we have every intention of visiting as many public pools, sliding down as many water slides, diving off as many diving boards, and lazeing in as many lazy rivers as we can find in this blessed country we call home.
     After the great pool in Garden City, we visited the lovely town of Jetmore. It's a small town with brick lined streets and late 1800's style buildings. We got there after a long hot ride and sipped some ice water at the first convenience store we could find. I asked the ladies running the cash register, "Where's the best place to eat around here?" and the older one said, "Right here." This confused me for a second, so I clarified, "Here?" pointing to the counter of the gas station, "Yep." I knew now that these girls were not to be trusted. "What about Judy's," I said, as I pointed across the street to what looked like a teeny-tiny diner. "Oh, Judy's...they only got four booths."
     So we took our chances and biked across the street to find one table full of very happy customers with full plates of food, and three empty booths. We plopped ourselves down to order some ice water and good old midwestern fried food--good thing we didn't have anywhere else to pedal. Our waitress informed us that Great Bend (our next day's destination) had not just a pool, but a water park, that only cost $4. This was one sweet piece of encouragement! Judy hooked it up and we were all satisfied and ready for the pool.
     The public pool was modest, no slides, but they did have some liberal diving boards with a lot of bounce. The kids were super interested in our trip and before we knew it we made friends. Our favorites were the two little red headed twins. One took a good look at Reid and said, "Hey you! You wanna competition me?"
      Reid laughed, "Of course."
     "Race ya to the bottom of the pool!"
      And so our friendships began. These kids were full of hopes and dreams of college, entirely fascinated by living off a bicycle.
      We slept in the local city park, and played our first game of cribbage on the trip.
      The next morning we made our way to Great Bend. After another challenging day we enjoyed the blisses of The Wetlands Waterpark. This incredible place was nothing like the California water park I grew up with, but to us, at this moment, it felt like Atlantis, with four twirley slides and a gushing water bucket that drenched the masses every five minutes. They even had a tiny climbing wall overhanging the pool. We had fun, and made a big pasta dinner on our little camp stove. Brant bought me some local Kansas birthday beer to celebrate my oncoming birthday, and we slept not so soundly in the neighboring park.
      From Great Bend, we made our way to McPherson (there is no fear in mick-fur-son, we came to find out.) I woke to find "birthday" flags strapped to my bicycle. So I rode 70 miles with red, white, and blue flags blowing behind me. I think this mitigated some of the anger that truckers honk at us.
     The ride to McPherson had us all absolutely wiped out, low blood sugar and just too hot. McPherson is a college town so we found a weird coffee shop and ate bagels, iced coffees, and blended tart lemonades. Reid and Hannah fell asleep on a couch and Brant, Dave, and I made our way to the pool.
     Now this pool had a slide with a punch. It looked friendly, but it had some moves. The boys tried to see how high they could get their bodies out of the slide. We lazed in the first "Lazy River" we have encountered and noted that the more recent a pool was built the more rules they have. So we obeyed all the silly rules about no back flips, no going down the slide face first, and no getting out of your tube in the lazy river.
                  Brant found me a thrift-store midwestern mumu dress to wear for our Kansas fourth of July, so for my birthday dinner at a local Mexican Restaurant I dawned my mumu and some earrings to feel pretty.
      We celebrated our country's independence at a wonderful man named Jeff's house. He moved to Canton, KS from Denver, CO and is an avid traveler and motorbike aficionado. We met Jeff at an ice cream parlor and he invited us to sleep at his house and celebrate the fourth of July.
       Now Kansas knows how to celebrate the 4th,  unlike California, you can buy a LARGE variety of personal fireworks, and you are expected to fire them off ALL day. So as the sun went down, and Brant and I biked the last few miles to Canton, the sky was filled with fireworks from all of the homesteads, little towns, and neighborhoods. We arrived at Jeff's house to find a block party located on his porch with canons and an endless amount of magical firecrackers. Brant and Reid, I think, felt like all of their childhood pyrotechnic dreams had come true, lighting bottle rockets, roman candles, sparklers, mortars, fountains, and cracklers into the dark. It was classic.
     We enjoyed the cool of a house and slept well.

      The next day's ride was a hard ride.  It was 106, there was too much traffic, and there was little places to stop for water. We ended up taking a nap in the back of a grungy poker bar in Strong City because we were all too hot and too tired to pedal any further. When we finally awoke we found the last twenty miles to our destination to be quite pleasant despite the heat. We rode down an old scenic two lane highway that crosses the Flint Hills, and it was full of open space, green valleys, and trees, and the hills brought some diversity to the ride. We finally landed in Council Grove, an adorable town outside of a large recreational lake. We swam, made great burritos and salad, took showers, and rejuvenated after one of our most challenging days.
       We woke nice and early the next day but lagged at getting out of camp. We were already sweating and seeking ice water at 7am before we had a flat tire. We stopped at a few towns to refill water along the way. Dave made a legendary Chex Mix Muddy Buddy and jelly sandwich for second breakfast. And two different ladies at a convenience store in two different towns told us that we had to stop in Pomona at Green Acres Restaurant for some good home cookin. So 60 miles later we ate burgers, and Brant and Dave enjoyed a buffet and salad bar of "broasted" chicken, mashed potatoes, potato salad,  and peach cobbler. Oh my goodness it was good.
     After scarfing our healthy food, we made it to the Ottawa public pool.

     The coolest part of this entire day was the fact that Laura and Karrigan Bork rented a Uhaul trailer and drove to pick us up in Ottawa. I'll back up. So, Hannah is a preschool teacher at a wonderful lab school at U.C. Davis. While Karrigan (Lawrence, Kansas native) was getting his PhD at Davis in Ecology, his son Jack was in Hannah's class. After finishing his degree the family moved back to Kansas to be near home. This family had made an impression on Hannah, so when she knew we were going to be pedaling through their home state she contacted them to meet up for coffee. We weren't going to be in Lawrence so Laura and Karrigan were happy to meet us along our route. We were all excited to meet them, but a few days before our set day to hang out, they decided they could just rent a Uhaul,  and drive thirty miles out of town, to pick up 5 dirty cyclists and open their home to them for two nights. INCREDIBLE.
     I have so much to say about this family and our time in Lawrence. Lawrence is a wonderful town, as I have said before, but the time we spent with Laura, Karrigan, Jack and little Anna, was the most impressionable part. We shared so many great conversations that kept me remaining thoughtful and contemplative, and shared so many stories that left us all belly wrenching in laughter. We ate lovely food; we jumped off high dives. It was was entirely refreshing. So, if the Bork family ever reads this, we say "thank you" once again, and we hope we can spend more time with you when we get back.
     For now we are off to the state of Missouri and the Katy Trail. We'll miss you Dave :(